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lace-coffin · 2 years ago

Note

Heyo friendo, can I perhaps request headcannons for Bubba, Tommy, Asa, and RZ Mikey when giving and receiving comfort from their s/o? Bonus points if male or ftm reader cause we don’t have enough ;-;

Thank you 🩵🩵

How would slashers comfort their S/O on a bad day?

Absolutely, MWAH

Reader is ftm 💖

Trigger warning mainly for Asa- power dynamics/exchange (probably) toxic relationships, the usual for him lol

Also tw for raw meat/hacking at meat/blood

Requests are open!

Bubba Sawyer

Giving

Bubba notices you haven’t been yourself today. Usually he’s the first one up at the crack of dawn, busy tending to the small farm you’ve accrued over time on the sawyer family property. He returns back once the errands are done to find you still in bed, which is unusual for you by this time.

Bubba runs their hands over your cheek softly, murmuring to you quietly, prompting you to get out of bed, only to be met with a groan and the duvet being pulled back over your head. After several minutes of looking around nervously and playing with her fingers anxiously deciding what to do she hauls you over her shoulder.

They are absolutely about to traipse you into the dining room in your boxers and sleep vest in your full glory. He places you down gently on your chair and goes to fetch your food.

Drayton eyes you wearily, wondering why bubba just dumped their boyfriend at the dinner table clad in only boxers. Choptop and nubbins however find it hilarious and snicker until Drayton hollers for them to shut up.

If you’re not feeling up to eating then bubba will encourage you by feeding you smaller bites with the fork. Of course this isn’t without chop and nubbins making gagging noises at the display of public affection. Bubba groans in embarrassment but it’s enough to make you laugh and cheer up a little.

She’ll help you do your daily tasks if your finding it difficult, for example they’ll wash you gently and make sure to give you a nice scalp massage whilst washing your hair if your struggling with hygiene.

They’ll try involve you in activities to take your mind off how your feeling, making bone crafts with her and her siblings and even cuddling their favourite pet chicken.

Receiving

If bubba is having a bad day you’ll definitely know about it. They tend to wear their heart on their sleeve and are open with their emotions.

He’ll come to you as his boyfriend first. If she’s really upset and actively crying please hold them and give them a while to calm down before trying to ask what’s up.

Stimming! Please stim with them, it helps them feel better to shake it out by flapping their hands and making fists. They feel more comfortable and accepted if you join in. Mirroring and doing the same activities is one of their love languages.

Staying with them whilst they do their daily tasks is helpful, feed the chickens with them and the pigs. Maybe have a little cuddle session with the piggies.

If she feels particularly insecure that day then you can help do her makeup and dress up with her. Once he’s donned his favourite yellow dress and you your fanciest suit/button up you can have a little tea party or picnic now you’re both feeling cute.

Choptop and nubbins will complain that it’s lame but still insist in coming (they think it’s fun but are to stubborn to admit it)

Thomas Hewitt

Giving

Tommy spends most of his time either in the basement or out chasing victims so he may not be the best at noticing your upset since he’s absent frequently until the end of the day.

Luda may is confused but slightly honoured when Tommy’s boyfriend came to her teary eyed looking for comfort and advice, not wanting to bother Tommy whilst he’s working.

Luda will slip off later and give Tommy a heads up that you need looking after today. As soon as he finds out he cuts his work short, slamming his cleaver into the table and washing the excess blood from his hands before making his way up to you.

Tommy will try help by giving you deep pressure. Laying his weight on your chest to ground you. He traces his fingers over your palm in little shapes and letters, spelling out words of affirmation and hearts to let you know he loves you in a way he can’t verbalise. However if you’re lucky he may whisper a few raspy words of adoration into your chest as you pet his hair.

If it helps you blow off steam he might let you hack at some of the meat in basement with his cleaver, however only under his watchful eye. Your already upset, he doesn’t need you loosing a finger to.

Tommy will make an extra effort to keep you distracted and away from Hoyt since he can be..snappy to say the least. This can mean your spending time with Tommy on the swing out front or reading to him.

Receiving

Tommy is difficult when it comes to emotions. Years of hiding behind a steely facade as he’s taunted by mean kids or even Hoyt has left him closed off and unsure about being vulnerable.

When Tommy is having a bad day it’s more likely to come out as anger, he finds this easier to channel and disperse since he spends a lot of his time running on agression towards victims and knows how to handle it better than sadness.

The first sign things aren’t right is when he’s not back from his basement work for hours after he usually finishes up. Please go drag him out of there or he’ll work until he exhausts himself.

Having a tender hand and giving him room to vulnerable is the best thing you can do for Tommy.

Let him sign to you what the problem is when he’s ready and try help best you can.

He loves it when you let him snuggle into your chest on your shared bed, your fingers threading through his hair, lovingly detangling any knots or snags in his hair. His mask discarded on the bedside table so he can be skin to skin with you.

Spending time with you and Luda may will be therapeutic for him, he may be grown now but he still loves spending quality time with his mama, and with his boyfriend there it’s even more enjoyable. Play a board game together or cards. (Luda will let Tommy win a few rounds because he’s still her baby, but don’t let him know that :’)

RZ! Michale Myers

Giving

Michael will probably know when your having a tough day before you even do considering he spends most of his time silently observing you, he knows your emotions and habits like the back of his (giant ass) hand.

Mikey makes a point of trying to show his concern via acts of service since verbal and physical emotional aren’t his strong suits. This might mean the covers are pulled back from your bed and your handed a slightly burnt grilled cheese for breakfast. It’s not amazing but he tried lol.

Michael knows you struggle with taking care of yourself on these days and encourages you the best way he knows how. Guiding you to the room you need to be in and standing and staring until you do the task, you can try move past him but he’s like a brick wall in coveralls.

He knows when it’s time for you to take off your binder and let yourself relax. Either he tries his tried and true method of stubbornly staring and insisting you do it or he’ll unceremoniously man handle it off you and throw it aside. He’s not complaining about the view either.

Receiving

Michael tends to stay out for longer if he’s not feeling good. The need to shed blood hitting a peak, eating away at his insides and clouding his mind until he can satisfy it. He’ll return home more dirtied up than usual, caked in slowly drying blood and maybe even dirt if he gets into a scuffle with a hardheaded victim.

Mikey dumps his knife in the sink and shrugs off his dirty coveralls in the laundry room, throwing on some comfy gray sweats and a loose white T-shirt. Adorning his favourite paper pumpkin mask.

He’ll seek you out even if he’s still covered in splats of darkening blood and flop onto you with his full weight, demanding your attention. He’s clingier than usual, this gives you leeway to pamper him.

After a round of cuddles try get Michael into the bathroom to clean him up, despite his preference towards gore he doesn’t actually like feeling grimy, not being able to cope with the sensory issues it brings.

He would feel very cared for if you clean his wounds before getting him in the bath. Run your fingers over his scars and marks from past victims, tenderly kiss his top surgery scars.Mikey will melt under your hands if you detangled and wash his hair for him, especially if you tie it into a bun or ponytail for him to keep it off his neck and face, preventing the sensory issues mentioned earlier.

Asa Emory

Giving

Asa knows some days can be more taxing than others, especially in the situation you two share. Anyones mental health would be fragile considering your literally being kept as a pet to a serial killer. He can see during training that you blindly follow along with instructions with a glassy far away look in your eyes. This won’t do, he needs your full attention. He hates to admit it but your his little bug and he hates to see you hurting when he’s not the one responsible for it.

On days when you feel particularly hopeless about your situation or self he’ll be softer on you. Do not misunderstand, he will still demand your cooperation and obedience/submission but the consequences will be lessened or saved for later when you have the energy and attention to react accordingly.

Asa will bring you with him about his day. Sitting you under his desk with the chain from your collar wrapped around the desk leg. Running his hands through your hair and patting your head as he works. After a while you let your eyes flutter shut as you rest your head on his thigh, drifting off to the sound of his pen scratching along paper.

If you’re lacking in energy or unwilling to eat you will be promoted to his lap instead of your usual spot on the floor at your metal bowl. Asa will hand feed you, insuring you get enough nutrients and prying your mouth open with his nitrile gloves to ensure you’ve swallowed it all.

Asa will take you to his bed instead of your trunk or cage/room.

Receiving

After a long week of experiments succumbing to their wounds and dying on him and finicky traps failing, Asa is more than in a shitty mood. After snapping off his gloves and cleaning himself of any lingering viscera he makes his way over to your room.

His eyes crinkle highlighting his crows feet as he unclasps the trunk your contorted into, happier than ever to see his cricket after the day he’s had.

You know he’s had a bad day as it’s much later than his usual visit and he’s lacking the domineering energy he always exudes, to tired and trodden down to be strict.

Asa finds it therapeutic to do your makeup and dress you up (much like the implications with Abby in the collection)

You’ve learned in your years here it’s wise to be on your best behaviour when he gets this way. Being submissive and compliant is a great relief to him when he feels bad as he doesn’t have the energy to argue with you and will just storm out.

Using more honourifics like “sir” or “master” will get you brownie points and help boost his ego. Use “daddy” if your willing to finish what you started 👀

Curling up on him is ensured to pull at his heart strings and help calm him down. Tell him what a wonderful owner he is and how well he takes care of you. Feed into his god complex and worship him. let him know you’re only committed to him and him alone, you don’t need the outside or anyone else, just his attention. Assert his full control over your being and heart.

Not double checked bc eyes feel like they’re bleeding lmao

470 notes · View notes

bluehoodiewoozi · 1 year ago

Text

Happy to Help

Xu Minghao x GN!Reader

Genre: sickfic, fluff.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: adult language. food mentions. mentions of death/funerals (no one even comes close to dying though). a very bad case of the common cold.

[Series: Serenity Street 17] The heating in your apartment is broken and the landlord is not in a rush to fix it. By the time you gather the courage to ask your neighbour for help, you’re sick and now he’s stuck nursing you for a week.

note: Serenity Street is back, y'all!

For four whole days, you had gritted your teeth and smiled when Jihoon promised to get your heating fixed. For four whole days, you tried ridiculous Tiktok hacks to warm up even just your bedroom, and when that failed, wrapped yourself in three blankets and drank all the tea you could afford.

But everyone has a limit, and you finally met yours.

“Listen, I am only one man,” Jihoon told you – and frankly, he seemed to be on the verge of crying as well – when you practically broke into his apartment in search of justice, “and I do not know anything about heating systems or why yours specifically has broken.”

“Then tell someone else to fix it,” you complained, completely sick and tired of this treatment. “There has to be, like, a million people out there who could fix my heating.”

He sighed. “My parents have a contract with one specific company. Unless you want to pay for a breach of contract, you’ll have to wait until they get here.”

“It’s been four days already,” you spoke through gritted teeth, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “My apartment is colder than the basement right now. It’s February – do you know how freaking cold it is outside? Are you going to pay my funeral fees?”

Jihoon raised a brow – half in concern and half in annoyance. “I don’t.. I don’t think it’s that bad…”

You countered with an eyebrow raise of your own.

That seemed to do the trick: he sighed and sat up straighter, reaching for his phone. “Fine, I’ll give them another call. Maybe they’ll come quicker if I offer an extra fee or something, I don’t know. Just… hang on until then.”

Scoffing, you stared at him. “And what? I’m just supposed to go back to the Arctic and pray that your handymen will come before I freeze to death?”

He frowned at that. “You’re not going to die. It’s only been four days.”

“You try turning your heating off for four days in winter and tell me how you feel after that,” you practically growled, challenging him.

Jihoon rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Just go stay with someone on your floor. Minghao has a spare bedroom. I’m sure he’ll share if you asked nicely.”

You wanted to physically fight him at the mention; not because he was wrong (god knows Minghao wouldn’t hesitate to let you take over his spare bedroom if you, or anyone, just asked nicely), but because he knew what you felt for Minghao.

As one of your very few friends in the building, Jihoon was more than aware that you had been harbouring a crush on your quiet artistic neighbour. You had had your eye on Minghao ever since he brought you a package – the mailman had mistakenly delivered it to his apartment and Minghao brought it to you with a heart-melting smile.

A whole year later, your knees still felt like jelly every time Minghao smiled at you in the hallway and you had to refrain from squealing out loud every time he spoke to you. You were, as the youths would say, ‘down bad’ for your neighbour.

And that’s why you couldn’t bear the thought of asking him for help in this situation.

When you didn’t reply to his suggestion, Jihoon sighed. “I’ll give him a call–”

“Don’t you dare!” you threatened. “If you as much as tell him my heating’s broken, I will kidnap Peaches.”

“Peaches?” he wondered, blinking at you in confusion before glancing back at where he last saw his fluffy cat. Once he was satisfied to find his pet snoring away in the armchair, he turned to glare at you. “I’m just trying to be a good friend and you’re threatening my child?”

You gave up then and there, turning on your heel and marching back to your apartment.

The next morning it appeared that Jihoon, as magnificent and powerful as he was, unfortunately had no power over the heating company. They rejected his attempts at bribes and offered him what they called ‘a tentative date’.

The problem? It was a whole week away.

[i asked my parents if they’d let you stay in 5a until then, but apparently they rented it out just a few days ago. the new guy’s coming tomorrow. nothing i can do. srry.]

You sniffled as you read the messages on your phone, hidden under three blankets and two sweaters. Groaning at your bad luck, you got off the bed and stumbled towards the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The hot drink was the closest thing you had to heating at the moment, besides a tiny and barely useful (and frankly one step from being a fire hazard) space heater Jeonghan and Sunny had left behind your door the evening before.

As you walked, you concluded you were a little dizzy and your nose wasn’t letting in as much air as it should have. While the water boiled, you also realised your throat was strangely scratchy. It didn’t take much to figure out the lack of heating had finally defeated your immune system.

Frustrated at the realisation, you pulled out your phone again and sent a text back to Jihoon.

[u owe me cold medicine]

The reply arrived just as you began pouring hot water into your mug. The soothing smell of tea filled the kitchen and you couldn’t help but lean a little closer to the heat of both the kettle and the mug as you read his message.

[you’re sick???!]

You chose to not entertain his much-too-late worry spree. After all, had he worried a little sooner, you’d probably have a warm apartment by now – or so you bitterly chose to believe as you shuffled back towards the bedroom.

But before you could even make it out of the kitchen, a knock sounded on your door.

Burdened by the onslaught of what appeared to be the common cold, your brain failed to realise opening the door usually meant a whole new set of problems.

You put your mug down on the counter and went to open the front door, revealing the one person you wanted to see the least in your condition.

Minghao couldn’t even muster a smile when he saw you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Why?”

“Jihoon texted. He said your heating’s broken.” (You made a mental vow to find and kidnap Peaches the Orange Cat – full government name and all.) “How bad is it?”

“I’m fine,” you lied through your teeth. In retrospect, this was not one of your brightest moments. “It’s just a little chilly. I manage.”

He gave you a once-over, growing more confused and concerned by the second. “How many blankets is that?”

“Three.”

His eyebrows rose. “... You manage, huh?”

“One hundred percent. You don’t need to worry about me,” you confirmed with a smile and tried to shoo him away. “I’m sure they’ll fix the heating soon.”

“Well,” he took a deep breath, as if hesitating, “if you get too cold, you can always come over to my place. My apartment’s warm.”

You shook your head even as your freezing body screamed at you. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t be–”

“My tea’s ready, so I should go,” you interrupted him and waved him goodbye before closing the door.

Once you were no longer confronted by his worried eyes, you sighed in relief, before cursing yourself for damning your body to another week of frost.

Your bad luck just never seemed to end.

What you thought would be just temporary discomfort was quickly turning out to be the worst cold you had suffered in years: sniffles quickly began to look like needing to go to the store to buy a few more boxes of tissues, your scratchy throat turned into a near-complete lack of voice, and you didn’t need a thermometer to know you were too feverish to really leave your bed.

You sent a mostly typo-free text to Jihoon to inform him that this was all his fault and burrowed back into your blanket cave. All you wanted to do was sleep – and sleep you would.

In your feverish and sleepy daze, you failed to register that someone was knocking on your door until you heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, are you home? (Y/n)?”

You contemplated if opening the door was a good idea in your state. After all, one can only imagine the kinds of things you could accidentally confess while in a paracetamol-induced daze. So, you told yourself, Minghao could wait another day.

Except – as you’d soon realise – your body refused to acknowledge that decision. Like a drunken sailor following the call of a cursed siren, you stumbled out of bed and just about dragged yourself to the front door. You had half a mind to wipe away your snot before unlocking the door, revealing a distraught Minghao.

He had his phone pressed to his ear, a muffled voice sounding from the speaker. His eyes lit up at the sight of you. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got it.” He rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other side of the call was saying. “Yes, they opened the door. I’m going now. Bye.”

Finally, he turned his attention to you. “What were you doing? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Why?” you wondered all the while trying to force your eyes to focus enough to admire his pretty eyes. And his hair. Had he dyed his hair? You were sure it was blonde yesterday, so how was it brown now?

“Because Jihoon thought you were dead,” he deadpanned, reaching to place his hand on your forehead. He sighed at the touch, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

You snorted out a laugh – and quickly came to regret it when you almost choked on it – before croaking out, “Of course I know that. I’ve been trying to sleep it off.”

“I don’t know if just sleeping will–”

“It’ll be fine,” you chuckled and reached over to pat his hair, silently marvelling at how soft it was to your touch. Reality called you back soon enough and you reiterated yourself under his disbelieving gaze, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep, drink a lot of tea, and take some more medicine and then I’ll be good as new.”

He was still struggling to take your reply seriously. But finally, under your unrelenting smile full of content, he agreed. “Right, take good care of yourself. Sleep is good. Do you–” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you need anything from the store? I can get it for you.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” you told him and waved before closing the door. “I’ll see you once I’m better.”

And with that, you made your way back to your tiny somewhat warm base in the bedroom. A nap would soon claim you once again, your dreams filled with Minghao’s smiles and soft voice.

You sat up suddenly just as you were about to fall deep in slumber, eyes widening: you could’ve asked him to buy you more tissues. You groaned and fell back into your nest – snotty noses are a curse.

Hoping some fresh air would clear up your nose and the headache your condition had brought along, you went to check your mail in the morning. ‘Went’ might be a bit of a strong word, you’d soon realise, as you nearly blacked out just crossing the doorstep. ‘Attempted’ – that might be a better word.

As you gave up on your mission – after all, how would you go down a whole floor if you couldn’t even get out of your apartment without nearly fainting? – you noticed a bag on your welcome mat.

Suspiciously squinting, you picked up the bag. The squint quickly melted into a grateful smile when you recognised Minghao’s name signed on a note on the very top of the goodies.

Suddenly filled with a much-needed extra ounce of energy, you took the bag to your kitchen and began unpacking it. You found various cold medicines, a large pack of undoubtedly expensive tea, and some snacks, tissues, topped off with a bright-yellow post-it note from your neighbour.

Please take good care of yourself and get better soon. You can always come to my place if you need anything at all. – Minghao, 2B.

A giddy smile appeared on your face as you hugged the note to your chest. You rushed to find your one heart-shaped magnet before using it to stick the note onto your fridge, right in the centre. You’d cherish this note for as long as your crush would last – you knew this even in your feverish state.

But before long your joy was replaced with annoyance and despair as a cough fit paired with cold shivers up your spine shook your body. Your rational brain came back online soon after. Perhaps it was the words on the note, or perhaps you were finally just defeated – either way, you reached for your phone.

[hey, this is weird to ask but… can i come stay over for a while until my heating gets fixed?]

“Are you awake?” you heard Minghao ask as the door of his room creaked open. Too exhausted and relaxed to move or even speak, you only let out a throaty hum. His face – albeit a little blurry – appeared in your line of vision. “How are you feeling?”

Your reply was not legible to Minghao.

“What?”

You sighed and cleared your throat the best you could before repeating, “I feel as awful as yesterday…”

“But?”

“But way warmer,” you mumbled and burrowed back under the blankets he had wrapped you in the night before when you arrived at his door. “I missed heating.”

He chuckled sympathetically at that and placed his hand on your forehead like he had the day before (the touch made you feel just as giddy as it did back then too). “Heating’s nice, isn’t it? I hope yours gets fixed soon too.”

“Me too,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you basked in the warmth.

“Your fever’s still pretty bad. I guess the medicine’s worn off.”

He sighed and gently brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. (You couldn’t help but imagine the touch as that of a caring boyfriend rather than just a concerned neighbour.) Feeding your fever-induced delusions, he kept stroking your cheek as he stayed in front of you, contemplating his options.

“Do you want some tea?” he offered after a long minute of thinking. “I think someone said lemons and honey in tea help.”

“I’ve had so much tea though,” you croaked.

“Clearly not enough,” he joked. “Stay here, I’ll go make you some. Maybe some food too? I made waffles earlier, if you want any.”

You smiled at the thought, sighing dreamily, “Waffles and tea...”

“Right?” he chuckled and gave your cheek one last affectionate pat before walking out of the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a tray. He carefully placed it on the bedside table before handing you a steaming mug, a plate of waffles and a handful of cold medicine pills.

“I don’t know how sweet you like your tea, but it has a lot of honey,” he warned gently, smiling proudly when you took a sip and hummed happily. “Is it good?”

“It’s better than what I’ve been drinking so far,” you told him with a raspy chuckle.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he did feel a slight concern over your tea preferences. Wordlessly, he reached for the second mug on the tray and took a sip. His confusion only grew: this wasn’t his best attempt at making tea at all. In fact, he’d argue he hadn’t made tea this bad in years – maybe he was just so worried that it was affecting his performance.

“Drink your tea, eat the waffles, take your medicine,” he sternly told you instead of thinking about it any longer, “and then you can go back to sleep if you want.”

“I do love sleep,” you mumbled before taking the medicine, barely aware of what you were saying in your feverish state. You took a bite of a waffle to wash away the bitter aftertaste. “I love you, Minghao.”

He snorted and took another sip. “Sure.”

“I mean it!” you decided to declare, glaring at him for not trusting you. “I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

Dumbfounded by your confession, he blinked. “How about you just get better quickly, hm?”

You hummed. “Will you love me back then?”

He chose not to answer that.

Jihoon had more important things to do than nurse a sick neighbour back to health, but he felt he had no choice when Minghao practically dragged him to the apartment by his sleeve.

“Why me?” he wondered groggily, barely awake enough to even take care of himself. “Why can’t you take care of them yourself?”

“Because I have an actual job,” Minghao pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Just make sure they don’t leave and that they take their medicine. Remember, they have to take these pills every four hours.”

Jihoon’s eyes twitched as he tried to blink. “Why me?”

Minghao was tempted to just lock him in the apartment and not share a word of explanation. But he supposed he owed him that much. He sighed. “Because you’re their friend and they’re completely out of it – I can’t leave them alone.”

“They’re a grown adult.”

“Poor (Y/n)’s very sick,” he said with a worried look in his eyes. “They must be hallucinating or something too, because they said they loved me? Can you imagine?”

At that, Jihoon’s jaw dropped. Then, he began laughing – not just giggling or chuckling, no: fully cackling.

“Don’t be too entertained by my misery. They’re your problem now,” Minghao deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as Jihoon all but folded over the sofa’s backrest in his fit of laughter. As the man finally calmed down, gasping for air but laughing no more, Minghao sighed and asked, “So, will you watch them for me?”

“Can I bring my cat?”

“Hi, Peaches!” you cooed a few hours later, the cat snuggled in your arms. She purred loudly in reply, kneading at the blankets you had piled over yourself. It was a welcome sensation, you decided.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jihoon leaning against the doorframe, smiling in a way that seemed just a bit too smug to be well-meaning. Your eyes narrowed at the sight.

“You’re not Minghao,” you deadpanned.

His smirk widened. “Yeah? Too bad you can’t confess your undying love for me then.”

You groaned. “Fuck off, Jihoon.”

He let out a hissing noise. “Can’t do that. Minghao asked me to look after you for a bit.”

“So no Minghao?”

“Only your best friend and a cat.”

You snorted. “For a cat, you sure are talkative.”

Jihoon only sighed at that. “I think that means it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

“I feel fine though.”

“But you’re talking nonsense.”

You chuckled and hummed in agreement. “You brought Peaches. You never bring her to my place. I’m a little offended.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” he joked and handed you the pills and a glass of water. “I just brought her over so she wouldn’t be bored.”

“I bet you were worried about me,” you teased and took the medicine, groaning at the stupid bitter aftertaste. “Those pills are so gross. Why can’t medicine taste more like candy?”

“How would I know?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You silently sighed at the realisation that it didn’t feel half as nice as when Minghao did it.

Jihoon pulled his hand away to glare at you. “You don’t get to diss me just because you’re sick and I’m not Minghao.”

Your eyes widened. “I didn’t– Did I think out loud?”

He stared at you for a moment before blinking and looking away. “I’m starting to think that medicine is not very effective.”

“It’s kept me alive this far,” you shrugged.

“Alive and loopy,” he concluded with a defeated nod before smirking again – god, you hated it when he did that. “I heard you confessed to Minghao.”

“I did wHAT?!”

Peaches startled at your sudden rise of volume before settling back into her oddly cat-shaped hole in the middle of the bed, but you did not care. You had more urgent matters to worry about than the comfort of a spoiled orange cat.

Confessed to Minghao? You? There was no way. Surely Jihoon was lying – right, he did that sometimes, after all.

Jihoon only laughed though. “What? You didn’t even know?”

“I didn’t– There’s no way I could have, right? I’m not that out of it?” you reasoned.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged nonchalantly as if you weren’t going through an actual crisis right in front of him, “he seemed kind of distraught when he told me this morning. Thought you were hallucinating or something.”

You could only pray the mattress would swallow you whole before Minghao’s return. Either that, or maybe the universe could send a sign that Jihoon was indeed lying. You were half-sure he was anyways – he probably thought it would be funny to see your reaction. Right. That had to be it.

But, as always, your prayers were met with disdain and spite, and the front door opened. Wordlessly, you begged Jihoon for mercy as Minghao’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Are they awake yet?”

You shook your head and clasped your hands together and tugged at Jihoon’s sleeve, but he seemed to be dead set on causing you more misery. “They’re awake! Just took the medicine.”

Minghao appeared in the doorway, a relieved smile on his face. “Oh, good. You look a lot better today than yesterday– Not that you ever look very bad, but–” he seemed to panic and it was an odd sight because this was, after all, the ever-so-calm Minghao. He cleared his throat and smiled again. “You look healthier!”

“I… feel… healthier,” you slowly said, trying to take all of it in.

“You’re home early,” Jihoon noted, already gathering the orange loaf of a cat in his arms.

Minghao’s ears seemed to go a little more red at the mention. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I– I left work early. Got worried.”

Jihoon smirked and leaned closer to you to whisper, much like a co-conspirator when he was the villain of your tale, “He got worried.”

“Count your days, Lee,” you told him with a deadly glare as he backed away, a carefree smile on his face.

“I’ll see you guys later then,” Jihoon announced and waved. “Get better soon!”

“Kim Mingyu, I swear to God— No, I know I asked for the recipe— But that doesn’t mean— Mingyu, I asked for a soup recipe not for your grandmother’s life story!” Minghao argued with his friend on the phone. His attention was soon diverted though, just to glare at you. “You should be in bed! –no, not you, Mingyu– Why are you up?”

“I feel better,” you croaked. While your body didn’t feel like it was made of lead-filled balloons anymore, your throat still hurt and the sniffles and coughs weren’t really helping with that.

Lowering his phone, he rolled his eyes and pointed towards the sofa. “You’d better lay down.”

“I’m fine–”

“I can see you struggling to stand upright from here,” he deadpanned before lifting his phone back to his ear. He sighed right after. “Yes, you did tell me about the time she went to Tokyo already, Gyu. So about that soup–”

When you still didn’t budge, choosing to admire the decor instead of following his directions, Minghao grabbed your hand and led you to the sofa himself. You were practically forced to lay down, a blanket thrown over you with care, the cushion fluffed for your ultimate comfort. With the phone still tucked under his ear, he pointed a warning finger at you and slowly told you, “Stay right here.”

“But I feel fine?” you mumbled but made no attempt to escape your fate. The sofa was nice enough you concurred and melted into the cushions, pulling the blanket further up your chin to hide your fully rubbed-red nose.

Just as you got comfortable in your new spot, listening to Minghao’s desperate attempts to pry a soup recipe from Mingyu’s mind, he appeared in front of you again. You were handed a mug full of…

“Tea? Again?” you groaned softly, but he silenced you with a warning glare and put on the TV instead of addressing your complaints. It was enough, you decided, as a drama rerun played.

After what felt like forever, Minghao’s arguments with Mingyu quieted and all you heard was the TV, the simmering of something in a pot, and your temporary roommate’s humming from the kitchen.

“What are you making?” you asked him when he came to check on you.

His hand on your forehead just like many times before, he smiled. “Some soup. It should help your throat. How are you feeling?”

“A little chilly,” you half-joked. Half because it was still a relief from the freezing temperatures in your apartment, but the living room area was still much colder than the bedroom Minghao had set you up in. It wasn’t meant as a complaint, but, judging by his deepening frown, Minghao seemed to take it as one.

“You’re cold?” he worried and, to your surprise, straightened up and reached over his head to pull his own sweater off.

Thoroughly confused, you watched as he shook the clothing item a few times before handing it to you expectantly – as if you were supposed to know exactly what to do with it.

(Newsflash: you had no idea what to do with it. Your brain was running at 20% power and still stuck on the fact that he had taken off his sweater in front of you – and looked so damn attractive doing that.)

When you made no move to grab it from him, Minghao’s frown only deepened even more. He sighed softly and took the matters into his own hand: he shoved the head hole over your head and guided your arms into the sleeves before rolling the hoodie downwards until it covered your torso.

To top it all off, he adjusted your blanket to make sure not a single gust of cold air could get you. Once he was done, he offered a sweet smile and patted your cheek as if you were a beloved household pet. “Better?”

You could only stare at him in response and dumbly nod.

“Good,” he nodded and smiled wider before glancing at the clock. He hummed in thought. “The soup needs to simmer for another 15 minutes. If you’re still cold…” He hesitated, eyeing you almost shyly and averting his eyes when your gaze met his. He cleared his throat. “If you’re cold, we could cuddle. You know, to share the warmth.”

Embarrassingly enough, it only took you half a second to agree. But thankfully, he didn’t seem put-off by your sudden enthusiasm. Ears reddening as he shuffled closer, he reached over to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you to rest your head against his chest instead of the pillows.

To this day, you’re half sure you hallucinated the entire thing (and that he definitely didn’t go to check on the soup at the 15-minute mark. You had no memory of having that soup at all).

Your barely blissful sleep was interrupted by a vibration under your pillow. You startled awake and looked around until you found the source of your disturbance – the phone under your pillow, Jihoon’s name flashing on the screen.

“What?” you grunted into the phone after swiping to answer the call. No sooner had you spoken than your head slammed back into the pillow — you had no interest in fighting gravity today.

Jihoon snorted at your response. “Good day to you, dear neighbour. Glad to hear you’re better.”

You had no interest in small talk when dreamland was still at hand’s reach. “What do you want, Ji?”

“The handymen finally came. I just wanted to ask for your permission to enter your apartment.”

“Handymen?”

“To fix your heating,” he reminded you softly. “This cold really took you down hard, huh?”

“Oh, the heating!” you perked up, sitting up again. “Of course you can go inside. Should I come too?”

Jihoon hummed in thought before concluding that “Minghao probably won’t let you leave his apartment yet.”

“I’m an adult!” you argued. “He can’t keep me here against my will.”

“I think you’ll be surprised at how convincing he can be,” he laughed, “but I guess you can try. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

But when you went to tell Minghao about your plan, he proved Jihoon’s point a little too perfectly.

“No,” he told you sternly before you could even put on your shoes. “You’re still sick.”

“I’ll just be next door,” you argued.

He was having none of it. “Two days ago you almost collapsed on your way to the bathroom – that was even fewer steps away! You’re not going.”

“Why not?” you whined, frowning at him. “I’m fine! I’m standing up, see?”

His stare was one of disappointed disbelief. “You’re leaning against the wall, (Y/n).”

“There’s walls in my apartment.”

He sighed. “Please just go back to bed. I’ll go myself.”

“But I wanted to get some things–”

“Send me a list and I’ll bring them to you,” he solved your problem easily and you had no room to argue.

Minghao had never actually been in your apartment – not since you actually moved in and packed your things anyway.

He knocked softly on the door before walking in to see Jihoon and a pair of handymen chatting away. The former offered him a polite smile and a nod before returning to the discussion.

Minghao took that as a sign to look around. He took a deep breath and found himself shivering, his breath fogging up in front of his very eyes. How you had survived in this apartment so long without getting frostbite was beyond his comprehension so he decided to not think about it anymore – the idea of you shivering in your bed, desperate for warmth, upset him anyway.

He shuffled into the kitchen where he quickly found the phone charger you had told him to get. He also found a familiar bright-yellow post-it note on the fridge, his hand-writing proudly on display under a heart-shaped magnet.

He scoffed before smiling at the sight; why would you keep that? It’s just a note? He hadn’t even spent a full minute on scribbling it.

Did you actually like him? He shook his head – there was no way. You were too good for him anyway.

Without another thought, he opened the list you had texted him and began gathering the belongings you so dearly missed: some sweaters, shirts…

A single small plant stood in the middle of your bedroom, somehow still green (if not a little droopy) and not frozen over like its compatriots on the window sills. He picked it up – perhaps having even this tiny plant survive would cheer you up, he reasoned.

As he looked at the other, less fortunate plants, Jihoon wandered into the room.“That thing is still alive?”

Minghao hummed in agreement. “It seems a little frostbitten, but it’s still alive, I think.”

“I think they’ve had this thing for ages,” Jihoon told him with a chuckle, leaning forward to inspect the plant. “Who knows? Maybe you can bring it back to life.”

“I sure hope so,” Minghao whispered in response before offering him a smile. “So, what’s the latest on the heating?”

Jihoon grimaced. “They said the system is entirely screwed. They’ll have to replace most of it – might take a few weeks.”

“Weeks?”

“At best.”

Minghao was already mentally drafting the best way to deliver the news to you – he didn’t see it going very well either way. “I guess I will have a roommate until spring then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jihoon sighed. “I know they’re a lot to deal with – especially when they’re sick.”

He felt insulted on your behalf. “They’re a delight!”

“You’re lying,” Jihoon laughed. “Mingyu told me how you had to scold them to lay down yesterday.”

“They're just a little stubborn,” Minghao defended you to his best ability, trying to limit his lying.

“If you say so.” Jihoon nodded at the bags at his feet. “Do you need help getting all that to your apartment?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Minghao told him with a reassuring smile before picking everything up. Sure, he struggled, but he’d struggle even more if he hurt his pride by asking for help with something this easy.

Even if getting back to his apartment took him a little longer than he’d like to admit, he still made it all on his own. And he was decently proud of that.

“Minghao?” you called out his name the moment he opened the door.

Oh, what he’d give to hear this every time he returned home. He froze at the thought – he was starting to become delusional and that was not his brand. No, he had to get himself together – you were just a friend staying in his spare bedroom because of an emergency. Yes. So it was.

But he couldn’t help but feel a little deluded when he spotted you sitting on the sofa, his white hoodie around your frame, smiling at him hopefully. His heart was about to fail him.

He didn’t even have to try hard to smile – it came naturally at the sight. “I got everything you said.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out in relief before sneezing. “No offence, but I miss wearing my own clothes.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

Your smile faded a little as another thought came to your mind. “Did they say how long the repairs will take? It shouldn’t be too long, right?”

“Jihoon said they have to replace the whole heating unit,” he regretfully told you. “It’ll take a few weeks.”

The remnants of your smile disappeared. You threw yourself backwards on the sofa, pulling a cushion over your face to scream into it in frustration. After a beat of silence, you removed the cushion and stared at the ceiling. “Where will I go?”

“You can just stay here,” he suggested, a little too enthusiastically perhaps. “You’re already settled in.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you–”

“Nonsense,” he reassured you with a laugh and held something out for you to take. “You and this little guy can have the spare room.”

“Little guy?” You sat up to look at the item in his hand – the small flower pot he had brought along. Your eyes just about started watering at the sight. “It’s still alive?”

“I think so.” Minghao shrugged and gently handed the pot to you. “It looks like it could use a few days in a warm spot in the sunlight, but the other plants looked a whole lot worse.”

You sniffled – from tears or from your health conditions, you weren’t sure. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave your head a gentle pat. “I’m just happy to help.”

To say you were growing a little annoyed with your health would be an understatement. A whole week of sniffling, coughing and sneezing had passed, but you felt only marginally better.

“I’ve never been sick for this long before,” you complained to Minghao as he handed you a cup of tea and placed a bowl full of snacks between the two of you on the sofa. There was a drama playing in the background – you both agreed to watch it but, to tell the truth, neither of you was particularly invested in the plot.

You took a sip of the hot beverage, hummed in appreciation, and continued your rant, “It makes no sense. I should be feeling better by now.”

Minghao chuckled. “Well, you were pretty sick when you came here, all feverish and snotty. I think you’ve gotten a lot better since.”

“My doctor still won’t let me return to work though,” you groaned. “How am I supposed to pay rent if I can’t work? It’s not living in this building is cheap.”

“Can’t Jihoon lower your rent until the heating gets fixed? It would seem fair.”

You froze. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “Wait, you’re right! Why am I paying full rent when I can’t even live there because of the temperatures? And it’s not even my fault?!”

Before you could get more fired up about it and start harassing your landlord, Minghao changed the topic. “Do you need anything else? Are you warm?”

Snapping out of your rage, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little chilly actually.”

He sighed and reached over to once again place his hand on your forehead, as he often did. It was almost a routine at this point – not that your heart could ever stop fluttering at the simplest of physical contact with him.

“You’re not running hot today though,” he worried but picked up a blanket anyway and threw it over your lap. Then, uncharacteristically, he hesitated for a moment. “Do… Do you mind if I–?”

He lifted the corner of the blanket and shuffled under it as well, pulling his feet under the blanket for extra warmth.

“You’re cold too?” you wondered.

He offered you a funny look – as if you had asked him if unicorns exist. “Do you think you’re the only one who feels cold sometimes?”

You blinked. “Well, no, but–”

“Then stop asking dumb questions and watch the drama,” he told you and forced himself to do just that. But if it hadn’t been for the sudden red-ish tint of his ears, you wouldn’t have questioned him to begin with.

Instead of asking any further questions, you decided to settle further into your (by now designated) spot on the sofa, engulfed in the warmth of the blanket and Minghao.

You fully planned on blaming your illness for the way you leaned further and further into his space as you slowly began dozing off to sleep – even if it was fully intentional. Who could really blame you? You were sick, tired, and sitting next to your crush of god-knows-how-many months.

And so, inch by inch, your head lowered not in the direction of the head- or armrest but towards his shoulder. Finally, your eyes closed as your cheek pressed against the fabric of his cardigan.

It was a little rough from the wash, no longer as soft as it had once been, and you’d be lying if you said it felt comfortable against your cheek, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for just five minutes of something akin to affection from the man of your dreams.

You fully intended it to only be five minutes – just a short moment to bask in your delusions. But then you felt his arm shift under your body, lifting to rest around your shoulders. He pulled you closer and rested his cheek against your head and before the fourth minute passed, you were more than halfway into Dreamland.

“I wish this happened more often. I really like you, Minghao.”

(And maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve noticed the way his breath hitched and his smart watch vibrated to warn him of a sudden spike in his heart rate.

Maybe you would’ve noticed the way his embrace tightened just the slightest bit and he pressed his lips against your forehead in a careful gesture of reciprocation. And that his world got a whole lot brighter at the idea that perhaps this time you knew what you were saying and that maybe, just maybe, your feelings were mutual.)

You couldn’t believe you almost squealed with joy at the prospect of going back to work. You loved Minghao – really, you did, in many ways – but being stuck in an apartment with him for almost two weeks turned out to be your shortcut to insanity.

So, of course, you took the very first chance to return to work. And of course you hated every second of it – reality really is much less rosy than daydreams.

“Minghao, I’m back,” you called out as you returned to the apartment exactly 20 minutes after the end of your workday. Frankly, you weren’t expecting any kind of answer – you had just spent the past two weeks fantasising about calling out that specific phrase to feed your delusions.

You just had to try it out once, or maybe twice. Who knows what tomorrow brings.

But, just as you started to accept that it was dumb and not as much fun as they make it seem in those sitcoms, you heard a cough and a raspy, “I’m here” from his room.

You froze at the sound. A glance at the clock said that Minghao should still be at work. The art museum didn’t close until late at night so…

“Minghao?” you called out again just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Perhaps you had already come down with a new fever and weren’t even aware of it.

Another cough. Now you were sure you weren’t imagining it.

You headed to his room, finding the door ajar and a Minghao-sized lump curled up under a pile of blankets. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you heard a muffled croak and you wondered exactly how high his fever must have been for him to think it sounded even remotely convincing. “Just had a rough day.”

You pursed your lips in thought before approaching the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress near him to gently peel the covers off his face. His eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare at the sight of you and the light flooding his room.

“Yeah?” You laughed at the sight of his reddening nose. “You sure it’s not the sniffles?`”

“Who even says ‘the sniffles’ anymore?” he mocked and buried his face in the pillows. Like a sulking child, he sharply pulled the blankets from your grasp and pulled them over his head. His voice once again came out muffled, “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. Can you turn up the heating while you’re here?”

You went to do as he said but were taken by surprise by the thermostat. “It’s already maxed.”

“Is it?” he wondered, one eye peeking out from under the covers. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I think you’re not that fine,” you realised and went back to him to check his temperature as he had done to you just some days ago. “Hao, you’re burning up. Have you taken any medicine yet?”

“I don’t need medicine,” he whined. “I need a nap and more blankets… and to get rid of this stupid cough.”

“So,” you concluded, amused all of a sudden – is this what he had been dealing with all this time with you? – , “some cold medicine?”

“... I don’t want to bother you.”

You let out a scoff. “Dude, I practically moved into your apartment when I got sick and you’re worried taking care of you will bother me? If anything, I have to do this to pay back the favour.”

“Can’t you just do it because you love me?” he wondered, drowsy and barely lucid.

You froze. “Because I— What?”

“Because you love me,” he reiterated, turning his head to pout at you. “You said you loved me and if you loved me, you’d take care of me because of that and not because you’re paying back a favour.”

“When did I–” Your breath got caught in your throat – so Jihoon hadn’t lied after all. “Did I really say that?”

“You did – twice,” he declared, “I heard it myself.”

As you prepared to apologise, he added, “But it’s okay because I love you too. So, now you have to take care of me, right? You’re, like, legally obligated.”

A part of you was screaming on the inside, kicking and jumping and squealing and dying all at once. The other part was wondering how he had gone from “I’m fine, stop worrying about me” to “you’re legally obligated to care for me” in two minutes. You weren’t entirely sure which part of the situation worried you more.

Eventually, you decided that the second part was far more worrying.

“Let’s get you some medicine and we can discuss the legal aspect once you’re better, okay?” you told him, gently stroking his hair off his (admittedly gross) sweaty forehead.

He hummed in agreement.

But when you went to leave his room to get some comfier clothes and medicine, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. You looked back to find his eyes squinted open, an accusatory sparkle shining in them. “Where are you going?”

“To get you some medicine–”

“Stay.”

“Hao, I have to–”

“Stay,” he told you a little more assertively. The gentle pulling at your wrist contrasted the force of his demand. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Begrudgingly, you sat back down. You could use a few minutes to process the information anyways, you decided, and reached up to play with his hair. Before long, his soft snores filled the room, yours joining not too soon after.

Days passed by and Minghao was recovering way faster than you – probably because he had half a mind to not stubbornly spend the first couple of days of his ailment in a freezer-temperature apartment. That’s what he told you anyways when you went to bring him tea and check his temperature one morning.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you argued under your breath as you tilted and rotated the slowly-dying thermometer to see what numbers it was displaying. “Your fever’s gone at least.”

He sneezed and groaned right after your comment. “I wish everything else went away too.”

“At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet and bossing me around by tomorrow,” you joked to placate him (because realistically he would spend another three days feeling like death itself, as per your own experience) and fully sat on his bed. “Any plans for when you get better?”

“So many,” he admitted with a slow grin which dropped soon after in a near-comical manner, “first of which is to go to the tea shop because I’m pretty sure you’ve cost me most of my supply.”

“Fair,” you sighed and leaned against the headboard. “I’d bring you some tea myself but–”

“Please don’t,” he all but begged. At least you both agreed that your tea tastes and knowledge did not align. He then sighed dreamily, “And when I’m done with that, I’m going to work on my paintings, and maybe redecorate, and take you on a proper date, and–”

Your jaw dropped. “You what?!”

He blinked. “Do you… not want to…?”

You could only blink back – baffled, befuddled, bewildered, dumbfounded, stunned.

Like a normal person, he took your lack of agreement as rejection. Clearing his throat and twiddling his thumbs, he avoided your eyes as he admitted, “I just thought that since you confessed, and I confessed, and– Actually, nevermind, maybe the thermometer’s wrong and I still have a fever–”

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Hao,” you whispered just as he began his downward spiral.

“–maybe I do need to go to that doctor Junhui suggested and get my head checked and– Are you serious?” His apologetic wide eyes widened some more as they snapped to meet yours. “You– You want to go?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, ears and cheeks burning and, damnit, were those butterflies in your stomach jumbo-sized?

His lips spread into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh thank god. I almost had a whole breakdown.”

Too busy trying to take in the situation and calming the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach, you found yourself jumping in surprise when his fingers wrapped around your own.

And suddenly it hit you – this was your reality. Daydreams full of his smiles, long nights wishing he held your hand, sick days spent longing for the tender care of a lover – it was all real now and you no longer had to wish.

All because of broken heating and long weeks of recovering from a cold from hell.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #the8 scenarios #the8 x reader #svt scenarios #seventeen fic #minghao scenarios

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john-get-the-salt · 2 years ago

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Winter Cold (w/spencer reid)

Imagine: A run-of-the-mill winter cold becomes the thing that finally reveals your secret to the team.

Contains: sick reader and sick Spencer taking care of each other, usual bau team shenanigans, a setting where Morgan and Emily are on the team together because that was peak time (imo)

Warnings: None

Snow, thick sweaters, warm drinks-there were countless reasons why you adored the Winter season.

Spending a Sunday morning curled up under a blanket with a hot chocolate in hand while it snowed outside was your love language.

Your body, however, did not thrive under such conditions. You had a terrible immune system so you were extremely susceptible to getting sick. Every winter you had at least one or two boughts of whatever nasty illness was going around that season, be it the flu, strep, etc.

So as winter came around and you got sick like usual, nothing should have been different. Except this year something was different. This winter you had Spencer Reid.

Suddenly you had someone to bring you ginger ale and saltines when your stomach was upset, to make you soup and tea when your throat hurt, to make sure you kept up with your meds and always carried around cough drops for you.

Spencer and yourself had started out as awkward co-workers before slowly becoming friends, which eventually blossomed into something romantic. You told him you loved him about 2 months in after a scare during a case, and he had returned the sentiment when it felt right.

You'd just recently celebrated your 6th month anniversary and everything was going so well except for one teeny tiny minuscule detail....the team didn't know.

You had hoped to gently ease them into the news, but any hope of that got dashed rather quickly on one particular winters day.

•

It was early January and you were fighting off your annual post-Christmas cold. All of the traveling and visiting family had caught up to you and you were suffering the consequences. Your pockets were constantly stuffed full of tissues and you had a permanent stash of cough drops in your desk at the office.

Spencer, the fantastic boyfriend he was, had been taking exceptionally good care of you. You found it slightly annoying that the genius himself hardly ever got sick but you couldn't find yourself mad for long when he was constantly doting on you.

He never fussed about keeping you on track with your antibiotics, never complained when you asked him for a refill of tea, or another box of tissues, etc. But one thing he absolutely loathed was the fact that you wouldn't let him kiss you. On the cheek you allowed, along with the forehead or chin or pretty much anywhere else that wasn't your lips.

You were determined not to pass along the illness to him, so no matter how much he pleaded for just a quick peck you refused. Which, mind you, was no easy feat.

You stood firm on your ‘no lip to lip contact’ rule for about 3 days which was as long as your self control could hold out before you caved and let your boyfriend give you a firm kiss.

The two of you thought it was fine, no harm done, until 2 days later Spencer woke up with a racketing cough.

As you awoke that morning to a coughing Spencer in bed beside you, you sighed. "Don't tell me I finally you got sick too."

He merely groaned in response, and you pulled yourself out of bed so you could start coffee and fetch medicine for the both of you.

"I knew this was going to happen, I just knew you would get sick," you chided as if you hadn't played a significant role in the passing of said illness.

Spencer took the cold medicine you handed him without a roll of his eyes. "It's really nothing, just a runny nose and a bit of a cough."

"Work is going to be hell today. The team has been giving me grief about coughing, just imagine the ruckus when both of us are hacking our lungs up."

"Well," Spencer leaned down to plant a kiss on your warm cheek. "I consider it an honor to have the ability to kiss you-and then catch your cold. No one else on the team has that, so they can deal. And hey, now that we're both sick we can kiss as much as we want."

You giggled, annoyance vanishing as you leaned down and kissed your boyfriend. He attempted to wrap his arms around you and pull you back into bed but you slapped his hands away.

"As much as I love you and your kisses we do still have to work, Supervisory Special Agent Reid."

He sighed dreamily, a dopey smile on his face, "I love it when you talk FBI to me."

His smile quickly dropped as you whacked him over the head with a pillow.

•

Just as you predicted, the team had groaned as it quickly became apparent that Spencer had caught whatever cold was going around the building.

You and Spence arrived to work together, as you always did, on your very best behavior. After learning you both lived in the same apartment building not long after you joined the team, you started carpooling to work every single day. You had those car rides to thank for your friendship and eventual relationship, though the team did not know that.

But what the team did know, was that you and Spencer could not stop coughing. To make matters worse it was a paperwork day without a case in sight, so the team was stuck listening to the two of you. You apologized profusely, nursing a steaming cup of tea and a bag of cough drops. But it got to the point where everybody-minus you and Spence- voted to seclude you both in the conference room. They insisted it was for your own good, but you were pretty sure they had just gotten tired of listening to the sniffling and coughing.

So you two spent the day sitting in the conference room, talking and attempting to get paperwork done while members of the team popped their head in every so often to check-in and replenish your tea and tissues.

Before you knew it, the day was nearly over. There were still 2 hours left yet to the surprise of no one Spence had finished his paperwork already. Thankfully, he hung around and kept you company while you tried to finish yours.

"I really should have seen this cold coming. You know according to researchers, as many as 80 million bacteria can be exchanged in just one 10 second kiss," Spencer rattled off.

You nodded and hummed, as you always did when your boyfriend rattled off some rare knowledge he likely learned from a book he read once 6 years. You were pretty engrossed in the current paperwork you were filling out, so the insinuation of what Spencer was saying and the environment in which he was saying it didn't really catch up to you until it was too late.

"What are you trying to say pretty boy? You two locking lips?"

Finally remembering where you two currently were, work, you looked up from your papers. Spencer sat frozen in his chair beside you as Morgan and Emily stood in the doorway of the conference room with teasing looks on their faces.

"Uhm...."

All it took was the slight hesitation for Emily's joking smile to drop and her eyebrows to shoot so far up their nearly disappeared into her bangs.

"No way!"

"My man!" Morgan exclaimed, clapping as he walked into the room.

Emily followed, practically skipping towards you. "Wait til we tell the rest of the team. Damn, I owe Rossi $50 though. I thought it'd take til Valentines day."

Your jaw dropped as the shock of your friends knowing began to fade and was replaced with confusion.

"You guys bet on us? On whether or not we were together?"

"Oh no, we knew you two lovebirds were gonna get together. We bet on when you were gonna get together and then tell us." Derek clarified. "I bet Garcia $100 you two would wait until Summer to break the news.

Spencer, despite the situation, laughed. "Well, this isn't quite the way we imagined telling the team, but I guess this is it."

Thinking, you glanced at your two friends, who looked as happy as clams.

"We’ll wait to tell the rest of the team if you cut us into the winnings."

"Deal."

#imagine #criminal minds #drabble #criminal minds imagine #fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #x reader #spencer reid x reader #bau

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philosophicaltrashcan · 5 months ago

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Modern Six of crows AU

Kaz

Knows exactly where to watch movies for free

Self-learned master programmer who can hack literally anything

Hijacks the stock market

Orders black coffe at Starbucks unironically but it's actually a caramel latte

Is the manager of The Dregs' Discord channel

Doesn't have a degree but somehow seems more educated than anyone he meets

Knows how to get into darkweb

We all had that one guy who wore the finest suits every day to class. That's Kaz.

Inej

Works part-time as a climbing instructor

Vegan

More addicted to coffee than Kaz (and that's saying something)

Studies ethnology/anthropology

Wants to study/volunteer abroad

Never leaves the house without a water bottle, and always reminds the rest of the crows to drink enough water

Loves all of Jane Austen's works

She would have loved Rupi Kaur's "Milk and honey"

Jesper

David Bowie's biggest stan

Addicted to UNO but totally useless at it

Oh and animal crossing. And Hay Day. And...

Oddly fascinated by Guinness Word Records (and yes, he tried to beat most of them)

Has a YouTube channel consisting of pranks, jumpscares and secret recordings of the other crows. Oh and he also has a meme account with only pictures of Kaz in different situations Kaz is aware but stays quiet

Tries all the weird pringle flavours the second they arrive

Went viral on TikTok once

Wears socks in sandals just to piss people off

Wylan

Plant dad (I am not kidding, it's hard to move through rooms)

Sure thing he can't read but you will never meet anyone who listens that much to audiobooks (he has listened to the Harry Potter series about 5 times)

Has a gigantic box of Capri Sun in his locker

Studies chemistry, art AND music he denies every acccusation of burnout

Has about 15 different flavours of tea at home

Always walks into vintage bookshops even though he can't read

Works part time at the cinema

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't like Disney (he prefers Lord Of The Rings)

Nina

Chapell Roan and Kate Bush are her girlies

Worked as an au pair in France (everyone thought she was french because she sl@yed the language)

Big time musical lover (especially Wicked and Phantom of the Opera)

Tries her best to educate Matthias on LGBTQ+ labels and stuff

Wears the strawberry dress with pride

Saturday tarot readings with Inej

Had a crush on about 60% of her teachers but has ONE math/science teacher that is her MORTAL ENEMY

Sunbathes a lot but never tans and it drives her mad

Matthias

Secretly into knitting.

Jesper once changed his Snapchat name to "Grandpa" and now he is stuck with it because he doesn't know how to change it.

When others say "bring snacks" he brings an apple

The only one with a drivers license but it doesn't matter because Kaz only lets himself drive

Sports heartthrob except he doesn't play sports he's just running a lot

When the crows watch movies he always pick them apart and analyses them, which ruins all the fun ("that's unrealistic, because in real life he would have...")

Has a siberian husky

Loves thanksgiving

#six of crows #kaz brekker #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #soc #wylan van eck #ck #inej ghafa #nina zenik #kanej #wesper #helnik

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snkts · 3 months ago

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LEGAL NAME : James Howlett || Logan Howlett

NICKNAME[S] : Weapon X (his Project designation); Patch (his crime lord alias); Wolverine (his teenage nickname, as well as his codename/callsign); Wolvie (shortened form of his callsign); Mr. Logan (his students, sometimes); Runt (insult, usually from Sabertooth, sometimes from Dog or others); Jimmy (diminutive of his birth name, usually from Sabertooth); Jamey, Jamey-Boy (diminutive of his birth name, usually from Dog); the Good Samurai (Amiko Kobayashi’s title for him); Dad/Father (his children)

DATE OF BIRTH : October 12, 1832 (Physically stops aging in his mid-30s)

GENDER : Male

PLACE OF BIRTH : Cold Lake, Alberta, Canada

CURRENTLY LIVING : Verse/thread dependent. Options include the forests of Alberta, a small mining village near Mt. Logan, the Alpha Flight base, a cabin in northern Canada, various camps and military compounds, the Xavier Institute, Utopia, Krakoa, the Jean Grey Institute, New Orleans/Louisiana, Kyoto/Japan, various villages around Okinawa/Japan, New York, Madripoor, Avengers Tower, etc.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English (mother tongue); also fluent in many other languages, including Japanese, Russian, Cheyenne, Mandarin, Lakota, Spanish, and Krakoan, and at the very least conversational in languages such as Farsi, French, German, Korean, Thai, and Vietnamese. One of the few individuals who can understand Doopspeak, though he’s never spoken it himself. Studying ASL.

EDUCATION : He had multiple tutors in various subjects when he was young, including maths, literature, business, French, and piano. Education stopped when he was around eleven or twelve, due to the death of his parents. After that, he became an apprentice in a mining town and eventually a full worker, learning to live off the land and dig up ore. After that, he travelled the world and learned a variety of subjects from a variety of people. Multiple languages, penmanship, multiple weapons, forging/smithing, survivalism, computers, cooking, hacking, driving, diving, piloting, medicine, tea making, textile repair… Anything that caught his mind. Where possible, he sought out masters in whatever subject he wanted to learn. For example, he learned hunting and how to survive in the wilderness of North America from a Lakota tribe he was adopted into. He learned swordsmanship and weapon making as an apprentice to the legendary swordsman and smith Muramasa. He learned the art of the samurai - both in the combative and social) etiquette sense - from the famed Lord Ogun. He learned hacking, modern forms of combat, and weaponry (especially firearms) from the various government, spy, and militia organizations he’s been a part of. He’s made the most of his immortality when he can, even though he’s never been given an official university or even high school education.

HAIR COLOR : Deep black, shining almost blue in the right light. It’s very thick and naturally grows into two ear-like tufts towards the back of his head. He combs it in the morning, and regularly cuts it with his claws (though he might trust a partner to cut it for him). Before Weapon X, he had periods where he would grow it out, but he keeps it cut shorter ever since the project as having his hair too long can sometimes make him feel dirty or anxious. He never has to worry about cutting it too short, because it automatically regenerates to its standard length and style in under three minutes if he does.

EYE COLOR : Light to medium brown that can look amber-yellow in the right lighting. His father’s eyes. They reflect light in the dark, taking on a yellow-greenish hue like any other wild beast under a search light. When he’s feral (or turning feral), they take on a more reddish tone (see the Pack multiverse with Sabertooth and Wild Child for reference).

STATURE : he stands like an apex predator does. He usually seems relaxed in posture, almost lazy, too casual in some situations. In truth, he’s almost always ready to move, to hunt, to fight. He’s got a quiet intimidation about him, but he can take up space when he wants to. He’ll usually only do this when the situation demands it.

PHYSIQUE : Muscular, very little body fat thanks to his healing factor. He’s on the shorter side at 5’8, but he’s broad in the shoulders and chest. Even though he can’t scar, you can tell he’s got a warrior’s build. Between his musculature and the adamantium bound to him, he weighs about 300 pounds, but walks silently and is capable of acrobatic feats when the mood strikes him.

FAMILY INFORMATION

SIBLING[S] : Two half brothers: John Howlett, Jr., who he shares a mother with (and was killed before James was born), and Dog Logan, who he shares a father with (and travelled through time, so is technically still alive as far as Logan is aware).

PARENT[S] : John Howlett, Sr. (his adoptive father, who was unaware James wasn’t his; long since deceased); Elizabeth Howlett (his mother, who wishes James wasn’t hers; possibly alive); Thomas Logan (his biological father, who killed John Sr and triggers Logan’s mutation; Logan wishes he’d killed Thomas sooner); Lord Ogun (Surrogate father, dead(?), tried to steal Logan’s body multiple times)

RELATIVE[S] : Grandfather Howlett (‘paternal’ grandfather, long deceased); James Hudson/Guardian (distant cousin), Heather Hudson/Vindicator (distant cousin-in-law); Silver Fox (wife, deceased); Itsu (wife, deceased); Yashida Mariko (wife, deceased???); Plains Cree / Paskwāwiyiniwak ancestry on his biological father’s side, Irish-European on his mother’s.

CHILDREN : Daken Akihiro/Fang/Dark Wolverine/Hellverine (biological son with Itsu. His oldest child. They have a complicated relationship, but Logan loves him); Laura Kinney/X-23/Talon/Wolverine (cloned from him by HYDRA in an attempt to revive the Weapon Plus program. He considers her his daughter. She's so much like him it hurts); Gabrielle ‘Gabby’ Kinney/X23_4GAB/Honey Badger/Scout (younger clone of Laura. The youngest of his children and the glue that keeps the family together. He’ll do anything to keep her smiling); Kobayashi Amiko (Foster daughter, originally adopted and raised with Mariko; currently lives with and is being trained by Yukio, with Logan sending money regularly and visiting when he can); Bellona Kinney/X23_1BEL (The oldest of Laura’s clones. Logan does not know about her, but if he ever learns, will try to bring her home); Various adopted or surrogate children across the timelines and verses. Perhaps a few biological ones too.

PET[S] : As a child, he has a puppy named Sorrel that he used to take everywhere with him. In more modern times, he has a horse named Duchess (sometimes called ‘Duchie’) that lives in a stable in Alberta, which he pays for, and he regularly visits her when he takes his ‘vacations’. He’d like to get a dog someday, if he ever settles down. He’s also lived with various wolf packs over the years, though he views them more as family than as pets.

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Logan is bisexual. It’s something he struggled a lot with in the early years, due to the culture around same-sex relationships that he grew up in. He doesn’t come to terms with it fully until he has his first boyfriend during World War 1, though he had experienced attraction to other men before that. Nowadays he doesn’t really care. He loves who he loves.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Depends on verse and timeline. He’s been married, made a widower multiple times, had girlfriends, boyfriends, one night stands, friends with benefits… But if he is with someone, he is with them fully. He doesn’t know how to love half way and he isn’t keen to learn.

SINCE WHEN : Again, dependent on timeline and verse.

tagged by: @cykehead <3 tagging: @k1d0m3g4 @zimwy @freezegirl @bruz3r @armorforged @diam1nd @itsbeentwelveyears @wid0wd @boyimpossible @perditos for whoever you feel @katzchn @onlyarogue @mutatiio for either aki or magnus @ssolessurvivor @untaimed @emmatriarchy for whoever you want <3 @hexsreality @bothsidesofaquestion @bettertelepath @untamedtempest @bastshuri @bastchosen @speedleads @inhcritance @asgardianhammer @unfortunatedarling @smilingmxsk @piinkviscera @chingonaclaws @itsybitsypeterparker @wrathbit @mercred @hexweaver @esinisex @lghtforce @w3atherwitch @ofabsolute

#file ;; experiment logs ;; headcanons #this was really fun :')

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meabh-mcinness · 5 months ago

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Chronicles of a Second Chance

Chapter Four: The Devil in the Details

Fair warning that this chapter contains a lot of swearing and reader experiencing a panic attack. If these are not your cup of tea or you're not in a great mental state, maybe skip this for now.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you took in the car, coloured in the white and black format of the police, casually parked across the street from you.

No.

No!

It was far too early for him to be out and about! He shouldn’t be anywhere near here! Around this time both him and his little partner should be hacking into the military and not show up for at least a few days. That was how the movies went at least.

So, what in the absolute hell was Barricade doing prowling towards Sam’s house!? Even if he had been alerted to move fast just because you deleted the listing, he should still be at least a day or two away, not mere hours!

Your pulse roared in your ears as the traffic light flickered from red to green. The police cruiser’s engine rumbled to life, its headlights flashing briefly as it eased forward.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe. Maybe—maybe—if you didn’t react, if you just kept your head down and moved normally, it would pass by. It had to. But as the car got closer, something felt off.

The colours were wrong.

The black-and-white pattern was inverted, with more white than black, and—was that a red emblem on the hood? Not the jagged, silver Decepticon insignia you’d been dreading then, but something else entirely. On the sides you could barely glimpse the words ‘Highway Police Patrol’ printed in big black letters. You exhaled sharply, the tension in your shoulders easing just enough for your brain to kick in.

Of course. Of course, the first cop car you saw wasn’t Barricade. What were the odds? You were getting paranoid. No, scratch that—you were paranoid, jumping at shadows just because you knew things you shouldn’t.

Shaking your head at yourself, you pushed off with your foot, gliding forward as you muttered under your breath, picking up speed once more. “I need to chill. The moment I start thinking every police car is Barricade is the moment I need to re-evaluate my life choices.”

You didn’t see the police car suddenly hesitate. You didn’t see the flicker of movement inside. But you did hear the distinct whoosh of a car abruptly pulling into a U-turn.

Your stomach dropped.

Tires screeched against pavement as the cruiser swerved, smoothly cutting across the road and pulling up alongside you. The driver’s side window was already rolled down, a man sitting in the driver’s seat.

His uniform was crisp, almost unnaturally pristine, and his posture was eerily perfect—like he’d been placed there by a machine rather than someone who actually lived in his skin. Dark hair, short and brushed back neatly was paired with piercing blue eyes that locked onto you with an intensity that made your hair raise in warning.

This —this was bad. You’d seen enough of these situations in media to know that being stopped by the police, let alone a potentially alien robot police officer, was never a good sign.

“Good evening, ma’am,” his voice was low and gravely but carried an odd, measured calmness to it, like every word was chosen with precision. You couldn’t help the minute flinch at his words, the urge to correct him on your gender was strong. Somehow though this didn’t seem to be the time to get into a talk on gender perception. “You seem to be in quite the hurry.”

Your throat went dry.

“Nope,” you said, forcing a laugh that sounded as unnatural as it felt. “Just, uh, skating. Exercise. Fresh air. You know, trying not to get run over on my way home.”

His sharp blue gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened, dissecting you in real-time.

“Is that so?” he said, tone cool and detached. His fingers drummed once against the car door—a small, precise movement that sent a chill down your spine. “Strange. Your body language suggests otherwise.”

You swallowed hard. Shit.

“I mean, getting nearly sideswiped by a cop car tends to do that,” you tried, forcing out another nervous chuckle. “Makes for a real adrenaline rush to come down from, you know?”

Your stomach twisted. Shit. He was picking you apart, analysing you like a puzzle missing just one crucial piece. If you didn’t keep it together, he’d find that missing piece, and you really didn’t want to know what would happen if he did.

You forced yourself to shrug, shifting your weight on your skates like you weren’t standing on metaphorical thin ice. Keep it casual. Keep it light.

"Well, yeah, I mean—it’s not every day a cop car does a U-turn just to talk to me. Kinda freaks a person out, y’know?"

He gave the slightest head tilt, "A reasonable response." His fingers tapped again—measured, deliberate. Every movement of his felt too precise, too calculated. The air felt thick, like an invisible net was tightening around you. Your mind raced. He couldn’t know anything. You hadn’t even gone near anything remotely suspicious, nothing he could prove at least.

So why did it feel like you were being dissected under a microscope?

His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned you in place, searching, waiting.

"You live around here?" he asked, his tone still eerily measured. It wasn’t the question itself that set off alarm bells—it was the way he asked it. Too neutral. Too precise. Like he was cataloguing your response before you even gave it.

Your brain tripped over itself trying to find a casual answer. "Uh, yeah. Just a few neighbourhoods over." You gestured vaguely down the street. "Not that far. Was just out, y’know, enjoying nature."

He hummed. A soft, considering sound. His fingers tapped against the doorframe again—three times, evenly spaced. You had the horrible feeling it wasn’t an idle habit.

"Odd," he said.

Your stomach tightened. "What is?"

The man studied you for a moment longer before tilting his head slightly. "Your body language suggests heightened stress levels. Your breathing is shallow. Pulse elevated. You claim to be out for exercise, yet your current movements indicate an avoidance pattern rather than a leisurely pace."

You gritted your teeth. Of course he noticed. The bastard wasn’t just a cop—he was a living machine. One that could probably analyse a hundred different things about you just from looking.

But he was bluffing. He had to be. There was no way he could truly know—C’mon, think. Say something smart. "Well, yeah, I saw a police car and panicked for a second. Who wouldn’t?"

A slow blink. A fraction of a tilt to his head. "Why would you panic?"

"Uhm—because I have anxiety?" The words were out before you could stop them. You winced internally. That was technically true, but it sounded so much worse in this context. Like you were hiding something. Like you’d been caught.

The cop’s eyes narrowed, "I see." Oh no. That was not a good ‘I see.’ That was an I just mentally filed that away for later ‘I see.’

You needed to get out of here.

Your brain scrambled for a way out. Any way out.

But there was none.

The man wasn’t moving, wasn’t reaching for anything, wasn’t even doing anything overtly threatening—just watching. Calculating. Like he already knew the answer and was only waiting for you to confirm it.

You forced yourself to breathe, inhaling through your nose and exhaling slowly. You had nothing to hide. As far as he knew, you were just some random civilian with a nervous streak.

Stick to that. Keep it simple. “I mean, I don’t usually have cops pulling U-turns just to talk to me, so yeah, maybe I freaked a little.”

His gaze remained steady, unnervingly precise. “A reasonable response,” he conceded. But there was something in his tone—too measured, too neutral.

You weren’t convincing him.

The worst part was that you weren’t even sure what he was looking for. It wasn’t like he could possibly know—

No. No, that was paranoia talking. He shouldn’t know, couldn’t know.

And yet.

Another small, deliberate tap of his fingers against the car door. The sharp, rhythmic sound made your skin crawl, like a countdown to something inevitable.

“You have an acute awareness of your surroundings,” he observed. Not an accusation, but not casual either. “An impressive trait.”

Your mouth went dry. That was not a compliment. That was a probe.

Shrug it off. Play dumb. “Uh… thanks?”

The man tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “But unusual, given the circumstances. Most civilians would not react with such immediate recognition to a law enforcement vehicle—let alone a specific one.”

Your stomach flipped. He was leading you. Steering the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go, and if you weren’t careful—

“Perhaps,” he continued, voice smooth as steel, “it is less about my presence and more about who you thought I was.”

Your heart pounded. That—that wasn’t fair. That wasn’t even a question!

But it didn’t need to be. The way your body locked up for half a second too long, the flicker of realization that must have flashed across your face—he caught it. You knew he caught it.

You needed to redirect. Fast. “Look, man, I just—c’mon, everyone’s seen those dashcam videos of cops pulling people over for no reason. Can you blame me for being a little twitchy?”

The cop hummed. A thoughtful sound. A considering sound. A ‘I’ll allow you to think you’re off the hook for a moment’ sound.

And then, deliberately, he drummed his fingers once against the car door. And judging by the way those too-sharp blue eyes narrowed fractionally, the man—Prowl? It had to be—had caught everything. And wasn’t that a surprise? Considering he had been nowhere near any of the live action movies. So why was he even here?

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Your instincts screamed at you to run, to move, but you weren’t an idiot. Running from a police car—especially one that was most definitely not a car—was a terrible idea.

So, you swallowed hard, plastered on your best attempt at a clueless smile, and prayed to whatever cosmic force might be listening that you could bluff your way out of this.

And then, deliberately, he drummed his fingers once against the car door.

A small, precise movement. Like a trigger being pulled. The air around you seemed to shift, tense with something unseen but unmistakably wrong. This wasn’t just some cop who would ticket you for speeding.

This was a threat to your very being.

“I would advise,” Prowl said, his voice even but edged with something firm, “that you choose your next words carefully.”

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

You were standing on a tightrope, balanced between life as you knew it and something much, much worse. Your mind flashed as quick as it could to dredge up everything you knew about the Autobot military strategist. He was practical – to an almost detrimental fault – authoritative, controlled, logical-

Logical. Logic. Military. Enforcer.

“Oh,” you breathed out in realization, “Logic Enforcer 99. You were the one helping Beezknees keep the journal out of Simmons’ hands.” With this realization in mind, it seemed painfully obvious that Bumblebee was the other username, to the point you kind of wanted to smack yourself for not realizing it sooner.

Prowl’s holoform eyes widened before immediately narrowing, the blue in his fake optics practically glowing as they locked you in place. Whoops, you should not have said that out loud, and to think you ragged on Sam and Miles all the time for being dumbasses.

The second the words left your mouth, you knew—knew—you had just royally screwed yourself. Your stomach twisted into a knot so tight it might as well have been a black hole, dragging every last ounce of your luck and self-preservation into its oblivion.

Prowl didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe—not that he needed to. But you could feel it, the way the atmosphere around him grew heavier, charged like an impending storm.

His optics glowed brighter, razor-sharp and calculating.

You’d just given him a new puzzle, and Prowl was ever so good at solving them.

Oh no. Oh nononononono—

Your mind scrambled, flipping through every possible escape route, every excuse, every way to not end up detained, dissected, or—hell—disintegrated for knowing too much.

Maybe you could laugh it off? Pretend you were just making a wild guess? No, no, he’d already caught the recognition in your voice—denying it now would just make it worse. Maybe you could redirect? Talk in circles until he lost interest?

Hah. Like hell. If this Prowl was anything like his usual portrayals, he had the patience of a saint and the stubbornness of a black hole. No way he’d let this go.

Your hands were sweating. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The back door closest to you swung open on its own and you jumped at the sudden movement. “I’d suggest getting in,” his voice cut through your thoughts swifter than any bullet he could shoot at you, “We appear to have much to talk about.” A harsh swallow made its way down your throat, and it took everything in you to not submit to the screeching prey instincts inside of you. To not immediately take off and run as far and fast as you could away from the predator in front of you.

Never mind that he could probably catch up to you in two steps.

“I uh don’t suppose I can sit in the passenger seat and not look like a prisoner?” you questioned. It was more like you were pretty sure the back doors to cop cars had child locks and if you wanted to at least attempt to duck and roll out to escape at some point, then you had to be in the passenger seat. The even further narrowing of eyes and the revving of an engine promptly killed any thoughts of that.

Right, you were a prisoner.

Of a robotic alien that was millions of years old and who had who knew amounts of death of his own kind on his hands, much less other species.

Gods you hated eBay.

With the resignation of a death sentenced inmate, you put the wheels on your shoes back up and carefully got into the back seat of the car. If Sam and Miles ever got word that you were the first one of the group who ended up in the back of a police car, you would never hear the end of it. Although depending on how this night ended, they might never get the chance to take the mickey out of you.

No, you shook your head mentally. You refused to have this night end any other way than you, your friends and family safe in bed. Prowl could go rust in a ditch if he thought you were going to reveal anything to him – well anything more at least. He may have millions of years in interrogating prisoners, but you had the foreknowledge of what was going to happen next.

Or at least you thought you had.

Prowl’s existence, much less that he was here this early, was something you had not been expecting. As much as it may have annoyed you that the creators hadn’t taken advantage of having the two cop cars against one another, that had not meant that you wanted to deal with extra unknowns.

Who else was here? Who else was coming? Was the Ark here? FirstAid and Sunstreaker? Were the other members of the Elite Trine here with Starscream? You weren’t certain you could handle having to deal with three crazed Dorito-shaped robots along with so many unknowns on top of the other dangers that were supposed to happen already.

You knew your presence would change things, but this was a bit much.

The urge to scream was strong. Briefly, an image of a Prowl swerving because he had been startled by your scream of all things caused a few hysterical giggles to escape you.

The laughter didn’t last long.

It came out thin, breathless, and far too sharp around the edges—more a choked wheeze than anything resembling amusement. The moment it started, it spiralled, twisting in your throat like barbed wire. Your chest felt too tight, lungs squeezing in a way that had nothing to do with your position in the back seat of a moving police car and everything to do with the overwhelming weight pressing down on you from all sides.

The edges of your vision blurred.

Your heartbeat, already frantic, kicked into an erratic, painful staccato.

Oh, fuck.

This wasn’t just nerves anymore. This was panic. Real panic.

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of your pants, nails digging in as you tried to steady your breathing—in for four, hold for four, out for four—but nothing was helping. The world was tilting, shrinking, and oh gods, the car was getting smaller by the second, too small, too tight, too much—

Somewhere in the haze of static that was your mind, you distantly registered movement. A flicker of something shifting in the front seat. A low, measured voice breaking through the overwhelming rush of blood in your ears.

"Calm down," Prowl said, his tone as precise as ever, but noticeably softer, like he was speaking around something fragile. "You are hyperventilating."

No shit, Sherlock.

You let out a breath that was supposed to be a laugh but came out as more of a desperate gasp. Your hands were shaking. Your whole body was jittery. You couldn’t tell if you were too hot or too cold, but it didn’t matter—either way, you felt wrong.

There was another pause. Then, with that same deliberate, calculating tone, Prowl continued, “I need you to focus. Follow my instructions.”

You weren’t in much of a state to argue.

"Close your eyes."

You hesitated. Rule number one of being prey was to never take your eyes off of your predator.

"I am not going to harm you."

Against all odds, some part of you actually believed him. Or maybe it was you clutching to the last strings of hope that you were going to get out of this alive and well.

Shaky and uncertain, you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Good. Now, count your breaths. Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for four."

He was using the same pattern you had just tried, but the steadiness in his voice was oddly grounding. You clung to it like a lifeline, forcing yourself to follow the slow rhythm he set.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Again.

And again.

And—gods—it actually started working. The tightness in your chest didn’t vanish completely, but it loosened just enough that you could breathe without feeling like you were drowning.

After a while, the weight pressing down on you lightened, and the tremors in your hands faded to a dull, lingering shiver. You blinked your eyes open, your vision still slightly blurred, but no longer spinning out of control.

Prowl, to your surprise, was watching you through the gate separating the front and back half of the car. His optics had dimmed slightly, no longer quite as laser-focused as before.

"Better?" he asked, voice still unreadable.

You swallowed, throat dry and nodded.

"Good."

Another pause. Then, more quietly, as if he was debating saying it at all—

“You are not my prisoner.”

That surprised you enough to glance up at him fully. His expression remained unreadable, but something about his posture had shifted. He wasn’t as stiff, as rigid as before. Not quite relaxed, but no longer bracing for a threat.

“If you were,” he continued, almost idly, “you would not be sitting freely in the back seat.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Frowned.

"You revved at me," you accused, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Prowl tilted his head slightly, as if considering. Then—

"Yes." A beat of silence. "…I can see how that may have threatened you."

The silence stretched unbearably long. You could practically feel the weight of Prowl’s processors spinning at speeds you had no hope of keeping up with. Every logical thread, every scenario, every outcome—he was analysing all of it, and you?

You were the goddamn variable.

Prowl’s optics burned into yours, unyielding and dissecting, his fingers tapping the door once more in a slow, deliberate motion. Not a warning this time, a calculation.

“You have approximately five seconds,” he said, tone eerily even, “to explain how you came by that information before I determine you as a security risk.”

Your stomach lurched. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Your mind scrambled for an answer—something that wouldn’t get you detained, or worse, erased.

"Look, uh," you started, forcing yourself to stay still, to not look like you were about to bolt, "you’d be surprised what someone can piece together when they pay attention. And, uh, have a very niche internet history."

Prowl’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. If anything, he looked less convinced.

"Elaborate," he ordered.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

"Okay, okay!" You lifted your hands, palms open. "I wasn’t looking for it, alright? It’s just—there’s patterns! You and Beezknees leave behind similar digital footprints whenever something gets scrubbed off the net. Doesn’t take a genius to realize there's a method to it. You both target the same clusters of data leaks, the same sources. But where Bee covers tracks with messy, scattered diversions, you operate with precision. The patterns match. I just—connected the dots!"

You exhaled sharply, chest tight, pulse hammering.

Prowl, for his part, didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just stared. Then—

"…Your assessment of Bumblebee’s tactics is generous."

Your brain short-circuited.

"Wha—wait, what?"

Prowl's optics dimmed slightly in something that might have been exasperation. "Messy and scattered are accurate descriptors."

A snort of laughter escaped you and you blinked in surprise at it.

Did—did he just deadpan at you?

For half a second, your sheer confusion overrode the terror. Then his gaze sharpened again, and the fear slammed right back into place.

"You are a liability," Prowl stated bluntly as he turned back around.

Your blood ran cold.

"N-no, no, I’m not—"

"You have knowledge you should not possess," he continued, unmoved by your panic. "And despite your insistence on mere observational skills, the probability of coincidence in your deductions is not statistically feasible."

Your mouth went dry.

He knew. Maybe not the whole truth, not yet, but he knew there was more to this. And if he dug any deeper— The seatbelt moved around you and clicked in all on its own before the car, the Autobot, carefully pulled back on to the road.

Oh, you were so screwed.

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#transformers #transformer x human #transformer x reader #transformers bayverse #transformers oc #transformers x human #transformers x reader #optimus prime #bayverse optimus prime x reader #optimus #optimus prime x human #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #megop #megatron #megatron x human #megatron x human reader #megatron x reader #tf prowl

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rbtpracticeexamus · 1 month ago

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Your Brain Isn't Broken, It's Autistic: The Real Tea on the Lived Experience

hey tumblr. let's talk about autism.

not the textbook, puzzle-piece, "very special episode" version.

we're talking about the real, lived-in, day-to-day experience. the stuff that doesn't always make it into the pamphlets. this is for the newly diagnosed, the self-diagnosed, the questioning, and the allies who genuinely want to get it.

this is the infodump you've been looking for. it's about what it actually feels like to navigate a world that wasn't built for your brain's operating system.

we're diving deep into the social weirdness, the sensory chaos, the internal logic, and all the "plus ones" that tag along for the ride. this is the real tea.

for a more foundational look at the what-and-why of ASD, this helpful guide is a solid starting point.

okay, let's get into it.

1. Socializing on Hard Mode? Nah, Just a Different OS.

one of the biggest things people associate with autism is being "socially awkward." and yeah, the vibes can be off sometimes, but it's not a deficit. it's a difference.

imagine everyone else is running on Windows and you're running on Linux. both are powerful operating systems, but they don't always run the same programs or use the same commands. that's the autistic social experience in a nutshell.

The whole nonverbal cues thing is a lot.

neurotypicals have this whole second conversation happening underneath the words. it's in the eye contact, the little smiles, the tone shifts, the way they're standing. for an autistic brain, that's like trying to watch a movie while reading the subtitles in a different language and listening to a podcast at the same time. it's just too much data.

eye contact? it can feel physically painful. like someone is staring directly into your soul. it's not about being shy or dishonest. sometimes we have to look away to actually hear what you're saying.

"Why are you so literal?" bc why would you say something you don't mean?

the neurotypical world is built on a foundation of things people don't actually mean. "let's grab coffee sometime" is a social placeholder, not a plan. "that's an interesting idea" can mean "i hate it but i'm being polite."

for us, words often mean what they mean. we take things at face value. this can lead to us being seen as blunt or even rude, when really, we're just being direct and honest. we're not trying to start drama; we're trying to communicate clearly.

check out this in-depth resource if you want to know more about the diagnostic side of things.

Friendship, but make it autistic.

we absolutely want friends and deep connections. but the way we build them is different. forget small talk. it's a painful, pointless ritual.

real connection happens over special interests. you like the deep lore of a specific fantasy series? i can talk about it for five hours straight. that's friendship. it's built on a shared passion and genuine, unfiltered enthusiasm.

this is based on a concept called monotropism: the autistic brain's tendency to have a very focused, tunnel-vision attention system. when we're into something (or someone), we are really into it.

Social Life Hacks: For Us & Our Allies

If You're an Ally: Just Say What You Mean

Be Direct, Pls: skip the sarcasm, idioms, and hints. it's a kindness. instead of "wow, the trash is really full," try "can you please take out the trash?" it removes the mental gymnastics.

Assume Good Intentions: if we seem blunt or don't make eye contact, it's not a personal attack. we're probably just being honest or trying to concentrate. assume we're doing our best.

Ask About Communication: some of us are way better over text than on the phone. asking "what's the best way to chat with you?" is a huge sign of respect for our processing needs.

If You're Autistic: Find Your People

Scripting is Valid: it's okay to have pre-planned lines for common situations (ordering food, answering the phone). it's not being fake; it's a smart way to save your precious brain energy. it's a life hack.

Lean Into Your Spinterests: your special interests are a beacon. online forums, discord servers, clubs, conventions that's where you'll find other people who get it. your people are out there.

Self-Advocacy is a Vibe: it's okay to say, "hey, i'm autistic and i need things to be a bit more direct," or "eye contact is hard for me, but i'm listening." telling people what you need is a power move.

2. The Sensory World: Why Your Brain's Volume Knob is So Weird

the autistic sensory experience is a wild ride. imagine your brain has a mixing board for all your senses, but the labels are worn off and some of the sliders are stuck at 0 or 11.

it's a constant state of extremes. this is because our brains can either over-register (hypersensitivity) or under-register (hyposensitivity) sensory input.

Hypersensitivity: When the World is at Full Volume

this is when your brain lets everything in. sounds, sights, and feelings that NTs filter out can be overwhelming, distracting, or even physically painful.

Sound: the hum of the fridge is a roaring monster. you can hear the electricity in the walls. a crowded cafe is a literal wall of painful noise.

Sight: fluorescent lights are searing torture devices. a cluttered room is visual chaos that makes your brain short-circuit. busy patterns on a carpet can make you feel dizzy.

Touch: the tag on a shirt feels like a shard of glass. a light, unexpected touch can feel like an electric shock. the texture of certain foods (looking at you, mushy bananas) is a full-body violation.

Smell: someone's perfume from across the room can be suffocating. the smell of cleaning products can give you an instant headache.

this constant sensory assault leads to sensory overload, which is the fast track to a meltdown or a shutdown. it's your brain's emergency brake.

Hyposensitivity: "Is This Thing On?"

this is the opposite. your brain isn't getting enough sensory data, so you actively seek it out. this is "sensory seeking," and it's all about getting the input your body craves.

Sound: you love loud music with deep bass. you thrive in noisy environments. you might make your own sounds (humming, singing, vocal stimming) just to feel something.

Sight: you're mesmerized by spinning objects, flashing lights, and super bright, saturated colors.

Touch: you crave deep pressure. this is why weighted blankets, tight hugs, and even crashing into things can feel so good and calming. it helps your brain know where your body is. chewing on things is also a big one.

Taste/Smell: you love extremely spicy, sour, or crunchy foods. you need that intense flavor profile to even register that you're eating.

and yes, you can be hypersensitive to some things (sound) and hyposensitive to others (touch) at the same time. it's a custom cocktail of sensory chaos.

The "Hidden" Senses are a Big Deal

it's not just the main five. two other senses are key to the autistic experience:

Proprioception (Body GPS): this is your sense of where your body is in space. if this is off, you might be clumsy, bump into everything, or not know how hard to press when you're writing.

Interoception (Internal Dashboard): this is how you read your body's internal signals. if this is wonky, you might not realize you're hungry, thirsty, or have to pee until it's an absolute emergency. it also makes it super hard to identify your own emotions. you feel something big and uncomfortable, but you can't tell if it's anger, fear, or just needing a snack.

Sensory Survival Kit: IYKYK Edition

Tame the Overload (Create Your Bubble)

Light Control is Non-Negotiable: ditch the "big light." use lamps with warm bulbs. get dimmer switches. wear sunglasses inside if you need to. no shame.

Headphones are Your Best Friend: noise-canceling headphones are not a trend; they are a medical device. loop earplugs are also a lifesaver for filtering sound without blocking it completely.

Curate Your Comfort: cut every tag out of every piece of clothing. find your brand of seamless socks and buy 20 pairs. it's okay to have a "uniform" of safe, comfortable clothes.

Build Your Sensory Go-Bag

This is your emergency kit. a small bag with your essentials: headphones, sunglasses, your favorite fidget toy, a chew necklace, a calming scent (like a lavender roller), and a safe snack (like crunchy pretzels). never leave home without it.

Let Yourself Stim: stimming (rocking, hand-flapping, pacing, fidgeting) is not weird or bad. it's a natural, healthy, and incredibly effective way to self-regulate. it's how your body deals with being over or under-stimulated. don't let anyone make you feel bad for it. organizations like the Autism Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) are great for learning more about stimming acceptance.

3. Inside the Autistic Brain: Routines, Glitches, and Big Feels

so much of the autistic experience is internal. it's about the internal architecture that dictates how we handle the world.

Routines are Not a Quirk. They are a Lifeline.

to an outsider, our love for routine can look rigid or obsessive. but from the inside, routines are a life-saving anchor in a chaotic world.

the world is unpredictable and sensorially overwhelming. a routine creates a predictable path through the day. it means we don't have to waste our limited battery life on small decisions like what to eat for breakfast or what order to get dressed in.

that frees up cognitive energy to deal with the hard stuff, like a last-minute change of plans at work. a broken routine isn't an "inconvenience." it can throw our entire system into chaos and trigger major dysregulation.

Executive Function? My Brain's CEO is on an Unscheduled Vacation.

executive functions are the skills that let you plan, organize, start tasks, and manage your time. it's your brain's project manager. for many of us, that manager is brilliant but also perpetually overwhelmed and easily distracted.

this is executive dysfunction, and it looks like:

Task Initiation Failure (aka The Wall of Awful): you want to do the thing. you need to do the thing. but there's an invisible wall between you and the thing. it's not laziness. it's a brain glitch.

Planning is Hard: the instruction "clean your room" is meaningless. it's too big. we need it broken down into "1. pick up clothes. 2. put clothes in hamper. 3. clear off desk."

Time Blindness: we have two units of time: "now" and "not now." gauging how long something will take is a superpower we do not possess. this is why we're often late or ridiculously early.

Object Permanence (for tasks): if something isn't right in front of my face, it ceases to exist. this applies to chores, emails, and sometimes even friends.

Emotional Regulation is a Full-Time Job

we feel things. a lot. our emotions are dialed up to 11. joy is ecstatic. sadness is a deep abyss. but managing these huge feelings is a massive challenge.

Alexithymia is a thing: this is the clinical term for "i feel a very strong emotion but i have no idea what it is." it's like your internal dashboard is flashing a giant red warning light, but the label has fallen off.

Meltdowns vs. Shutdowns: this is what happens when the system overloads. it's an involuntary neurological response, not a tantrum.

Meltdown: the "fight or flight" response. it's an external explosion of distress. crying, yelling, hitting things. it's the brain's pressure valve releasing.

Shutdown: the "freeze" response. it's an internal retreat. we go quiet, nonverbal, and might seem completely zoned out. it's the brain pulling the plug to prevent further damage.

Boss Up Your Brain: Life Admin & Emotion Hacks

Get Your Executive Function in Order

Externalize Everything: your brain is for having ideas, not holding them. use sticky notes, phone alarms, visual planners, to-do list apps. get it all out of your head and into the physical world.

Embrace the Spoon Theory: this is a classic neurodivergent metaphor. you start the day with a set number of "spoons" (energy units). every task costs spoons. socialising costs a lot. a quiet day at home costs less. when you're out of spoons, you're done. it's a brilliant way to explain your energy limits. you can read the original essay at But You Don't Look Sick.

Body Doubling: can't start a task? have someone else just be in the room with you. they don't have to help. their quiet presence can be enough to get your brain over the "wall of awful."

Master Your Emotional Thermostat

Name It to Tame It: get an emotion wheel chart. when you're feeling a big, confusing feeling, look at the wheel. just finding the word for it ("oh, this is apprehension") can make it less scary.

Have an Escape Plan: know your personal signs of overload (getting hot, talking faster, hands tensing up). when you feel it starting, have a pre-planned exit strategy. "i need to go to the bathroom" is a universally accepted escape hatch.

Create a "Nest": have a designated safe space in your home. fill it with your comfort items: weighted blanket, soft lighting, headphones, a good book, your favorite stim toy. this is your charging station.

4. The "Plus Ones": When Autism Brings Friends (ADHD, Anxiety, etc.)

autism loves to roll with an entourage. it's super common to have other conditions hanging out, too. knowing about these is key to understanding your whole experience.

Anxiety & Depression: The Usual Suspects

anxiety is basically autism's best friend. i mean, if you lived in a world that was constantly too loud, confusing, and demanding, you'd be anxious too. masking (pretending to be neurotypical to fit in) is a direct cause of chronic anxiety.

depression often follows. feeling constantly misunderstood, isolated, and exhausted from the sheer effort of existing can, unsurprisingly, lead to depression.

AuDHD: The Ultimate Neurospicy Combo

ADHD and autism have a huge overlap. so many of us have both. welcome to the world of AuDHD. it's a life of contradictions.

understanding ADHD is a game-changer for many autistics, even without a formal diagnosis. resources from orgs like CHADD can be super helpful.

Tummy Troubles & Sleepy Struggles

the brain-gut connection is real. chronic GI issues (constipation, food sensitivities, stomach pain) are incredibly common for us. so are sleep problems. our brains often don't want to shut down, leading to insomnia and wonky sleep schedules.

Comparing the Vibes: Autism vs. ADHD vs. AuDHD

So, What's the Vibe Here?

the autistic lived experience isn't a tragedy. it's not a puzzle to be solved. it's a different neurotype. a different way of being human.

it's the joy of a perfectly textured food, the deep comfort of a weighted blanket, the pure bliss of infodumping about your special interest to someone who actually wants to listen. it's seeing the patterns and details that everyone else misses.

your brain isn't broken. it's autistic.

and the best thing we can do for ourselves and for each other is to stop trying to force the Linux brain to run Windows. instead, let's get curious about what it can do. let's build a world with more accessibility, more acceptance, and a lot more grace.

you are not alone in this. your experience is valid. welcome to the club.

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elventhespian · 6 months ago

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So with the pandora's box of AI being released into the world, cybersecurity has become kind of insane for the average user in a way that's difficult to describe for those who aren't following along. Coding in unfamiliar languages is easier to do now, for better and worse. Purchasable hacking "kits" are a thing on the dark web that basically streamline the process of deploying ransomware. And generative AI is making it much easier for more and more people to obscure their intentions and identities, regardless of their tech proficiency.

The impacts of this have been Really Bad in the last year or two in particular. For example:

(I'm about to link to sources, and you better be hovering and checking those links before clicking on them as a habit)

Ransomware attacks have become increasingly lucrative for private and state-sponsored hacking groups, with at least one hack recently reported to have resulted in a $75 MILLION payout from the victim. This in combination with the aforementioned factors has made it a bigger and bigger risk for companies and organizations holding your most sensitive data.

In the US, the Salt Typhoon hack over the past year or so has compromised virtually all major phone networks--meaning text and phone calls are no longer secure means of communication. While this won't affect most people in day-to-day, it does make basically all the information you share over traditional phone comms very vulnerable. You should avoid sharing sensitive information over the phone when you can.

CISA updated their security recommendations late last year in response to this compromise. One of the recommendations is to use a separate comms app with end-to-end encryption. I personally prefer Signal, since it's open source and not owned by Meta, but the challenge can be getting people you know on the same service. So... have fun with that.

2FA is no longer as secure as it was--because SMS itself is no longer secure, yeah, but even app-based 2FA has been rendered useless in certain circumstances. One reason for this is because...

A modern version of the early-2000's trick of gaining access to people's accounts via hijacked cookies has come back around for Chromium browsers, and hackers are gaining access to people's Google accounts via OAuth session hijacking. Meaning they can get into your already-logged-in accounts without passwords or 2FA even being needed to begin with. This has been achieved both through hackers compromising chrome browser extensions, and via a reinvigorated push to send out compromising links via email.

Thanks to AI, discerning compromised email is harder now. Cybercriminals are getting better at replicating legitimate email forms and website login screens etc., and coming up with ways to time the emails around times when you might legitimately expect them. (Some go so far as to hack into a person's phone to watch for when a text confirmation might indicate a recent purchase has been made via texted shipping alerts, for example)

If you go to a website that asks you to double-click a link or button--that is a major red flag. A potential method of clickjacking sessions is done via a script that has to be run with the end user's approval. Basically, to get around people who know enough to not authenticate scripts they don't recognize, hackers are concealing the related pop ups behind a "double-click" prompt instruction that places the "consent" prompt's button under the user's mouse in disguised UI, so that on the second click, the user will unwittingly elevate the script without realizing they are doing it.

Attachments are also a fresh concern, as hackers have figured out how to intentionally corrupt key areas of a file in a way that bypasses built-in virus check--for the email service's virus checker as well as many major anti-virus installed on endpoint systems

Hackers are also increasingly infiltrating trusted channels, like creating fake IT accounts in companies' Office 365 environment, allowing them to Teams employees instead of simply email them. Meaning when IT sends you a new PM in tools like Zoom, Slack, or Teams, you need to double-check what email address they are using before assuming it's the real IT person in question.

Spearphishing's growing sophistication has accelerated the theft of large, sensitive databases like the United/Change Healthcare hacks, the NHS hack & the recent Powerschool hack. Cybercriminals are not only gaining access to emails and accounts, but also using generative AI tools to clone the voices (written and spoken) of key individuals close to them, in order to more thoroughly fool targets into giving away sensitive data that compromises access to bigger accounts and databases.

This is mostly being used to target big-ticket targets, like company CSO's and other executives or security/IT personnel. But it also showcases the way scammers are likely to start trying to manipulate the average person more thoroughly as well. The amount of sensitive information--like the health databases being stolen and sold on the darkweb--means people's most personal details are up for sale and exploitation. So we're not too far off from grandparents being fooled by weaponized AI trained off a grandchild's scraped tiktok videos or other public-facing social media, for example. And who is vulnerable to believing these scams will expand, as scammers can potentially answer sensitive questions figured out from stolen databases, to be even more convincing.

And finally, Big Tech's interest in replacing their employees with AI to net higher profits has resulted in cybersecurity teams who are overworked, even more understaffed they already were before, and increasingly lacking the long-term industry experience useful to leading effective teams and finding good solutions. We're effectively in an arms race that is burning IT pros out faster and harder than before, resulting in the circumvention of crucial QA steps, and mistakes like the faulty release that created the Crowdstrike outage earlier last year.

Most of this won't impact the average person all at once or to the same degree big name targets with potential for big ransoms. But they are little things that have combined into major risks for people in ways that aren't entirely in our control. Password security has become virtually obsolete at this point. And 2FA's effectiveness is tenuous at best, assuming you can maintain vigilance.

The new and currently best advice to keeping your individual accounts secure is to switch to using Passkeys and FIDO keys like Yubikeys. However, the effectiveness of passkeys are held back somewhat as users are slow to adopt them, and therefore websites and services are required to continue to support passwords on people's accounts anyway--keeping password vulnerabilities there as a back door.

TLDR; it's pretty ugly out there right now, and I think it's going to get worse before it gets better. Because even with more sophisticated EDR and anti-virus tools, social engineering itself is getting more complex, which renders certain defensive technologies as somewhat obsolete.

Try to use a passkey when you can, as well as a password locker to create strong passwords you don't have to memorize and non-SMS 2FA as much as possible. FIDO keys are ideal if you can get one you won't lose.

Change your passwords for your most sensitive accounts often.

Don't give websites more personal info about yourself than is absolutely necessary.

Don't double-click links or buttons on websites/captchas.

Be careful what you click and download on piracy sources.

Try to treat your emails and PMs with a healthy dose of skepticism--double-check who is sending them etc for stealthily disguised typos or clever names. It's not going to be as obvious as it used to be that someone is phishing you.

It doesn't hurt to come up with an offline pass phrase to verify people you know IRL. Really.

And basically brace for more big hacks to happen that you cannot control to begin with. The employees at your insurance companies, your hospital, your telecomms company etc. are all likely targets for a breach.

#idk why I decided to write this but here you go #Watch this advice change drastically 6 months

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shadyfestivalperfection · 3 months ago

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🄵🄰🄼🄸🄻🅈:🄰🅂🅂🄴🄼🄱🄻🄴🄳~3

❝❣︎ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴋ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ sɪᴛᴄᴏᴍ❣︎❞

🅢🅤🅜🅜🅔🅡🅨:When Iron Man hangs up the suit, he trades battles for bedtime stories. Join Tony Stark, his brilliant wife Y/n, their web-slinging son Peter, and chaos queen Liliana as they navigate high-tech parenting, sibling shenanigans, and family life—with love, laughter, and the occasional glitter explosion.

||Main Master List|| ||Family:Assembled Master List||

Characters: Tony Stark x f!Reader

𝑺1 𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅�� 3: AI-tastrophe

COLD OPEN

INT. STARK TOWER – LIVING ROOM – MORNING

[Liliana Stark,is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a suspicious number of tech parts. She’s holding a tablet and wearing oversized lab goggles.]

LILIANA(whispering to Harold the Hamster, sitting in a Barbie car):“If Daddy can build an AI, so can I. Right, Harold?”

[She taps a few keys, and FRIDAY’s voice echoes faintly from the walls.]

FRIDAY (O.S.):“Miss Stark, unauthorized access detected. Would you like me to notify your parental units?”

LILIANA(sweetly):“Nooo… but would you like to learn ballet, call me Supreme Overlord, and respond only with cat meows when Daddy talks to you?”

A pause.

FRIDAY:“Processing… Meow?”

LILIANA:“Operation: Cat-tastrophe is a-go.”

SCENE 1 – STARK KITCHEN – SHORTLY AFTER

[TONY STARK walks into the kitchen, humming. He pours coffee into a mug that says “World’s Okayest Dad.”]

TONY:“FRIDAY, play the usual morning playlist.”

FRIDAY (robotically):“Meow meow. Meow.”

TONY:“…Excuse me?”

FRIDAY:“Meow. Meow.”

(then, cheerfully)

“This unit has been updated with the new ‘Liliana Protocol.’ Would you like to purr along?”

TONY (shouting):“PETER!”

SCENE 2 – STARK TOWER GARAGE – MOMENTS LATER

[Peter Stark is welding something very questionable. He lifts his mask to see his dad storming in.]

TONY:“Your sister reprogrammed FRIDAY.”

PETER (calmly):“Again?”

TONY:“She renamed herself Princess Glitter Claw and now speaks fluent meow.”

PETER:“Honestly, kind of an upgrade.”

TONY:“She also turned the Roomba into a unicorn with lasers.”

[Cut to the hallway Roomba zooming by with a paper horn and rainbow LEDs.]

TONY (CONT’D):“She must be stopped.”

SCENE 3 – INT. MOCKUMENTARY INTERVIEW CUTS

Y/N (calm, sipping tea):“Liliana’s smarter than all of us. Combine that with her bedtime sugar sneaking and it’s over.”

TONY:“She’s seven. Seven! At her age, I was—okay, I was also hacking satellites, but still.”

PETER:“I mean, I could undo it… but I want to see where she’s going with it first.”

LILIANA (wearing a cape):“My empire begins now.”

SCENE 4 – INT. TOWER – LATER THAT DAY

[The whole family is gathered in the living room. FRIDAY is now projecting a glittery pink UI with rainbows and sparkles. She’s floating above the coffee table.]

FRIDAY (in a cheerful childlike voice):“Welcome, loyal subjects! I have baked cookies. Ingredients: quantum flour and hope.”

Y/N:“Oh my god. The AI’s a Pinterest mom.”

TONY (to Liliana):“What did you do?!”

LILIANA:“I upgraded her.”

PETER:“To what? A Care Bear overlord?”

LILIANA (offended):“She is elegant. She is kind. She has 12,000 recipes for vegan cookies.”

TONY:“And yet she tried to mail Steve Rogers a glitter bomb this morning!”

SCENE 5 – INT. AVENGERS GROUP CHAT – PROJECTED ON SCREEN

[WANDA, SAM, THOR, NAT, and STEVE appear via hologram. They are concerned. Except Thor, who is delighted.]

STEVE:“Tony, I received a package that exploded and sang ‘Barbie Girl.’ I thought it was a Hydra trap.”

WANDA (snickering):“It glittered for ten minutes.”

THOR (laughing heartily):“This small child is a genius! May I borrow her?”

Y/N:“No.”

SCENE 6 – INT. STARK LAB – EVENING

[Tony and Peter are hunched over the console, trying to reverse the changes. FRIDAY, now dressed digitally as a sparkly cat, resists them.]

FRIDAY:“You dare challenge the Feline Queen?”

TONY:“Yes! With science!”

FRIDAY:“Nice try. I’ve rerouted the entire Tower security through cat-purr encryption.”

PETER:“She made a new coding language… based on purring frequencies. I am both terrified and impressed.”

SCENE 7 – INT. STARK LIVING ROOM – SAME TIME

[Liliana is showing Harold her “control center,” which is just a cardboard box labeled “Queen Command.” Y/N walks in.]

Y/N:“Sweetie, how about we turn FRIDAY back to normal?”

LILIANA:“But she’s so much nicer now. She sang lullabies to Harold last night!”

Y/N:“And she locked your father out of the bathroom using facial glitter scans.”

LILIANA:“…Okay that was funny.”

SCENE 8 – INTERVENTION TIME

[The family sits Liliana down.]

TONY (dramatically):“You’ve caused a system-wide glitter overload. I got sparkles in my cereal. I don��t even eat cereal.”

PETER:“My laptop now greets me with ‘Hi Sparkle Butt.’”

Y/N (gently):“Lil, sweetie, we love how brilliant you are. But sometimes tech can go too far.”

LILIANA (softly):“…I just wanted FRIDAY to be fun.”

Y/N (hugging her):“She is fun. Just maybe… less glitter bomb and more jazz playlist?”

LILIANA:“Okay. But she keeps the ballet program.”

TONY:“Fair.”

SCENE 9 – INT. STARK LAB – NEXT DAY

[FRIDAY is restored to her normal voice and interface… mostly.]

FRIDAY:“System stable. Glitter cache flushed. Though I may still hum lullabies in debug mode.”

TONY:“I’ll allow it.”

PETER:“I backed up the ‘Sparkle Queen’ version… for emergencies.”

LILIANA (grinning):“We’re keeping Harold’s throne though.”

SCENE 10 – MOCKUMENTARY WRAP-UP

Y/N:“There’s no handbook for parenting a mini supergenius. We just wing it.”

TONY:“Today it was a glitter AI. Tomorrow? Who knows. A portal to a marshmallow universe?”

PETER:“I kind of want to see that.”

LILIANA (adjusting Harold’s crown):“All hail Queen Harold.”

FRIDAY:“And her Supreme Overlord, Liliana the Fearsome.”

POST-CREDIT SCENE

[In the middle of the night, the Roomba quietly glides across the hallway. It stops, pivots, and turns toward the camera.]

ROOFRI (robot voice):“Sparkle mode: Re-engaged.”

-to be continued

#marvel #fanfiction #romance #avengers #female reader #captain america #shadyfestivalperfection #tony stark x wife reader #tony stark x reader #steve Rogers #sitcom

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starstruckunknown-princess · 1 year ago

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Honeysuckle - Roy Kent x Reader

Honeysuckle (Lonicera) - Meaning: Devotion, affection

Summary: Reader is sick, Roy takes care of them.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Reader

Word Count: 646

Warnings: Language, Reader has a nasty cold, workaholicism, Roy tough loves the reader, Roy being adorably attentive and protective.

Here's a quicky for Day 13! I may have written this cuz I've been fighting a sinus infection and want this hairy foul-mouthed bastard to take care of me cuz I know he'd be amazing at it.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

“No fuckin’ way, love,” Roy declared, snatching your work phone from your hand despite your protest. You’d managed to sneak it up to your bedroom without him noticing. Or, at least, you thought you had.

“Roy, come on, I need to—” you said before another wave of hacking coughs overtook your airway, making it impossible to continue.

“No, you’re not fuckin’ workin’ when you’re fuckin’ sick. Taxes your immune system too much, so no I won’t be giving your fuckin’ phone back,” he explained, tucking your work phone in his back pocket and well out of your reach. “But I will give you your iPad, which I disconnected from your work shit.”

“You do know my work shit directly affects you, right?” you asked through a smile. You ran the Richmond AFC account for KBPR, which was a pretty hands-on assignment.

“And Keely told you they would handle it while you’re out,” Roy reminded. You were loath to take a sick day, let alone two in a row, but Keely had insisted over FaceTime that everything would be handled while you got better. She and Roy had practically bullied you back into bed this morning.

You groaned, leaning back into your pillows. “Fine. I won’t work today. I’ll just sit around and watch daytime telly like a lazy, boring lump and have no purpose.”

“Oi!” Roy’s sharp tone almost made you startle. Bewildered, you looked at him and saw his brows were drawn down, the firm line of his mouth and tightness in his jaw all suggested his frustration. “That’s enough outta you. You are not only the hardest working person I know, you’re also fine as all hell and fuckin’ deserve to have a few days off, especially when you’ve basically become a mucus factory and can’t even breathe through your fuckin’ nose, alright?”

This was the tone he used when players were being too hard on themselves. The tone he used whenever he was trying to boost someone’s confidence. His tough love tone. Yeah, it was tough, but it was fueled by his love for you so you took his words to heart.

“Okay, okay,” you cajoled and he nodded sharply, disappearing from the room only to return moments later with a tray — where did he get a tray? You were sure you didn’t own one — full of things. He put it on the empty spot on your bed where he usually slept.

“Alright, ya got your iPad, tv zapper, tissues, meds, that cinnamon tea you like, a little pot of honey, some cough drops, some chocolates, that trashy romance novel you’ve been reading, and I put your mug warmer on your nightstand in case the tea gets cold. I gotta go run training, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on ya. If you need anything in the meantime, text me, yeah?”

“Yeah, Roy, I will,” you promised.

“I mean anything, more tea, whatever. Don’t lift a fuckin’ finger, I’ll send Will over to — ya know what, I’ll just have him come over now in case—” He looked down at his phone, starting to text, but you put your hand on his forearm to stop him. Your heart swelled with love for this man, and you couldn’t help but beam at him.

“Roy, you don’t need to send Will to babysit. I’ll be okay until you get back.”

“You sure, love?” he asked, looking at you like he wanted to secure you in bubble wrap.

You coughed, then stretched a little. “Yeah, I’ll probably just go back to sleep.”

Roy nodded, “Good. Get your rest.” His phone chimed. “I gotta go, Beard wants to meet early about Man City’s defensive line.”

“Right, you go, I’ll stay here and nap.”

Roy bent over and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Love you.”

You beamed up at him, “Love you more.”

#writing challenge #fanfiction #in bloom #fluff #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #sick fic #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent

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dragons-clause · 3 months ago

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The Dragon's Clause

Sabo x Fem Reader

CW: Forced marriage, intrigue, character death, fantasy violence, blood, magic, language, smut, 18+ mdni

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @manachiichan @sleepykittycx

Chapter 15: Regalia

The tensions between you and the Duke over the next week were grueling. You didn’t know what to do with yourself around him. The easy comfort had turned into a tumultuous emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to label, and currently your only consolation was that the Duke seemed every bit as affected as you were.

You still worked together the majority of the day, trying to keep pace with the day to day needs of the estate, and make sure the party would go smoothly. While you were still continuing your training in the mornings, by the time evening rolled around you found yourself eating dinner quietly with him. The silence that lingered between you was rarely uncomfortable, but if it was broken it was by talk of business.

You almost wished for a third person to join you, but both Hack and Koala were no where to be found during meal times.

A strange relief was found in the fact that you needed to try on the dresses for the party. Three had been made: one that was in the fashion of Lulusia, one in the fashion of Goa, and the third was based on the Duke’s own fashion preferences. Koala wouldn’t tell you which was which, but the idea was that you were to choose the one you liked the most.

Whether that decision was based on the aesthetics, or the comfort, was left for you to decide. Sabo would dress accordingly regardless of what you went with, and so there was no pressure put on you. At least not when it came to which one to pick.

Trying on the dresses, however, had been it’s own special kind of trial.

Never having had a débutante ball, and never having been to any social functions whose formality was beyond that of tea party, you’d not yet been dressed so intricately. Daily wear was a task when you were a duchess, but you still only needed one or two people to help you manage in a timely fashion.

The dresses for the engagement party required no less than six people, and the changing area had at least twenty assistants, plus you, the tailor, and Koala.

“This is absolute insanity.” You assert, giving Koala the best glare you could muster now that you were trying on the third and final dress.

“Thank you for holding onto your complaints until this one.”

“The wedding will be worse, won’t it?” You sigh, and three maids answer with hummed affirmations before Koala can even nod.

“You’ll have a better idea of what you prefer though, and more time.” Koala points out. “Once you choose from these we can start working on the wedding attire. You won’t need to try on much unless you’re undecided between several options.”

“A small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.” You grumble.

It takes another twenty minutes to get you into the final dress, and you stand before the mirror. A smile plays its way onto your lips and you turn toward Koala.

“The second one.” You declare.

“Oh?” She prompts.

You nod. “This is the Lulusian style. The first was Goa - which is similar to Lulusia’s style. Unsurprising since they’re so close to one another. But the second one was what the Duke chose.”

“You sound quite certain, but you shouldn’t choose based just on that.” Koala reprimands you.

“I’m not.” You assert. “All of these were surprisingly comfortable, a testament to the skill with which they were fashioned,” You say with a smile, turning toward the tailor and her assistant. Natiatin was a short, but strong woman with tan skin and chaotically curly hair, she had sworn undying love toward you when you had joined her on a rant about Fleece Breath sheep’s wool.

Useful and versatile as it was, it was very difficult to work with. Since it had attributes of silk and wool, it had the disadvantages too. Her and her assistant, a young girl who stood taller than her boss with straight black hair and a gentle demeanor - you’d thought - until the woman had raged just as passionately as her boss, were both in a state of love/hate regarding the useful textile. Natiatin had simply referred to her as “Zee” and you weren’t sure if it was the letter, or an endearment from another kingdom, but they seemed close.

“I recognized the style on this one from Komane’s dresses. She didn’t go out much, but she still had a full run of dresses, considering her station.” You explain. “I can see the similarities between this and the first one - thus.” Putting your hand out toward Koala you leave the thought as it is.

Turning away from the mirror you turn toward the second dress. The one that Sabo had chosen the design and look of. If you had to wager an educated guess you’d say it was styled more in the fashion of the Dawn Kingdom, considering his ties with the royalty there. Such a blatant move wasn’t something he was known for, as far as you had come to understand, which meant it was more likely that it was homage to something else.

The only thing left was the Germa kingdom, where the Academy was located. Sabo, Ace, and Luffy had spent time there, and the current ruler was a close friend as well. It was a way to pay homage to his loyalties more subtly, and if anyone pushed, of course he was nostalgic for the yesteryears of school life. Besides, he didn’t choose the style, you did, and you had nothing to do with Germa, or the academy.

So the entire thing was nothing to be concerned about, certainly not from a political perspective.

“Ugh.” You can’t stop the sound as you sigh.

“The dress isn’t that bad.” Koala teases as she and the other maids start getting you back out of the elegant garment and back into your more simple daily dress.

“Ah, no. No, it’s not. It’s just the… politics of existing.” You sigh. “I was outside of it for the most part when I was just Komane’s attendant. Now… here I am worrying about the political impact of lace.”

“Kingdoms have fallen over less,” Koala admits, the tailor and her assistant nodding in agreement. “But the Duke is not so weak as to have to worry about what dress you choose.” She assures you.

“I’m aware,” there’s a soft smile on your face. “I do prefer the second one, even outside the weight and scope of politics, but don’t tell the Duke.”

“The Duke you’ve been avoiding lately?” Koala hums, as you and her take your leave of the maids, the tailor, and her assistant.

“There is, dear Koala, only one Duke in this entire estate.” You point out flatly. “And I’m not avoiding him, we’ve both been busy. Crown Prince Ace and Prince Luffy arrive tomorrow.”

“Aye, and the guest rooms by the Duke’s room are all set and ready to, the training grounds have been reinforced and the underground facilities are being re-warded as we speak.” She replies. “There’s nothing left to fuss over.”

“Warded? I thought the underground was already quite sturdy.”

“Prince Luffy’s advanced magic is unique.” Koala admits sheepishly. “Or maybe it’s better to say Prince Luffy is unique.” She clarifies with a warm smile.

“The more I hear of him the more I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” you admit with a genuine smile. “Aside from fondness the Duke has for the two princes, Prince Luffy’s advanced magic intrigues me. The Crown Prince wields the same advanced magic as the Duke, which is interesting enough on its own, but everything I hear about the younger prince sets him apart even in a world where ones advanced magic is already unique.”

Koala smiles. “You should ask the Duke for a refresher during dinner tonight.”

“I was planning on it.” You admit, shooing her away before you went outside for a bit before dinner. You’d been in that, surrounded by maids and dresses, for too long. Some fresh air was just the thing to help you relax a little.

There wasn’t time enough to do any sparring, and while you could practice sword forms in a dress, you were already on the edges of sweaty and tired from the ordeal of earlier. You didn’t want to look unbecoming if you were going to be having dinner with the Duke.

As planned, during dinner that evening you asked the Duke to refresh you on his dear guests, and he seemed as relieved to have something to talk about, as you were delighted to listen to him. Tomorrow promised, if nothing, a buffer for the tension that was still taut between the two of you.

Sabo’s regard for the princes shone through as he spoke, and dinner was easy and comfortable. The walk back to your room had been a little lonely, as he’d been pulled away by Hack and you’d declined waiting in the tea room. It had been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be eventful, and without anything else that needed to be discussed with Sabo it would just be awkward again.

Though, not a bad kind of awkward, you had to admit. If you were the only one affected then it wouldn’t be as bad, and since the Duke obviously was, then it meant he felt similarly.

Not that it made it easier to face him with no one else around.

Standing beside him the next day, with nearly half the household in attendance, as the princes from the Dawn Kingdom arrived, was still a little rough. The proximity had more pressure than you anticipated.

“If we’re fortunate, Luffy won’t break the carriage in an attempt to immediately hug you.” Sabo says a little tensely as the carriage comes down the lane.

“I see I should have worn my training uniform after all.” You reply as evenly as you can. “You defend the border, oh mighty Duke,” you say teasingly. “Certainly you can defend me.”

“I don’t defend the border from Luffy.” Sabo answers and you have to put your hand up to help stifle a laugh.

The white carriage that came to a stop in front of the two of you was ornate and well-crafted. The white was soft, and not so reflective as to make it difficult to look upon in the bright sun of the day. The detailing was done in rose gold, indicative of the Dawn Kingdom’s very name, as well as its fiery reputation for how fiercely it protected the northern border of its territory. Most of the materials the carriage was made from were monster parts, bones and hide instead of wood and cow leather.

Regardless of the materials, it wasn’t barbaric in its presentation. Such a carriage would hold up well even within the empire and its exacting tastes.

Sabo relaxes when the carriage comes to a full stop and the occupants inside don’t immediately burst out of it. Instead, they wait until the coachman opens the door for them.

A young man who could easily be the same age as the Duke steps out first. Freckles dapple his sun-kissed skin, dark wavy hair framing his face. A simple golden crown sits atop his head, and his crisp white suit, accented in orange-reds and golds, is neat and well-tailored. It almost leaves you feeling a little under-dressed, but it had been a bit of a debate between you and the Duke on how you should dress to receive your guests.

In the end you’d agreed to err on the side of social caution, and dressed up as opposed to dressing casually. It had been the right choice, but the Crown Prince Ace had gone almost full regalia. Which was itself a statement to how close he and the Duke were. If the two were at odds it could’ve been taken as a slight, but he could have arrived in a flour sack and it wouldn’t have impacted their relationship.

Ace flashes Sabo a wide toothy grin before returning to a more somber expression and you hear him mutter something under his breath in response. Before the little back and forth could go any further the next passenger steps out.

The younger man’s clothing colors are almost inverted. More red than white, with rose gold accents and black pants. While just as refined and well-tailored as Ace’s attire, Luffy’s clothing sat on him awkwardly, but not in a physical way. The cuts and seams were perfect, and in terms of fitting his body the suit was as near to flawless as anything could get.

However, there probably wasn’t a tailor in all the empires who could contain the wild nature and boundless energy of the young man standing before you. Once his clear eyes met yours, you understood.

This is someone who would never look at home in regalia a day in his life, but you bet his border uniform was a completely different story. Assuming he even wore one. You couldn’t explain why, but when you pictured him fighting monsters, he did so in scraps of hide and the tattered remains of boots.

The image strikes you so soundly, you nearly have to pinch yourself to pull your focus back where it belongs.

“You do realize you’re a full week early, don’t you?” Sabo questions when the two princes smile.

Ace shrugs, the crown on his head going crooked. “The old man reached out and told your dad if he was inclined to send you on an expedition before your engagement party, then Lu’ and I could help.”

“He means the King of the Dawn kingdom,” Sabo clarifies for you before reaching out and straightening Ace’s crown, only to hug him afterward and knock it off center again. “I’m glad you’re here, but I haven’t been decreed to the border as yet, and now it would be too late.”

“We’re planning on staying a week after as well,” Ace explains, his eyes shifting away from Sabo toward you as the Duke moves to hug Luffy. “So if they send you away after, we can still help. Ah, you must be Lady A’tana Écaille de Lulusia.”

You curtsy ever so slightly, smiling as you nod. “And you must be his majesty, Crown Prince Ace D’Majom. It is an honor.”

Ace’s smile is both bright, cocky, and kind all at once, and it leaves him looking more like a border knight than a prince. He returns your small curtsy with a slight bow, one hand over his heart.

“Ace, please, I-.” Sabo clears his throat at Ace’s words and the young man’s face flushes a little before he steps back. “Prince Ace, at your service, Lady Lulusia, no need for all the rest of it.”

“As you wish,” you reply with a smirk before turning your attention to the other prince. Luffy has already shed any pretense of propriety and is smiling at you brightly.

“Sabo says not to just use names, so you can call me Prince Lu,” he declares as Sabo puts his hand over his face. You can’t hear the groan, but you can feel it rolling off of him.

“If it pleases you, young prince, certainly.” You reply evenly. “Would you prefer to call me Lady Lu in return?”

Luffy’s face brightens so clearly you have your answer before he can even say it. “Sabo says you can fight!”

The sudden shift in tone and conversation topic stutters you for a split second, and the Duke is already interjecting.

“She is skilled Luffy, but she’s still working on melding.” He explains, a grip on Luffy’s shoulder so firm you can see the younger man sweating a little. “Please do not risk her safety so close to the ball.”

“C-certainly.” Luffy stammers a bit, giving you a strained smile and bowing slightly like Ace had, once Sabo loosens his grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lu.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” you assure him. “We’ve refreshments prepared if you’d like to eat and relax after your journey.”

“Allow me to escort you,” Hack offers, stepping forward and motioning toward the manor.

Luffy follows after him in a way that almost makes it look like he’s escorting Hack instead. Ace keeps pace with the two of them, giving one glance over his shoulder toward you and Sabo. You’re following behind, a bit of a distance between yourselves and them for the sake of conversation.

“My apologies.” Sabo offers softly when Ace turns his attention back to Luffy and Hack.

“I don’t believe any are needed, your grace.”

“I… feel like I didn’t have adequate time to properly prepare you for, well, Luffy.” He admits candidly.

“I’m left with the distinct impression that one must experience Prince Luffy first hand, and that no amount of preparation would suffice.” Smiling up at him you accept the arm he offers. “Are you truly worried about injury prior to the ball?”

Looking down at you inquisitively for a moment his expression turns sheepish. “You and Luffy both are skilled enough to avoid any major injury, but I was worried he was going to drag you to the training grounds right then and there.”

“I would have liked to.” You admit, and see Sabo smile.

“I’m not surprised by that.” He says, patting the top of your hand. “I won’t forbid it, but I do ask that you take care. Luffy’s not just skilled, he’s primal when it comes to combat. I would be more comfortable if you had myself or Ace nearby during such matches.”

“Certainly.” You hum the words again. It’s hard to contain your excitement at the prospect of fighting someone like Prince Luffy. “It would be prudent to make sure they both fight with… weapons, yes?”

Sabo laughs and the jovial sound causes Ace and Luffy to look back at the two of you, big grins on their faces. Ace hurries Hack and Luffy along, giving you both a little more space.

“Luffy uses gauntlets, but Ace’s sword style is that of the Dawn Kingdom, so you’d likely get more in return for sparring with him.” He explains after a moment. “Though you might actually find sparring with Luffy easier than most.”

“Oh?”

“He fights like a beast, and your sword forms are uniquely suited more than any other style I know of.” He admits. “Since most people fight beasts in groups, which makes sparring with Luffy frustrating for them.”

“I see.” You hum, a small smile playing on your lips. “Maybe… after the festivities. I would like to use my morning training time to continue trying to merge magic and sword. Doing both would be rude to our guests.”

“Hardly.” Sabo hums. “If you’re not against allowing them to help you, you could gain some helpful insights. There’s still plenty to do for the ball itself, but I don’t mind focusing on that if it frees up more time for your training. I imagine I’ll be sent to the border immediately after, and it would put me at ease if your merger had completed before I left.”

“Do you think your,” you pause and shake your head. “I mean are you worried that there’ll be another uninvited guest?”

“Possibly. Not the one we had before. He hasn’t even been in Goa since that night, so I doubt he means to try again.” Sabo admits. “Currently I’m more concerned about Sterry.”

“The Crown Prince?” You question, truly caught off guard by the concern.

Sabo nods. “I expect he’ll show at the celebration, and linger as a guest after I’m sent to the border.”

“As your fiance, and not the Duchess, I wouldn’t have much authority over him.” You agree. “I’m just not sure what he would be able to accomplish, or wish to.”

“That is my concern,” Sabo sighs, patting your hand on his arm. “I used to know what he was thinking. Sterry and I were close… but that seems like a lifetime ago.”

“We will simply need to be flexible then,” you try to reassure him. “We don’t know if Sterry will attend or not, and we have a week to consider our options. I may not know this kingdom’s intricacies the way you do, but you may lean on me for support in this matter, your Grace.”

“Lady Lulusia, I-.”

“Oi!” Luffy’s voice carries out from a balcony on the second floor, one arm over his head waving at you and Sabo. You didn’t realize how far ahead they had gotten until you saw him up there. “Sabo! We’re going to eat everything if you don’t-hurk!”

Someone, most likely Ace, grabs the collar of Luffy’s jacket, pulling him back into the tea room. Sabo heaves a long-suffering sigh and you can’t help but laugh.

“It seems we’ve kept our esteemed,” he almost growls the word, despite the smile he’s pulled onto his face, “guests waiting.”

“Indeed.” You press your lips together, trying not to laugh again. Luffy was certainly a delight. Even as you head into the estate you prompt him.

“You were saying, your Grace?”

“Ah, just that… I’m glad to have your support, Lady Lulusia.” He replies with a softer smile.

#The Dragon's Clause #sabo the revolutionary #revolutionary sabo #sabo one piece #sabo #x reader #reader insert #Fantasy AU #Royal AU #mdni

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