#connected strength machines

[dynamichealthinsights]

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[leftoverpages]

Loyalty’s embrace

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x betrothed!reader

Tags 𓅪 jealous and protective Benjicot, small fight scene (no gore), fluff at the end, romance, reader uses she/her but no physical description

Notes: i have been writing for a while without posting anything so this is making me nervous lmaooo

Wordcount 𓅪 1.3k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor was awash with warm candlelight and the soft hum of conversation. The air was filled with the scent of roses and the clinking of crystal glasses. Lady Y/N stood at the edge of the room, a vision in her resplendent gown. Her dress, a masterpiece of crimson silk and midnight velvet, flowed around her like a river of fire and shadow. The bodice, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold thread, clung to her form, highlighting her grace and strength. Across her chest and shoulders, the Blackwood sigil was proudly displayed, a symbol of her new allegiance and her own fierce spirit.

The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, every movement sending ripples of light and shadow cascading over her. The skirt, full and layered, swirled around her feet like a tempest, the deep red contrasting beautifully with the inky black. A delicate gold chain rested at her throat, drawing attention to the elegant curve of her neck.

She stood there as her betrothed, Benjicot Blackwood, engaged in conversation with several lords and ladies. She found herself alone for the moment, sipping a glass of champagne and watching the festivities from afar.

Despite the grandeur, there was a nervous flutter in her stomach. Being betrothed to Benjicot, the fierce and enigmatic heir of House Blackwood, was both an honor and a daunting reality. Their engagement was more strategic than romantic, a union meant to strengthen alliances and secure power. Still, she had hoped to find some genuine connection with him, something to hold onto amidst the political machinations.

"Lady Y/N, you look ravishing tonight," a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Lord Cedric, a notorious flirt and known for his less-than-honorable intentions, standing far too close for comfort.

"Thank you, Lord Cedric," she replied, forcing a polite smile and taking a small step back.

He didn’t seem to notice—or care. "It's a shame you're tied down to Blackwood. A beauty like you deserves better," he said, his eyes raking all over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"I am perfectly content with my betrothal, Lord Cedric," she replied firmly, trying to edge away. But Cedric persisted, moving closer, his hand reaching to touch her arm.

"Come now, Y/N, you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like to be with someone else," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Before she could respond, a strong hand gripped Cedric's wrist, pulling him away from her. "I believe the lady has made herself clear," Benjicot’s voice was low and dangerous, his dark eyes blazing with anger.

Cedric paled but tried to maintain his bravado. "I meant no harm, Blackwood. Just a bit of fun," he stammered, taking a step back.

Benjicot stepped between Cedric and Y/N, his posture tense and protective. "Your idea of fun is clearly misguided," he said coldly. "If I ever see you bothering her again, I will not be so forgiving."

Cedric sneered, his fear giving way to indignation. "And what will you do, Blackwood, uh? Throw me out of your pretty little ball?"

A dangerous glint appeared in Benjicot’s eyes. "No, Cedric. I’ll do much worse."

Before Cedric could react, Benjicot’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The ballroom fell silent, guests suddenly turning to witness the confrontation. Cedric, recovering from the initial shock, lunged at Benjicot with a roar, swinging wildly.

Benjicot dodged, his movements controlled and precise. He landed another punch to Cedric's midsection, doubling him over. "You don’t know to quit, do you?" Benjicot muttered, grabbing Cedric by the collar and lifting him to his feet.

"Enough!" Cedric spat, struggling against Benjicot’s grip. "You think you can control everything? Even her?"

Benjicot’s eyes darkened further. "I don’t need to control her, Cedric. I trust her. Something you clearly don’t understand."

With that, Benjicot shoved Cedric away, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. Cedric, breathing heavily and bruised, glared up at him. "This isn’t over, Blackwood."

"It is," Benjicot replied coldly. "And if you value your life, you’ll stay away from her."

Guards approached then, at Benjicot’s silent command, hauling Cedric to his feet and escorting him out of the ballroom. The guests slowly resumed their conversations, the tension dissipating, but whispers of the altercation lingered.

Benjicot turned to Y/N, his expression softening as he reached out to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, but her composure faltered, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you, Ben. I didn’t know what to do..."

He stepped closer, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. "You never have to face such things alone. Not while I'm here."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Instead, she found a depth of concern and protectiveness that took her by surprise. She had always seen him as distant, a warrior hardened by duty, but now she glimpsed the man beneath the armor.

"Why do you care?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

Benjicot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know our betrothal was arranged, but that doesn't mean I don't care for your well-being. I've come to admire your strength and grace, Y/N. I want us to be more than just a political alliance."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She had longed for some indication that he felt more than obligation towards her. "I want that too, Ben," she whispered.

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart flutter. "Then let's make it so," he said, taking her hand in his. "Together."

As they stood there, hand in hand amidst the glittering ballroom, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her.

Benjicot glanced around the room, the tension in his shoulders easing. He looked back at Y/N, his eyes filled with a tender resolve. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice soft and inviting.

Y/N felt her breath catch. She nodded, unable to speak, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The musicians, sensing the moment, began to play a slow, melodic waltz.

As they took their positions, Benjicot's arm encircled her waist, his hand warm and steady. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he guided her with a grace that belied his warrior's demeanor. They began to move, their steps perfectly in sync, the world around them fading into a blur of light and sound.

The music swirled around them, a symphony of emotions. They glided across the floor, each step a silent conversation. Y/N felt as if they were floating, the dance a magical respite from the political intrigue and uncertainty that had shadowed their engagement.

Benjicot's eyes never left hers, their dark depths reflecting a myriad of emotions. In that moment, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a burgeoning hope that perhaps their union could be more than just a strategic alliance.

The music swelled, and Benjicot spun her gracefully, her dress flaring out like a crimson and black flower. When they came back together, he held her a little closer, his gaze softening even further.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want us to be more than a political alliance. I want to know you, Y/N. To truly understand you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. "And I want to know you, Ben."

As the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, they came to a gentle stop. The guests around them erupted into applause, but Y/N and Benjicot remained in their own world, their gazes locked.

"Thank you for the dance," Y/N said softly.

Benjicot brought her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "The pleasure was mine," he replied.

In that moment, surrounded by the approving smiles of their peers, Y/N felt something shift. The alliance they had been forced into was beginning to transform into something real, something hopeful.

The future was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt truly seen and protected. And perhaps, just perhaps, they could find love in each other’s arms.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I did not care at all for Aizen Sosuke when I first read bleach. I found him boring, and worst, unthreatening.

So it's pretty jarring for me that I have been OBSESSED with him in your AU. I'm rotating him at great speed

Walt Disney was a jackass who was flat-out wrong about a lot of very important things, but he employed a great many geniuses of storytelling, and there's a piece in Disney Animation: The Illusion of Life by Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson that discusses a key feature of Disney Studios Character Design:

"Of all characters, villains are the most fun to develop because they make everything else happen. They are the instigators, and always more colorful than the Hero. They may be dramatic, awesome, insidious or semi-comic, but they MUST be appealing. Almost any story becomes innocuous if all the evil is eliminated, but we do not necessarily gain strength by being frightening. we want a character that will hold the audience and entertain them, even if it's a Chilling Type of Entertainment."

And I've found that to be an important principle of character design, especially the kind of canon restructuring I do.

Aizen had a LOT going for him in canon- for all of Bleach's other faults, Aizen's conspiracy and THE REVEAL are spectacularly constructed and executed. I legit screamed and threw my mug across my dorm room when I read it in the manga the first time. He's also conventionally attractive and the translations I was reading gave him the speech patterns of Every Douchebag In Your 101 Political Theory Who Thinks He's The Smartest Man In The Room, which made him a terrific combination of Unfortunately Charming, Menacingly Competent and Engagingly Obnoxious.

...But he falls flat in a few key places.

Aizen's reasoning could be MUCH more sympathetic- After all, he is RIGHT. Soul Sciety does suck ass and all the options kind of suck. Who designs a universe like that? An asshole who needs killing, that's who. The best kind of Unhinged Madmen are the kind who spell out their reasoning and you realize that there but for the grace of Not Having Super Powers Go I. Canon!Aizen makes a few Good Rhetorical Points, but seems to lack any personal connection to his all-consuming plan.

Another issue is that nearly every villain with A Plan has a clear end goal AND a lot of the menace is drawn from the fact that the plan *could* work. Aizen's plan for betraying the court guard and then killing them off before proceeding into the Royal Realm to Kill God sorta falls apart when it's clear he planned to use pretty much all his accumulated forces dealing with the court guard and doesn't seem to have a plan for the Even More Powerful Royal Guard, let alone God. For how meticulously planned the rest of the plot is, the last two VERY IMPORTANT steps are just handwaved.

So I sat down and started with the plot beats Aizen MUST hit, and tried to imagine what kind of guy would he have to be to get there? And I came up with this:

Sosuke Aizen is a fundamentally good man with genuinely good intentions who is really trying his best for the whole world.

Think about it- what lengths would you NOT go to if you think you found a genuine shot at Fixing Everything Wrong With The World Forever? We all talk about killing Hitler if we found an actual Time Machine- would you do it if your only chance was when he was a baby? Would you kill an infant if it meant you could stop World War II before it starts? Of course you would! One small life for over 75 million? You'd be insane not to! What if you found out that you could prevent the future extinction of Humanity by killing your best friend today? Ten Billion lives? For theirs? It's simple, really- Hell, it's your Moral Obligation to do that if you were SURE!

-And Aizen IS sure. He is absolutely, totally, completely sure that He Can Save Everyone if he just gets rid of that idiot sitting on the throne of heaven. He's seen the plans! He knows where the gate of heaven is! It's So SIMPLE he just has to get inside, and he knows EXACTLY how to do it, yes it'll be hard and there will be... unpleasant parts but. IT. WILL. WORK.

He is of course, insane.

Aizen didn't have One Bad Day that set him irrevocably on the path of madness. It was a succession of catastrophic disappointments and realizations that he was living in a fundamentally irrational world that made irrational thinking look sane. The Catastrophe that befell his family, working for the central 46 and later the court guard and seeing how the organizations were inept to the point of abuse or corrupt to the core, learning that The Actual House Of God is a place he can just? Go to? Anyone would start thinking you were just a handful of white lies and homicides away from Fixing Everything, Forever.

Not only is Aizen insane, he is nowhere near as smart as he thinks. He is smart- He does have a knack for being able to guess just what will spur someone to action or make them recoil in fear. But mostly he gets extremely lucky Many, Many, MANY times. On some level I think it gives him Confirmation Bias that this is what he's supposed to be doing. Aizen is also nowhere near as smart as (nearly) everyone else thinks he is. His bizarrely good luck makes him look like a hyper-competent genius when really it was really the catastrophic failure of Soul Society as a Society that let a merely mediocre conspirator to evade detection for so long.

Being that he is at most, mediocre, he had to have Outside Help, specifically Gin's emotional support and Tousen's Competence- and if there's a part of the fic that stays true to canon, it's this.

Gin is Aizen's emotional rock in Canon. He's the ONE guy that Aizen genuinely trusts, and considers his 'my only real partner' in his scheme. There's more than one occasion in the manga where Aizen more or less asks Gin "Is this actually a good idea?" and Gin backs him up every time.

...Which is more than a bit at odds with Gin's later stated goal of "I did all this to kill you at your most vulnerable to protect rangiku" . It never rang true to me. So I started thinking why on EARTH Gin would be backing Aizen up like that, and realized there was a hole in my world building that he slotted into nicely :)

On the other hand, the entire fic was started because I didn't like how Tousen's character arc ended, so you can imagine how much he's changed.

But in canon, TOUSEN DOES ALL THE FUCKING WORK.

Lab work? Tousen.

Supervising the arrancar directly? Tousen

Actually getting victims for the Hogyoku experiments? Tousen.

Altering all the archives to keep Aizen's plot hidden? Tousen.

Sending all the Orders allegedly from the central 46? Tousen.

Making sure Unohana believes Aizen's fake body is real? Tousen.

Managing all the day-to-day operations at Las Noches? Tousen.

There's even this little exchange, which is Tousen's first appearance in the Manga:

Aizen establishes this entire meeting is a little fake-out a few pages later with "now isn't that a convenieint time for the alarm to go off?"

which makes him look like he's investigating, but he's also going "Good job on disrupting everyone with the alarm Gin!" It's ballsy of Aizen to do a check-in on his plan with his main nemesis in the room, but also his style.

I think the same thing is happening here with Tousen. To make sure Ukitake wouldn't raise a huge fit about the proposed execution of his beloved lieutenant, which might fuck everything up for Aizen because Ukitake is one of like, three people Yamamoto will listen to (sort of).

...So he had Tousen poison Ukitake to keep him out of the way.

ALL. THE. FUCKING. WORK. It's even in his name! The characters for "Tousen" Refer to a legendary scholar the emperor of China sent out to discover the secret of immortality- only to kill the scholar when he returned with that secret. The character for "Kaname" means "Necessary/Vital/keystone" or "to organize/take account of". His name LITERALLY means "Scholar who is essential for the plan (that we're going to kill later)"

Another thing Kubo did well in Bleach: his name game is Off The Fucking Charts.

-but I digress.

In AEIWAM, it's much the same only this time Aizen sees this very dangerous witness who is immune to his illusions but also extremely snart and capable young man and instead of risking being caught out by the one damn guy who can see right through him, opts to Curse Kaname into doing as Aizen says, and doing all the fucking work of this conspiracy against his will.

It's Not Nice, but Aizen genuinely thinks he's doing Kaname a favor by subjecting him to this degrading and incredibly painful servitude- I mean, Aizen's only other option was to Kill him to keep his silence, and isn't it wonderful that you get to help fix the universe? You're the one always going on about Justice, I don't understand why you didn't jump at the chance to mete out some Divine Justice.

An Excerpt from the captain's meeting in between the Massacre that made the visored and Zaraki's arrival, when Kaname realizes Yamamoto is 100% serious about his promotion to captain of the 9th and goes to throw up in the garden. Aizen offers to go check on him while Unohana very politely reads the general the riot act:

---

"You broke your toy Aizen." Kaname coughs.

"…I really am sorry for running you ragged like this. I really shouldn't have gotten so mad about you hiding the the hogyoku- it was very petty of me." The bastard sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, entirely genuine.

Kaname stayed on his hands and knees, weaving slightly as another wave of nausea flowed through him, powered by disgust and rage.

"How about this- I've got a lot coming up with the new job, training Gin and disposing of Kiganjo- So how about I promise to not give you any orders for a while? You will have to keep our arrangement a secret and not interfere, of course, but other than that, you're free to do as you please for- a year and a day is traditional isn't it? No, that's not going to heal by then- Oh, would you look at that!"

Kaname didn't have the strength to offer his usual rebuttal that he won't look at anything, ever. The sides of his head tingle like his skul was being pressed between two enormous hands made of static electricity.

"It's 11:11! Alright, I won't give you any Orders until 11:11 am on November 11th, 1911. That's easy to remember! What do you think?" Aizen continued cheerfully, patting his back and the Curse nails.

"…I can't." Kaname groaned. He could scream if he had the energy, but due to Aizen's Illusions, nobody would hear him. "I actually physically can't think. Please…"

"Of course! You really are such a help to me, it would be a shame to lose you. I'll even amend our contract, so you don't get paranoid-" There was a sizzling sound and a new stroke of hot pain up Kaname's spine as Aizen did something to the wretched Bakudo. "There. No compulsions for eleven years and a day. What do you say?"

Kaname grimaced, but dropped his head. Save the energy to fight another day. "…thank you, Aizen-sama."

"Good man! Let's get you on your feet." Aizen beamed, putting his glasses back on and offering him an arm.

---

He genuinely thinks that he's doing everyone a huge favor and if they don't get it it's because they're just not smart enough, but it's alright, He's a Benevolent God and they'll appreciate all his hard work the next time around :)

Aizen is a man who is FULL of joy. He loves what he does! He actively takes pleasure in it! And I think that's something that REALLY delivers in terms of sympathy AND horror for him. Who *Wouldn't* have a great time actually fixing the universe? He's a good man who enjoys doing good works, and this is the greatest work of all!

It also Delivers on the Horror when I get to write the deliciously fun scenes where Aizen is Elbows-deep in a novel War Crime and waxing poetic about how GREAT this is, or being confused why the people around him are reacting with fear. Don't you want to make everything better too?

[coralinnii]

"Eyes are Windows to the Soul"

↳ Admiring your Dark Brown eyes

feat: Idia ❋ Sebek ❋ Kalim ❋ Trey genre: fluff note: no pronouns were used for reader, set before Book 7 (mostly because I haven’t finished it yet),

Idia grew up sheltered in a sterile world, filled with LED lights and sleek metal walls. Shades of brown were not common in his daily routine, so he didn’t have a lot of opinions on it. 

In a world of neon blue and cold silver, your brown eyes ironically stood out in Idia’s world. 

Your eyes remind him of fluffy brown kittens, filled with warmth and mischief. You remind him of those adorable teddy bear prizes in claw machines that everyone covets. You were everything he dreams of holding, but often out of reach.

That is until the two of you grew closer, then he sees your eyes in the ice-cold colas he’s chugging during long grinding sessions with you. He feels a tingling sensation when he sees your eyes in the dry autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet whenever you drag him out to “touch some grass” 

Your brown eyes remind him of everything fluffy and warm, of fuzzy feelings and snugness. 

Your eyes give off energy, but it’s not scary or overwhelming at all. Rather, it’s soft and enjoyable like a refreshing drink on a hot day.

You seem so out of place in his old world, but Idia couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore.

”Uggh, that cat is just too cute, what a sensory overload! Huh, when did brown cats become my fav? I-I guess kinda recently?”

Sebek holds himself with prestige and integrity, a well-kept man with honor to uphold. 

But his experience is filled with the great wilderness, with the natural and unbending beauty of the forest. He proudly recalls his childhood living close to the world of fae and nature. 

You were a human. Your upbringing was nothing like his own, a pair of opposites with nothing in common

But, when you look at him with your sweet brown eyes, Sebek sometimes feels lost in nostalgia. In your eyes, he sees the beautiful trees of his homeland, he sees his beloved worn-out books in his bookshelves passed down by his grandfather. 

Not only his childhood memories, Sebek feels the same feeling of familiarity in his current lifestyle. He’s reminded of the joy and excitement he feels when he trusts his whole self to the majestic brown horses in the campus wooden stables. 

Is it because just like his trusted steed, your warm brown eyes effortlessly shine with so much strength?

Lost in your eyes, he recalls feelings of comfort and home, a connection to what makes Sebek…himself. Though he may not admit it, the stubborn young man finds solace just by staring into your eyes.

"Do I ever feel homesick? Of course I do! I simply… haven’t been feeling all that distant from my homeland as of late”

Kalim is not only surrounded by shades of brown, but also reds, yellows, greens, and everything else in the large spectrum of color. His world is bright and vibrant, never a dull moment for the boisterous heir. 

You fit right into his life, adding more happiness to his routine. Your existence gave off a sense of wholesome, sweet fun. You join him in his highs yet keep him grounded when he flies too close to the Sun

To anyone else, Kalim lacks nothing in terms of riches. He is financially blessed for generations to come, and Kalim is not ignorant enough to deny otherwise. 

But lately, whenever he watches you, he ponders on what the word “rich” truly meant to him. 

Some would call your brown eyes pretty but rather plain, but regardless Kalim would catch himself swimming in the hue of your irises. 

In your eyes, he sees the deep color of expensive cognac that many would gift his parents, he sees the color of flawless leather prized by countless merchants, and he sees the color of fertile soil that nurtures and feeds his country. 

If someone were to ask his opinion, Kalim would say that richness and pricelessness could be defined by your eyes. Kalim may have an abundance of gold and silver but there is no price that could compare to the look of pure love in your exquisite eyes.

"Have you ever seen a chocolate diamond before? They’re really pretty with a wonderful shine. I really like them, I’ll show you one someday!”

While he isn’t against dabbling in certain subjects and interests, Trey has a pretty solid idea of his future, to become a patissier and to either inherit his family's bakery or start his own business. 

Trey doesn’t see himself as anyone extravagant nor does he really want to be. Sure, he may be in a prestigious school, and he may hold an enviable position as a vice-Housewarden, but the green-haired senior holds himself more modestly. 

You knew well of his humble dream, and he appreciated the way you would support him however you can, be it a taste tester for new recipes or assisting him in the kitchen before a busy unbirthday party. 

In this close proximity, Trey is allowed more chances to glance your way, especially your eyes. 

He sees the resemblance in your eyes the color of the chestnuts you collected with the mischievous freshmen, the first day he noticed how cute you were. He’s reminded of warm brownies and cookies he would bake in secret just for you, all to see those very eyes sparkle. He imagines a brick house in the same shade as your eyes, where he’ll live out his peaceful life with you.

In your warm brown eyes, he feels reassurance and security. Trey doesn’t need a lavish lifestyle or a grand plan. All he could wish for is a life where he could bake cakes and pay taxes with you.

“I’m not exactly the most romantic with words, but I do like your eyes. They remind me of…my oven. Ah, that sounded a bit…” 

[yolli-es]

you should do jinx giving reader a tattoo of her name 🙏

That's much better, isn't it?

Tags: possessive, jealousy, manipulation.

You are so active omg, is it because of season 2? I also have to say that this is quite proprietary and reminds me of a Yandere!Jinx.

This is starting to get annoying. Everything was going so well, and now?

Usually, you were always closely connected to each other, not just emotionally. It was so long and constant that it became an unspoken rule of Zaun. You've done many things, from having dinner together to revolution.

But now you've suddenly started going out "on business" too often. How could Jinx not worry?

Jinx followed yours next time. It's only for your safety, of course. A couple of hours, and she saw the root of the problem—the weird girl you were discussing with. A small, about 20 years old. It was annoying that she caught your attention like that. Weird, painful, and absolutely unbearable. It took all of Jinx's strength to contain herself. These meetings continued, and, in fact, there was nothing too close about them. On the contrary, you kept your distance and spoke absolutely calmly. Which could not be said about this girl. She was strangely leaning towards you, constantly fixing her hair and trying to touch you all the time. Jinx was really nervous, waiting for the right moment to ruin everything.

The moment when you give in to her.

This did not happen, and the truth came to light.

Luckily, it was much more prosaic. You were sneaking off to meet a jeweler for a cute hair clip. It was a gift for Jinx for your third anniversary. With all the running around, she forgot about it. How awkward...

"So... this is for me, huh? It's very beautiful," her fingers slid over the chilling metal of the small pin. The shape of the curved cross suited her. She didn't know what kind of metal it was, but it shimmered blue and pink in the light, remaining chillingly black in the shadows. Beautiful.

"Cool, huh? I had to work hard to get this, but... whatever. It was worth it." You seemed happier than Jinx herself, leaning over in front of her as you picked up her right braid and wondered where to put it, "It might not be very practical, but I'm sure it's really cute. Don't worry if it gets lost, okay?"

You finally looked at your girlfriend and understood her mood. She shrank, looking tensely at the floor and picking at her pants with her nails. Stuck in her dark thoughts right now. However, having anticipated your next move, Jinx spoke up: "I have a gift for you too." It suddenly dawned on her; her eyes lit up, and her back straightened. Jinx was ready to flare up with impatience. "M.. yeah? I'm so glad it is. I like it already, trust me," you giggled, sitting down next to Jinx as she grabbed your hands in anticipation. The hairpin would wait on the table for now. "Oh, something unusual," Jinx sat you down with your back to her, stood up, and rushed over to a huge box of art supplies.

You sat quietly, expecting something like a painting or a painted gun. The same one you got last time. Two is better than one!

Jinx will always be unpredictable.

When the noise became more than an explanation, you finally turned around. There was a small table behind you with colorful bottles on it and... a tattoo machine? This can't be.

"Ta-dam!" Jinx sat down on a chair on one side of the table, gesturing for you to sit opposite. "What? Wait, wait, you want to give me a tattoo?" Your voice wavered. You loved Jinx and trusted her in many ways, but let her give you a tattoo? "Oh, come on!" Jinx rolled her eyes, slamming her head down on the table, "You think I can't do it? Don't tell me you didn't check out my tattoos. I got them myself, you know!"

This didn't give you any confidence.

"No, you know... I just don't know what kind of tattoo I want," you turned away, shrugging awkwardly. Jinx chuckled, propping her head up in her hands and licking her lips. "I already decided, toots. What could be cooler than your girlfriend's name, hm?", Her voice sounded confident. So you didn't take it as a joke. However, Jinx didn't let you answer, grabbing your hands and not very carefully sitting you down opposite. "You know, I saw you with that girl... I was worried," she started slowly and from a distance. "You did nothing wrong, and I didn't doubt you. And yet, people are very tricky," she paused, gently taking your hand and looking into your eyes, "So I would like you to have a small tattoo; how about you? I promise it will look stylish." That stumped you for a minute. Yes, you wanted your tattoo, and yes, you love Jinx. But getting one for that reason? "Please," Jinx looked at you with her doe eyes, and that huskiness in her voice was driving you crazy. "Oh, maybe just one, huh? A small one," you chuckled. 

Of course, Jinx was manipulating you for what she wanted. In the most childish and stupid way, you just couldn't help but sneer. Was it a double game, and Jinx knew about your understanding from the start? It doesn't matter; She has already started working.

Pink is the most beautiful color, isn't it?

Despite her obviously selfish desire and rather daring start, Jinx did everything carefully. After all, it was your first time doing it, and she couldn't make you feel anything other than excitement and admiration. She was spinning around you, unable to sit still, turning on music, telling all sorts of nonsense, and taking breaks to relax. She just didn't want to make things worse than she probably already did.

It all ended quickly.

"That's much better, isn't it?", Jinx couldn't help but smile as she looked at the fresh tattoo on your skin. "You look your best, as always, toots." You liked it no less; it actually looked sweet. And very possessive. You liked this display of her love; this affection gave you a strange strength.

You smiled as you took her hand and said with a deliberately innocent look, "Okay, now it's your turn."

The problem is that you love her no less.

Still, there is not a word about yandere in the request, so she's just super jealous and possessive. I hope that the person who asked was thinking about something like this 🙌🏻

[monstersholygrail]

Okay for the birds. Since you asked so nicely. (And because I am on my knees BEGGING for crumbs of this!!!) How would they react to reader living in a run down apartment? Like it takes a lot of money to keep a studio going, even with such... passionate attendees. Yeah they spoil reader at the studio, but what about seeing reader out and about? At home, out shopping?

For Scarlet Macaw Bird Hybrids the colony keeps coming at you like they’re vultures. They’re greedy for your cum, needy for the tight clench of your fat cunt milking their cocks dry, desperate for your cries of pleasure and who can force them out of you, and they crave the feel of your pliable flesh in their loving hands as they take you over and over again.

They’ve all lost themselves in you, as if you’ve pulled a veil of lust over their eyes and they are nothing but mindless machines set for your pleasure. It’s all they want. To feel that deep connection with you, their precious mate.

One after the other they fuck you dumb, bringing you release after release. Even as your body grows more tired they can see the need in your eyes and they won’t stop until their mate is fully satisfied.

As your next orgasm crashes into you, your eyes roll back, your body no longer having the strength to fully seize and shudder with the sheer force of your pleasure.

Your mates currently taking care of you each unload a hefty amount of cum inside your gushing walls. It isn’t until they slip out of you to lightly peck kisses along your face that they realized they fucked you till you passed out.

All the bird hybrids coo at you in worry, their wings flapping as they surround your plush fucked out form. All limp and beautiful. Their hands lovingly caress every inch of your body, making sure you’re alright.

“I’ll take her to her human apartment. Make sure she gets there safe,” one of the bird hybrids speak up.

Instantly a chorus of over bird hybrids chirp out their disagreement. All of them wanting to be the one who takes you home and tucks you into bed. Anything just to be with you for a little bit longer and to take care of you. But the first bird hybrid stands his ground and insists.

Taking you into his arms he begins to fly you home. You had never shown any of the bird hybrids in the colony where you lived but a few started following you home after your night class with them and soon after everyone knew where you lived and would follow you to make sure you got home safe after that class.

Silly humans would call it stalking. But they were only looking after you! They made sure you never got hurt and hurt anyone who dared try.

You didn’t live in a very good neighborhood after all, putting most of your money into your studio, so they had to take care of you. Even if that meant scaring off anyone who looked at you funny or with any interest.

But none of the birds had ever been inside your apartment before. As the bird hybrid uses your key to enter, his eyes widen in horror at the sight of your run down apartment. Their mate could not live like this. Not under their watch.

After tucking you into bed, the bird hybrid gets out his phone and enters their colony group chat dedicated specifically to talking about you.

“OUR MATE IS LIVING IN SHAMBLES!” The bird hybrid texts into the chat to convey his panic. Seconds later and the group chat is blowing up.

“I knew we didn't pay ‘nough for her classes!"

"Should demand she raise them…"

"Do dance teachers get random bonuses?"

“Would she feel insulted if we gave her money at the end of classes after we’ve fucked her raw?”

“Not if she’s too blissed out to notice us slipping the money in her bag.”

“Nah, she wouldn’t like. I think the humans call it Pros— Pollution? Or Hook— something to do with fishing, I don’t know. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s not the point! What are we going to do about this? We can’t allow this to continue,” the bird hybrid types, interrupting their rambling.

“Could always take her back to the nest…” one hybrid suggests. He thinks about it for a moment before he shakes his head.

“An idea for another day. She wouldn’t go for it now. We need to fix up her place until she’s ready.” The bird hybrid with you concludes.

As you sleep the bird hybrid plans for everything. He sends for a whole bunch of them to head over to your apartment. A team of them flying around and taking what they need to help fix up your apartment while another team prepares the place for work.

When everyone arrives at your apartment things quickly dissolve into chaos. Of course, all the Bird Hybrids want to see you first sleeping all pretty and fucked out in your bed. The Hybrids at that night class immediately start boasting about how good they fucked you and others immediately raise their voices, pleading their own case.

It’s only when you shift on the bed that the Bird Hybrid that brought you home immediately shushes them.

“Stop, stop, stop! We can’t wake her,” he whispers.

Their eyes all fall back onto you, silently watching your plush figure squirm and settle back on the bed. The small action alone causing them to get a little hard and they have to force themselves not to clamber onto the bed and wake you up.

No, instead they get to work. Upgrading your apartment in every possible way they know how. Cleaning it up and making it into a real home. While also enforcing it and making sure you’re the safest person in the neighborhood.

Creating the near perfect nest. Only second to their own they hope to bring you to someday.

They can’t wait for you to finally wake up. They all imagine the look on your face when you rouse from your slumber to see them all there and your apartment completely changed. But most of all… they can’t wait for the thank you gifts you’re bound to give them all.

You have to break in your new apartment somehow, don’t you?

[hunkpossession0]

**Riding a New Life: A Ghost's Journey**

I had been a wandering spirit for what felt like an eternity. Ever since the accident that severed my connection to the living world, I had been drifting through the ether, invisible and forgotten. That is, until today.

I found myself in a dimly lit parking garage, the scent of gasoline and rubber filling the air. The growl of an engine echoed off the walls, and that’s when I saw him—a young biker, effortlessly cool in his black and red leather suit, leaning casually against his sleek Honda. He was everything I had once admired from afar, back when I was alive.

I watched him for a moment, a pang of envy and longing coursing through my spectral form. Then, almost instinctively, I felt myself drawn toward him. There was a sudden pull, a rush of energy, and before I knew it, I was inside his body.

The moment I slipped into his form, it was as if the world exploded in sensation. The first thing I noticed was the heat—the intoxicating warmth of his skin, the snug embrace of the leather suit wrapping around me. It was a second skin, tight and form-fitting, accentuating every contour and muscle. The leather was smooth and supple, a mix of security and allure that was almost overwhelming.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the resistance of the gloves, the reassuring grip they provided. I couldn't help but admire the strength in these hands, the power in this body. My heart raced, not just from the thrill of possession, but from the sheer intensity of feeling alive again. The suit clung to me, a perfect fit, and I relished the way it made me look—strong, confident, and undeniably hot.

Every step I took in the leather suit was a new discovery. The way it accentuated my broad shoulders, the way it hugged my biceps and triceps, making every muscle pop with definition. I could feel the smooth caress of the leather against my skin, the way it moved with me, an extension of my newfound strength.

After an exhilarating ride through the city, I decided to explore more of what this new life had to offer. I had noticed a gym bag in the trunk of his bike, and an idea struck me. I headed to the local gym, eager to test the limits of this new body.

Entering the gym, I felt a wave of excitement. The scent of sweat and metal filled the air, and the rhythmic clanking of weights created a motivating soundtrack. I walked confidently to the locker room, changing into a tank top and workout pants that showed off my muscular physique. The reflection in the mirror was almost surreal—I was now this fit, handsome biker with a body that drew admiration and respect.

I started with some light stretches, feeling every muscle respond with a fluidity and power I had never experienced before. Moving to the weight section, I picked up a dumbbell, the cold metal heavy in my hand. I began a series of bicep curls, watching in awe as the muscles in my arms bulged and flexed.

The intensity of the workout was intoxicating. I pushed myself harder, feeling the burn in my muscles, the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins. I moved from one machine to another, challenging myself with each set, reveling in the strength and endurance of this body.

Between sets, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror. The way the tank top clung to my chest and shoulders, the way my arms looked pumped and powerful—it was a heady mix of vanity and pride. I couldn't help but snap a quick selfie, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated strength.

As the workout continued, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. This body was capable of so much, and I was determined to explore its limits. The sweat poured down my skin, a testament to the hard work and effort I was putting in. And with each rep, each lift, I could feel myself growing more confident, more comfortable in this new skin.

But something was missing. My spectral journey had been long and lonely, and I longed to share this new life with someone who understood. That’s when I remembered my closest ghost friend, another lost soul who had wandered with me through the void. He deserved this chance too.

Later that evening, I returned to the parking garage, where I found another biker—a friend of the man whose body I had claimed. He was tall and lean, with a rugged handsomeness that made my decision easy. I called out to my ghost friend, guiding him to this new vessel.

With a rush of energy, my friend entered the biker’s body. The transformation was immediate. He blinked, adjusting to the new sensations, then looked at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. We were no longer lost souls. We were alive, and we had each other.

Together, we returned to the gym. It was a surreal experience, seeing my friend in his new form, watching him flex and admire his new physique. We took a moment to capture it—a selfie of the two of us, side by side, strong and proud. The bond we shared as ghosts had transformed into something deeper, something more intimate.

In the gym mirror, we stood close, our bodies radiating strength and confidence. My friend, now in his own muscular form, flexed his bicep while I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Our tank tops clung to us, revealing every sculpted muscle, every defined line. The pride in our eyes was unmistakable. Here we were, two souls reborn, finding a new life and love in the most unexpected way.

As the days passed, we explored our new lives together. We rode our bikes through the city, feeling the wind on our faces, the thrill of speed and freedom. We worked out side by side, pushing each other to new heights, celebrating every achievement.

Our connection grew stronger, evolving into a romantic bond that felt natural and right. We were a couple now, navigating this new world together. The love we had for each other, forged in the ethereal realm, blossomed in our new, physical forms.

And as we stood together, gazing at our reflections, we knew that this was just the beginning. We had found a new home, a new life, and most importantly, we had found each other. The road ahead was ours to conquer, and we were ready to face it together.

The leather suit, which had started it all, became a symbol of our transformation. Every time I slipped into it, I felt a rush of excitement and power. The way it hugged my body, the way it made me look and feel—it was exhilarating. And as we rode together, side by side, I knew that we were more than just bikers. We were partners, lovers, and together, we were unstoppable.

[probablyasocialecologist]

“The machines we have now, they’re not conscious,” he says. “When one person teaches another person, that is an interaction between consciousnesses.” Meanwhile, AI models are trained by toggling so-called “weights” or the strength of connections between different variables in the model, in order to get a desired output. “It would be a real mistake to think that when you’re teaching a child, all you are doing is adjusting the weights in a network.”

Chiang’s main objection, a writerly one, is with the words we choose to describe all this. Anthropomorphic language such as “learn”, “understand”, “know” and personal pronouns such as “I” that AI engineers and journalists project on to chatbots such as ChatGPT create an illusion. This hasty shorthand pushes all of us, he says — even those intimately familiar with how these systems work — towards seeing sparks of sentience in AI tools, where there are none.

“There was an exchange on Twitter a while back where someone said, ‘What is artificial intelligence?’ And someone else said, ‘A poor choice of words in 1954’,” he says. “And, you know, they’re right. I think that if we had chosen a different phrase for it, back in the ’50s, we might have avoided a lot of the confusion that we’re having now.”

So if he had to invent a term, what would it be? His answer is instant: applied statistics.

“It’s genuinely amazing that . . . these sorts of things can be extracted from a statistical analysis of a large body of text,” he says. But, in his view, that doesn’t make the tools intelligent. Applied statistics is a far more precise descriptor, “but no one wants to use that term, because it’s not as sexy”.

[...]

Given his fascination with the relationship between language and intelligence, I’m particularly curious about his views on AI writing, the type of text produced by the likes of ChatGPT. How, I ask, will machine-generated words change the type of writing we both do? For the first time in our conversation, I see a flash of irritation. “Do they write things that speak to people? I mean, has there been any ChatGPT-generated essay that actually spoke to people?” he says.

Chiang’s view is that large language models (or LLMs), the technology underlying chatbots such as ChatGPT and Google’s Bard, are useful mostly for producing filler text that no one necessarily wants to read or write, tasks that anthropologist David Graeber called “bullshit jobs”. AI-generated text is not delightful, but it could perhaps be useful in those certain areas, he concedes.

“But the fact that LLMs are able to do some of that — that’s not exactly a resounding endorsement of their abilities,” he says. “That’s more a statement about how much bullshit we are required to generate and deal with in our daily lives.”

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

[vroom--vrooming]

Homelander x Reader

Homelander was told that you were gone, dead, never to return to him again. He just didn't know how big of a lie it was

Homelander stepped through the ruined doors of the lab, his presence an overwhelming force in the desolate space. The facility was a tomb of memories, the walls steeped in the screams of his childhood. This was where they had forged him in fire and agony, a place of sterile white rooms, needles, and cold, unforgiving hands. And it was here, too, where he had lost the only person who had ever mattered to him.

The floors were slick with blood, the bodies of scientists and doctors strewn about like broken dolls. He had hunted them down with methodical cruelty, each one meeting a brutal end under his unrelenting fury. They deserved worse, far worse, for what they had done—not just to him, but to her.

She had been everything to him back then. The girl with eyes that reflected the same pain, the same fear. Her ability to mimic the powers of others had fascinated the scientists, turning her into a living experiment, just like him. Together, they had endured the tortures, finding strength in each other’s presence. She had been his anchor, his one source of light in that pit of darkness.

But then, one day, she was gone. They told him she was dead, and something inside him snapped. That was the day he stopped being the boy with a name and became Homelander, the unfeeling weapon Vought wanted.

Now, all these years later, he was back. The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of machines still running despite the carnage. He was ready to leave this place behind, to burn it to the ground and let it be consumed by the flames of his vengeance. But then, he heard it—a heartbeat.

Homelander froze, his super hearing honing in on the faint, rhythmic sound. It was coming from deep within the facility, far below the main level, where the most secret and secure rooms lay hidden. His heart pounded in his chest as he followed the sound, a flicker of something strange and unwanted stirring in the pit of his stomach—hope.

He reached a metal door, thick and fortified, sealed with a lock designed to keep out even the most determined intruder. With a single thought, he tore the door from its hinges, the steel groaning in protest before crashing to the ground. He stepped inside, his breath catching in his throat at what he saw.

There, on a medical bed in the center of the small, sterile room, lay the girl he had thought lost forever.

She was still, her body connected to an array of medical equipment. Tubes ran from her veins to machines that hummed with a sickening familiarity, and her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights. But she was alive—he could hear her heartbeat, weak but steady, echoing in the small space.

Homelander’s chest tightened, a mixture of rage and grief crashing over him like a tidal wave. They had lied to him. They had kept her alive, hidden away, draining her of whatever they thought she could give them. And he had been too blind, too consumed by his own darkness, to see the truth.

He moved to her side, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her face. Her skin was cool beneath his fingertips, soft and fragile, and for a moment, he feared she might shatter under his touch. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

She was still as beautiful as he remembered, but there was something different now—an emptiness in her that hadn’t been there before. She looked like a ghost, a shell of the vibrant, resilient girl he had known. And it was all because of them, the people he had just slaughtered, the people who had kept her in this hell.

A tear slipped down his cheek, an unwelcome sign of the emotions he had buried for so long. He wiped it away quickly, his expression hardening. There was no time for weakness now. He had to get her out of here, had to save her, even if he didn’t know if she could be saved.

Homelander began disconnecting the tubes and wires from her body, his movements slow and careful. Each piece of equipment that fell away felt like a chain being broken, a step closer to freeing her from this nightmare. He lifted her into his arms, holding her close to his chest, her head resting against his shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve got you.”

He walked out of the lab, carrying her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, his grip firm but gentle. The night air was cold against his skin as he emerged into the open, but he barely noticed it. All he could focus on was her—the girl who had once been his only source of light in the darkness.

He flew to Vought Tower, faster than he had ever flown before, the world a blur around him. He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t.

When he arrived, he stormed into the medical wing, barking orders at the staff to get the best doctors, the best equipment. The scientists scurried like frightened mice, too afraid of the wrath that radiated off him to question anything. They worked quickly, setting her up in a private room, hooking her up to machines that would monitor her vitals, but Homelander never left her side.

He watched as they worked, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t trust them, didn’t trust anyone with her life except himself. But he knew he couldn’t save her alone. Not this time.

As the night wore on, he sat by her bedside, his hand gently holding hers. He could feel the warmth returning to her skin, hear her heartbeat growing stronger, but she still hadn’t woken up. He prayed, silently and desperately, to whatever gods might listen, that she would open her eyes, that she would come back to him.

For hours, he stayed there, refusing to leave even when the doctors assured him she was stable. He couldn’t leave her, not again. The sight of her lying there, so still and fragile, filled him with a fear he hadn’t felt in years. The fear of losing her all over again.

As dawn broke, casting a soft light through the window, he finally allowed himself to hope. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat strong, and though she was still unconscious, he could see the signs of life returning to her.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with a determination that had carried him through countless battles. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, the first real sign of tenderness he had shown anyone in years. As he pulled back, he saw a flicker of movement in her eyes, a twitch of her fingers, and his heart leaped in his chest.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “Please.”

And for the first time since he had found her, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she would.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

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@artemys-ackles

[theburialofstrawberries]

Jackie says she was bullied as a fat kid and learned "how to fight back;" she goes crazy in Vegas when she hallucinates someone calling her fat. I think there's a direct line connecting this with Jackie's fight instinct to Lou constantly reiterating that Jackie killed J.J., and Lou locking Jackie inside the house. Over the payphone, Jackie's foster mother, curt: "Stay away from us, you monster." Lou doesn't know she is treating Jackie like a monster. Jackie can't have that feeling. Perhaps that's why she needs to run away to Vegas and win so bad: to disarm her size and her strength, to have those qualities be unimpeachable, only for show and admiration.

Jackie in turn is tripping all of Lou's wires. We know Lou thinks her mother ran away, and fears that Lou Sr. maybe killed her. But Lou Sr. goads her about an even deeper fear: that Lou's mom ran away not only to get away from her husband, but also to get away from her awful, complicit daughter. (Lou is so terrified this is true that she has red nightmares about it all movie long. When she's more afraid, there's more red on the screen, like the glow from the hospital's Coke vending machine when Lou Sr. confronts her about J.J.'s body.) If Jackie's response to being perceived as a monster is to fight, Lou's is to take flight: exit the situation for fear of abandonment. She comes close to doing this in the confrontation with Jackie after dinner with J.J. and Beth (a confrontation aborted only because of the lingering F.B.I. agent), but J.J.'s murder flings the shit into the fan.

Lou does everything in her power to cover up J.J.'s murder, and then Daisy's, so that Jackie doesn't leave her. But everything Lou does reminds Jackie that she's a monster (Daisy naked, victorious, whispering: "Lou doesn't want you anymore"). When Lou frees Jackie from her binds in the shed, Jackie takes off running, so caustic is the effect of this reminder ("I wish I never met you!") We know she's not running away for fear that Lou will kill her, because Jackie only really calms down when Lou convinces her that 1) she still desires Jackie, and (2) Jackie is not morally culpable for the murders of J.J. and Daisy. She was forced, for fear of Beth's life, for fear of Lou Sr. (Lou in her recounting was also forced to sleep with Daisy. Everyone is only ever forced to do bad things; no one is ever a bad person. Convenient!)

Lou has freed Jackie from several mental hang-ups. So Jackie joyfully reclaims her size and strength and breaks a guy's arms as easy as wringing a wet t-shirt. And Lou is now more aware of Jackie's inner turmoil than she was before. In the last scene, when she slips quietly out of the truck to kill Daisy, she is loathe to disturb Jackie's sleep, yes, and also her conscience.

[littlerequiem]

the hitchhiker's guide to isekai ˚⁎⁺ levi x gn!reader

CONTENT — Levi getting isekai'd into our world, (questionable) humor, slice of life, swearing, Levi is a boomer when it comes to technology, pop culture refs, suggestive, mentions of bondage (wc: 1.1k words). Written for Day 3 - Isekai, Levi Month 2024 - @levievent

For as long as you could remember, Levi Ackerman had always been your favorite fictional character. There was something about his strength, his empathy, and his kindness that drew you to him.

Then, one day, the universe delivered him on a silver platter.

It was midsummer night when you found him. There he was, lying in your new antique wardrobe, groggy and half asleep, dark hair tousled to the side. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing; was this really your favorite anime character, in the flesh?

Before you could think on the logistics of it all, however, Levi was already reaching for the small knife tucked in his boot.

And threatening you with it.

It all happened in a flash.

With your heart drumming in your chest, you remember fumbling for words, looking straight into those sharp, silver eyes you’d always imagined must shine like starlight (and gods, they truly did).

Looking back, your first words lacked a certain decorum. “Wh—who—is this some kind of skit, huh? Are you some kind of pervert?!?”

Levi looked at you then like you were a complete idiot.

As it turned out, Levi was not, in fact, a pervert, nor did he mean to end up here in the first place.

Instead, he told you the hard facts: that he was Levi Ackerman, Captain of the Survey Corps. That he owned the same closet in his office, only in his own world. That the last thing he remembers was falling asleep in this piece of furniture, an attempt to hide from Hange who’d been up in arms trying to convince him to help with an experiment.

Your reality, it seemed, was connected to the Attack on Titan universe through a mysterious wardrobe.

(Like fucking Narnia.)

It was then that it was decided that he would stay with you until he found a way home.

A month has passed since this first moment, and to say that your daily life has been altered would be an understatement. You’re living with one of your personal heroes, after all—not that you let him know you view him as such.

Levi is trying to get back to his world, and in the meantime, Levi gets to discover your world: the joys of washing machines, the taste of matcha tea, the ease of hoovers, rock music.

And today, he’s uncovering the mystery that is the internet.

“I don’t understand,” Levi grumbles, his voice rough like sandpaper. Lines of tension form across his pale forehead, his gaze fixed on your laptop propped on the kitchen table. “People spend their time looking at cat... paintings?”

He’s perusing your blog.

“These are actually photographs that you’re looking at, but I suppose people also love drawings of cats. Cats are a very popular topic, see,” you explain, coming closer as you stop him from clicking on a sketchy looking pop up: ‘Free iPhone 15! Claim Yours Now’.

Levi's charged gaze follows as he watches you go about it; you have the thought he smells nice, like fresh linen and tea.

You clear your throat, withdrawing from his personal space. “Um... anyway, that’s not all you can do with the internet. People use it for all sorts of things: you can look up the news, the weather, forums…”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. “What’s that? Sounds like a disease.”

Ah, where to start...

“Forums are online spaces where people can discuss things. You can host debates, provide instructions, and more. Personally, I use them to gush about things I love. Like books!”

Levi clicks his tongue. “So, a bookclub?”

“Mm, yes, and no. Like sure, on the forum I'm a mod for, I love to discuss the plot, the characters, and the writing, but I also just enjoy goofing around with my friends and sharing memes.”

“Me...mes.” Levi looks puzzled by this word.

You stifle a snort. “Memes are like... jokes. Only sometimes, they're also cultural staples.” At his skeptical expression, you shrug. “I guess this world is different from yours, in that respect. We have... less immediate dangers, more free time.”

“That's not a bad thing,” he mutters, tone oddly soft. He averts his tepid gaze, looking back to your blog as he exhales through his nose. “But your world still makes no sense to me. Especially all of this.”

He nods towards the web page.

“It’s okay, the internet takes a while to get used to," you say. "Even for me... I constantly feel like an old crone whenever I hear all the lingo kids are coming up with these days.”

“Hmph.”

Levi looks unimpressed. So, forums—and the internet, it seems—aren’t his thing. Probably for the better—the last thing you need right now is for him to realize there’s a whole fanbase devoted to discussing his character (not to mention the other, less PG-friendly aspects of the conversation).

“Hey, how about we take a break?" You tilt your head, flashing him an easy smile. "You’ve been staring at the screen all morning. It can be a strain on your eyesight.”

Levi’s half-lidded stare crinkles, his lips pursing into a thoughtful pout, the same look he gets whenever you throw him scraps of information about your world and its strange customs.

“I was planning to make some tea,” you add, “want a cup?”

“… if you're making one anyway,” he mumbles, scowling in a way that reminds you of a grumpy cat. Cute.

You head towards your small kitchen, grabbing Levi’s favorite tea bag and laying out clean cups. As the kettle groans alive and you eventually hear that familiar sizzling that tells you the water’s come to a boil, another noise coming from behind garners your attention.

“Oi, something happened to your cat photo-thing,” you overhear Levi drawl.

You turn with a raised brow.

That’s when you notice that Levi’s somehow ended up on your desktop page, the familiar sight of your screensaver (more cats!) appearing into view.

But that’s also when you notice the mouse is hovering dangerous close to one of your folders... your babygirl folder.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no...

“DON’T CLICK THAT!” you plead, attempting to rush to his side to avoid the embarrassment of a lifetime.

Too late. Levi has entered the folder and somehow managed to click on one of the more scandalous pictures; your peripheral catches his expression, and it's the most stupor you've seen on his face yet... and is that pink dusting his cheeks?

Because Levi is looking straight at one of the fanarts you’d saved of him months ago.

Where his pixelated counterpart is tied up. Stark naked.

Well, shit.

— Masterlist / Join my taglist

[momoswifee]

A Quiet Life

Pairing: Mina x reader

Synopsis: After some years of being together, some problems start to arise.

Warnings: The reader has abandonment issues, Mina is mean in the beginning, they love each other though. Dinking, curse words, motor accidents. They go camping.

w/c: 6003

a/n: It took so long to write this out since I didn’t really know how to do it? Idrk how to explain it but it was a bit harder than I expected. There’s more chapters coming so I hope you guys like it :)Also sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or misspelled words, English is not my first language.

Pt1- Pt2 - Pt3

Two years after you started dating you started to notice more and more Mina’s unhealthy commitment to her job. Of course you were amazed by her skill and how deeply connected she was to her job, but at a certain point it started to be something that had started to impact your relationship negatively. She would no longer stay at your now shared home, instead staying at her apartment even during her breaks, she would answer your texts with short “ok’s” and promises to call you later. 

Now, you sat next to her, the beeping of the machine next to you starting to give you a headache. You hadn’t been able to sleep since you had got to the hospital after Sana had called you, saying that she had found Mina fainted in her apartment. After talking to the doctors, they told you that she was severely dehydrated, underfed and probably running on caffeine. It seemed that she had been intentionally sleep-deprived so that she could do a better job with her part in the upcoming movie. 

“She is taking fluids, she will be okay.” The doctor briefly said in a comforting manner before leaving the room.

You sat right beside her bed, beating yourself up for not seeing the signs. The dodging calls, the short messages. You only thought it was due to increasing stress, you could’ve never guessed that it would’ve come to this. You were aware that Mina tended to overwork herself, but never to this extent. 

“Hmm” you hear from besides you and see Mina slowly open her eyes, a lazy smile forming on her lips as she notices you besides her. “Hi baby” she slurs out. As soon as she opens her eyes, you’re on your feet and already calling for the nurse, just hoping for someone to come and see if Mina is actually fine. “Hey, I’m fine,” she laughs out with a slight rasp, as if your actions are too much. 

“I just want to see if you’re actually fine.” You curtly say, not letting your worry lace itself into your voice. 

“I’m totally fine, they’ll probably tell you that I’m good to go.” She tells you with a smile, trying to sit up, but wincing as she sees that she doesn’t really have the strength to do it properly. 

“Don’t get up, you’re too weak for that.” You tell her sternly as you go to gently push her down so that she is laying down. 

After the nurse had come and had reassured you that everything seemed to be alright for now, you were told that a doctor would come later on to explain what to do next. 

The beeping of the machine is again the only noise in the room, as you can’t bring yourself to speak about what had happened. 

“Sana probably overreacted. I’m totally fine.” Mina says, already going through her bag to get her phone, probably to go back to work as soon as possible. 

“Give me that” You say, snatching the phone from her hands and putting it inside your pocket so that she wouldn’t be able to get her hands on it. “Do not say that Sana overreacted. You fainted. She found you on the floor, she was terrified.” You tell her as you pace around the room, already feeling agitated. 

“It was not that bad…” She tries to say. 

“Not that bad?! Mina!” You stop at her words. “The doctors said you were not eating, not drinking any water. It was something that had been going on for a while! What were you thinking!” You finally say, not even noticing you had raised your voice. “I was worried sick when I got here! Sana was frantic at the door, completely terrified for you, and you were so pale, you look sick.” You spit out.

“Oh yeah poor Sana.” She scoffs. “This is how it is. It’s what it is to work in the industry!” she lets out, letting her frustration come out as well. 

“Don’t use that as an excuse. You have tendencies of overworking yourself. Everyone knows that. I just didn’t think it would get this bad.” You say, frustrated by her attitude, turning your back to her, not wanting to escalate the situation, knowing it wouldn’t be completely fair to her.  You were just so worried about her. 

“Well, it’s my job, it’s how it works whether you like it or not!” She exclaims, getting riled up. “I’m living my dream. I got here on my own, and I worked damn hard to get here.” She continues, forcing herself up to stress her point. “I feel sorry for you. You lost the opportunity of completing your dream. You got hurt and were put off, but guess what! We can’t all spend our days at the shop doing arts and crafts on old furniture or just picking up fruit.” She says rolling her eyes, finding your mini outburst almost ridiculous, mind still clouded with her want to go back to work. “I’m sorry your dream of becoming a famous player didn’t work out,” she continues, not showing signs of stopping. “But I have worked hard to get here, and I’m not going to let a failed hockey player turned arts and crafts kid dictate how I live my life.” 

Every single word she spits out feel like a punch to the gut. You don’t even realize tear had fallen until you feel the salty water slip through your parted lips. “You didn’t sleep for days.” You sigh, closing your eyes, trying to not let her words cloud your judgement. “I hope you’re saying all of this because of this high you’re running on and not because these are thoughts you actually believe in.” You say, now looking her straight in the eye, clenching your fists, hurting your finger from pressing on the promise ring mina had given you on your 2nd year anniversary. “I’m worried about you, and I am asking you to please stop this.” You say, hurt still clear on your face from her previous hurtful words, as you get closer to her bed, taking her hand in yours. 

“Leave then.” Mina says, almost snarling, anger clearly etched on her features as she rips her hand angrily from your gentle ones,  

“Mina…” You say, voice cracking, your hand gaining a mind of its own as it tries to hold hers again. 

“No! Leave. If I’m such a nuisance, if my work habits are too much for you, there’s the door.”

“I-.” You sigh, not finding strength to go on again. “Ok.” You get up, take the phone from your pocket and let it fall on her side, and her hand instead of going to yours, as it was still stubbornly waiting for hers, takes her phone quickly. 

You can only look at her with something alike to disdain. The more you look at her, the more weight you feel on your right hand, the ring looking misplaced. With a final sigh, you take it off and gently place it on the table. As you leave her room, you quickly send a message to Sana to let her know that Mina had woken up and that you would leave for a little while.

Once inside your car, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually turn it on, keys still clenched in your hands. After finally gaining the courage to start the car, you start driving aimlessly and suddenly find yourself in front of Jihyo’s apartment complex. You get out of the car and fight yourself on whether you should ring her door or not, not feeling like you should bother her. As you internally fight yourself on that, you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. 

“Yn hey, it’s fine” Jihyo says, after seeing you almost jump away from her when she touches you. “Did we have plans?” 

“Uh no- I- I’m sorry no, I just-” You start, stumbling over your words, not knowing what to say exactly. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” she quickly says, grabbing your shoulders, seeing your distressed state. “Let’s go upstairs, we can talk there, yeah?” she asks, guiding you to her flat. 

After you finally tell her all about what had happened, you finally feel comfortable enough to let out a broken sigh, triggering your tears. 

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, but I-” you gasp in between. “I was so worried when Sana called. When I got there, she looked so pale, so unlike herself.” You say while trying to calm yourself, hastily trying to wipe off your tears. 

“Look,” Jihyo starts, sighing, not knowing exactly what to say. “I’m calling Jeongyeon, see if she can get here. You’re sleeping here, I’m not letting you go back home in this state.” she says, getting up from the couch. “I’m getting you some clothes, you go take a shower because you reek of hospital.” she continues, trying to lighten up the mood with her final statement, successfully drawing a small smile from you. 

As soon as you felt the warm water hit your skin, the tension from the fight started to dissolve, but you still couldn’t stop thinking about Mina’s words. Did she actually see you as a joke? As, as she put it, a child? You felt sick. 

Once out of the shower and into Jihyo’s old clothes, you start going towards her kitchen and suddenly hear Jihyo discussing something over the phone.  

“I don’t care if she’s worried sick! Do you know what she told Yn?” Jihyo angrily whispers, trying to speak as quietly as she can so that you would not hear it. “She was awful to her, and I understand that she’s in a vulnerable place, but she does not have the right to say that to Yn.” 

“Hey, Jihyo called. I got food.” Jeongyeon says from behind you, startling you again. 

“Gosh, you really didn’t have to,” You turn to her, half forgetting about Jihyo’s discussion. “You really didn’t have to come.” 

“Of course I did, she understands.” She says, rolling her eyes playfully at your behaviour. “Come” she says, gently grabbing your arm, guiding you to a table. 

As she makes a plate for you, after much resistance from you, you feel Jihyo come to sit next to you. 

“Sana called.” she sighs. “Mina is worried about you.” she continues, attentive to your reaction, which turns out to only be a low hm, which shocks both your friends. Not wanting to bring you any kind of discomfort, they decide to leave it behind and just try and have an enjoyable dinner. Once you were done, you shooed them away so you could put the dishes away. 

“I’ll go there tomorrow. Maybe she’ll have a clearer head.” You whisper, head comfortably laid on the oldest shoulder, as you three watch a passing movie on the TV. 

“I have a free day tomorrow; I’ll drive you there.” Jihyo tells you, not leaving any room for discussion. 

As soon as you hear their deep breaths and light snores signalling their sleeping state, you turn your phone back on. Once it’s up and running, you see all the messages sent to you, most of them being apologies from Mina. As you read them you debate if you should answer her, if you should give her the comfort of knowing that you’re ok and have read her messages. You decide not to. 

❂

“We’re going to be there, if anything happens, we can just leave.” Jihyo says as you both walk the hospital corridors towards Mina’s room. 

“I just have to talk to her, nothing is going to happen,” you tell them, laughing at their overprotective expressions. 

When you see the door of her room, you feel all the confidence you had been building throughout the morning vanish instantly, and all the words said to you previously come rushing back as soon as you’re inside the room and eye to eye with Mina.

“Yn” Mina gasps out, immediately trying to get up from the bed. 

“No, keep down, you still look weak.” You rush out to her side, not wanting her to get up so quickly. 

“The doctors said I can go home today, I look worse than I actually am” she says with a little laugh, trying to get you to laugh as well but only receiving a nod from you. 

“We’ll leave you to it.” Sana says, breaking the silence, dragging Jihyo with her. 

“I’m staying here with Yn”

“They need to talk, let's go”

“I-” Mina starts after you were left alone. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you mean it?” You ask her, still not looking at her, choosing to stare out of the window instead. 

“No!” she quickly says. “I- I don’t know why I said those things,” she continues with a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Yn, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Mina I-” you sigh, going to sit next to her, noticing her state of distress. “I’m sure you meant some of it-

“I didn’t!” she cuts you off, grabbing your hands, desperate to make you understand. "I don't think any of those things. Those are some of the parts of you that I love the most." She continues, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "The way you so carefully pick the fruit, the way you tend so caringly to your garden is just amazing to me, every time I go back home and see you do those things I feel filled with so much love for you, you don't understand..." She trails off. "I adore the way you, with your masterful hands, craft beautiful pieces for our and others home. I can't even look away when I see you so tenderly restore some pieces that were thrown away by others." She says, stressing her words by bringing your hands to her lips and gently placing small kisses on your knuckles.

“I don’t know why I said those things. I was stressed, I was anxious with all of it and I redirected that to you because I know deep down those are things about yourself that you sometimes doubt are even useful. I shouldn’t have done it, it’s no excuse.” 

“I-” you start at a loss for words after her small confession. “Mina…” you say, looking at your intertwined hands. “I think I understand, but it still hurt.” you continue. “And I need you to try and take a break from all of it. I need you to rest.”

“You can’t just ask me that.” She frowns.

“Mina you-” you say, taking in a breath not wanting to get frustrated with her, knowing this is just how her mind has been wired for a while. “You were sent to the hospital. Can’t you see that you need a break?”

“Can’t you see that you’re asking me to take a break from something that I love? I just told you how good you are at doing things that you love, how can you ask me to stop doing the same?” she weakly asks, taking slowly her hand away from yours. 

“The doctor said you were okay to go home, that you’re good to enough to leave the hospital, not to go back to work.” You try, as gently as possible. “You have to take a break, I’m not asking you to leave your work behind, I know that it’s what makes you, you. I’m just asking you to take a breath at home, regain your energy, maybe in the meantime you’ll understand that what you’re doing isn’t exactly healthy.”

“I’ll follow the doctors’ orders for now, we can work on the other part later, ok?” she asks, making you almost instantly give in, although you weren’t at all satisfied with the suggested compromise, thinking to yourself that you would just keep an eye on her and then start working on her overworking tendencies.

❂

Mina hadn't been able to see you in a while since she had been abroad filming her final scenes in an upcoming movie and the distance had taken a toll on both of you. She missed you, she missed her house. When she was finally done with filming her final scenes, she booked the ticket as soon as possible to go home to you. 

As soon as she pulls up in the driveway, she is faced with something she had missed: you running around the garden chasing a very wet Otis with a hose in his mouth. 

"You come here!" You say as you chase Otis around the backyard, trying to stop him from going inside. 

"What is going on?" Mina asks, unable to contain her laughter, as she gets out of the car and runs to the porch, out of the war zone. 

"I-" you stop for a minute to regain your breath. "Mina" you say smiling at her, starting to walk up to her and engulfing her in a hug. "I missed you" you whisper, voice muffled by her shoulder. “You should’ve told me you were coming back! I thought it was only by the end of the week!”

She laughs and hugs you just as tight, kissing your head. "I missed you too, just wanted to surprise you."

Suddenly you both hear a bark, making you quickly pull away to see what had happened, only to see Otis completely covered in mud. 

"You know, that had to be replaced anyway..." Mina says laughing as she watches you chase around your dog. 

"Didn't have to be replaced because of this" you say, out of breath, already with the hose in hand, looking down to your clothes now as dirty as him. 

After finally being able to catch him and bringing him for a long bath, he has returned to his previous white fur and was sprawled on top of Mina as they watched the news, and you cooked dinner.

"Is he interested on the rise of the prices of housing in central Europe?" You ask, watching over both of them attentively. 

"Oh yeah, he had plans of getting a house there and maybe settling down, but I guess he'll have to look elsewhere." She says, caressing behind Otis's ears. 

"Oh yeah definitely, after the stunt he pulled today, he's going to have to compensate the damage with a week of his pay cheque"

"A week?!" She exclaims in mock offence, twisting her neck to be able to look at you. "He's such a hard worker, and you just take all of that from him?" 

"Shouldn't have flooded the garden." You say shrugging. 

"Oh bud, she doesn't deserve your love." Mina says pushing her face into his fur, kissing him to comfort him over his salary being reduced, making you laugh at the sight. 

As you were dicing some of the vegetables you see Mina's hands sneak around your waist and feel her face behind pressed against your back. 

"I missed this," she says, voice muffled. "You being a complete asshole to our son, watching you cook us dinner"

"You ass" you say laughing turning around in her arms after her comment. "I was not an asshole to Otis"

She only laughs, head slightly tilted, giving you her best smile. "Tomato, Tomato"

"There is no Tomato or Tomato in this situation" you chuckle, resting your head on her shoulder. 

"Eh there is" she continues, not willing to 'let you win'. "What are your plans for tomorrow?" she finally asks, stepping a little away from you so that you can tend to the food. 

"Hmm" you say as you move to look over the sizzling fish, still feeling her hand softly on your hip. "I was thinking we could stay in?" you suggest, to which she quickly agrees, eager to spend some quality time with you. 

Once you're in bed waiting for Mina to join you after she finishes her night routine, you decide to read one last chapter. Since you were too engrossed into the book, you didn't even feel the bed dip beside you and Mina's presence until she adjusts your falling glasses. 

"You need to get them adjusted," she whispers curling up next to your sitting frame, making you immediately drop the book and take off your glasses to join her. 

"They're perfectly fine." You assure her, bringing her closer to you and nuzzling your face into her neck, feeling her hair tickling your face. Not feeling energized to answer, she only hums appreciating the warmth of your skin against hers.

❂

Mina took every opportunity to be with you, not taking any moment for granted, just wanting to be near you. Once you noticed she was spending more and more time with you, even at work (not that you were at all complaining) you eventually asked if she'd like to help in the shop. You had to admit that it was nice to have her around you almost all the time. The time she had spent abroad filming her movie had been hard on both of you. 

After finally finding a day that worked for everyone, you all organized a camping outing between friends by the lake nearby. The difficult part wasn’t making time and finding free time in between schedules, the difficult time was Mina finding the courage to wake you up, so now there she laid you on top of her, head snuggled into the crock of her neck, letting out soft snores.  Even though she had already been home for some time now, Mina still took a deep breath after she woke up every day. The little lavender accents that she had added when she moved in with you, your citrus fragrance lingering in the air, it was all everything she could ask for. After completely waking up, she noticed you were still asleep, and she couldn't bear to wake you up.

She gently moved you so that you wouldn't wake up and quietly went to the kitchen to prepare you both breakfast and everything to take for the picnic. 

“I don’t think I like this new habit of yours where you just don’t wake me up and do everything yourself.” You slur out as you lazily walk into the kitchen straight towards her.

“You look too peaceful to wake up, I always hate doing that.” 

You hum against her back before letting go, groaning as you stretch your arms out, exposing some of your skin as your shirt rides up. 

“You know…” you hear from behind, feeling her hands already sneaking up your shirt, tickling your skin. “We can just say we caught the flu and stay in?” She says, kissing up your jaw. 

“They’ll kill us.” You try, but not making any attempt to move away from her. 

She only non-committally nods in response to your reasoning, leaning in to brush her lips against yours. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine”. She pulls you in by the waist, her hands creeping up your back as she finally leans in to kiss you. 

As you’re getting busy, not even thinking about the outing that had been planned with your friends, your phone starts to ring. 

“I’m killing whoever is calling you,” Mina whispers against your lips, hands secure on your waist, not wanting to let you go. 

“I swear to everything holy, if you’re not ready to go I’m coming over and putting you inside the trunk of my car”

“I’ve always loved your good mornings, so supportive, so wholesome.” you say rolling your eyes as you pick up the phone, looking over to a questioning Mina on your side. “It’s Jihyo.” you whisper to her. 

“I would be nice if you had a record of being on time you know?”

“I’m always on time!”

Since you seemed to be too occupied with the call and no longer focusing on her, Mina decided to finish packing the fruits before letting you know she would be going to get ready, 

“We’ll be there on time, but you do realize it’s just a picnic, right?” you ask her, half amused, as you put the drinks inside the cooler. 

“I’m well aware, I just wanted to make sure.”

“Sure, I’m still in my pjs but we’ll be there on time”

“You’re still on your-”

“Bye!” you say, cutting her off, happy with yourself for riling her up a little.

❂

“I told you to get those tightened,” Mina says as she watches your glasses slide off your face as you lean down to pick up the cooler. “Last week they almost fell into the dishwasher.” 

“I know…” You say, adjusting said glasses. “I planned on going yesterday, but then I had to stay at the shop, so I didn’t really get a chance.”

“She could’ve just got them tightened when we went to pick them out, but she didn’t want to say anything.” Jihyo shrugs, coming up from behind you to help take off more of the food from the car.

“They were good at the time, they were not as loose, shut up.” You say, walking towards the pebbles near the lake. 

“They were, you just avoid talking to other people when it comes to things like this, so now you have extra loose glasses,” Jeongyeon adds as she follows the two of you. 

“I’ll go right after the weekend.” You groan, rolling your eyes playfully at their insistence. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, I’m older than you” Jihyo says, pinching your arm playfully

“By two months??” you exclaim, rubbing your arm

“Still older” she shrugs

After setting up the tents at the camping park, you take a walk down to the lake. Once you arrive, you are met with a beautiful body of water in yellow and greenish shades, surrounded by big trees with branches so big they were almost covering the sky. There were little frogs leaping through the little pebbles and fish swimming through the algae. You decide to sit up on the grass near the rocks, seeming like a good place to stay to enjoy the quiet. 

“This deck will need fixing soon…” Jeongyeon says as she picks up a loose wooden part at the beginning of it. Her concerns fall on deaf hears as she sees you running past her with a very competitive Jihyo right behind you towards the water.

Mina had decided to just sit at the edge of it, happy to just watch you all swim around, it not being her favourite activity. She was satisfied with just watching you have fun. Her eyes were stuck on you when suddenly you decided to dive and didn’t come right up. As she goes to get up, worry already starting to spread to her, you come up for air, right next to where she stood, giving her a silly smile, making her heart melt and worry disappear.

"Thought I lost you there," she says, returning your smile, tracing little stars on your wet shoulders. 

"Were you worried?” you ask laughing. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily". 

“I’m glad.” She says, looking down at you lovingly. If she weren’t in public with all your friends watching, she would’ve probably let herself fall into the water to kiss all over your face. Instead, you both just stayed there for a while, simply basking in each other’s presence, not seeing any need in getting out. 

“Mina?” Sana called out. “Your agent is calling you!”

“On a Sunday of all days.” Mina grumbles as she gets up quickly, annoyed for having her quiet time interrupted.  

You only chuckle, continuing to swim through the warm water. 

“I thought she was on holiday?” Jihyo asks, swimming towards you, flicking water from her fingers to your face. 

“Yup, must be something to do with the press tour? ‘m not sure though…” 

After a while of mindless talking, Mina comes back with a small smile on her face. 

“So?” 

“I just have to go to the office next week, have some papers to sign because of a deal.” she happily says, sitting again on the deck.

“That’s really good!” You say as you swim towards her, kissing the hand dangling into the water. “If you want, I can drive you there.” You suggest, gaining the immediate approval of your friend. 

“Yes, please, I have been trying to get her to come try the new ice rink that just opened up.”  She says, shaking you by the shoulders. 

“Why are you shaking me, you turd?” You say, shaking her hands away from you, spitting out the water you almost swallowed.  

“ ‘Cuz I want you to come play with me” She retorts. 

“Sana?” Mina calls. “Want to arrange a play date? These two want to hang out.”

“Aw yeah, of course, here’s my phone.” She says, handing her phone to Mina and getting in on the little joke. “Put your number in, and we’ll arrange it!”

They only laugh more when they see you both staring at them with no reaction. 

“Do they think they’re funny?” Jihyo asks, looking at you, still with no expression on her face.

 “I think they think they’re hilarious.”

After deciding that you were taking Mina to the agency and later going to play with Jihyo, you let yourself be swallowed by the water, still hearing Mina’s melodious laugh through the water surrounding you. Out of nowhere, a crashing sound is heard, right to your left, making you look right away. There is Mina, smiling at you with the thin sun rays illuminating her face, wiggling towards you to bring you closer to her. Once close enough, she softly plants her lips on yours in a brief kiss, before grabbing your hand and swimming up to get you both to the surface. 

❂

“...no I don’t think you understand,” Jeongyeon laughs. “Those two during Halloween were just not the little saints everyone thought they were.” she continues as she points to you and Jihyo, both annoyed by her idea of sharing childhood stories. 

“Whatever she says is going to be greatly exaggerated, just so you know.” Jihyo cuts in, as she prepares the meat. 

“Agreed, what we did was perfectly reasonable”

“Anyway, during Halloween,” she continues, ignoring your objections. “Those two loved to dress up in the most elaborate costumes to get as much candy as possible. So, one year they devised a plan. They canvassed the houses in town to see where they handed most of the candy. A week before Halloween they arranged a little stand on the playground and lured kids in, saying they had a map of the best places to get candy. They told them that to get the map, they had to pay 1 dollar, and since a lot of kids thought this was a great idea, almost everyone gave them the money. Yn to rile them in even gave a speech about how people were starting to care less about actually giving out candy, that children no longer need that much sugar in their tiny bodies.” By that point, you get up and go to Jihyo’s side. 

“Think Mina will ever let me near her nephew again?” 

“I mean it’s not like we actually did something bad,” she says, and even if you’re not directly facing her, you know she has a big smile on her face. 

“...turns out, that was a map of the health brigade parents, that at the time were just giving out fruit and stuff like trail mix. Those two went to all the right houses and since no kid had shown up all night, they got all the candy from these oh so innocent kind-hearted people. They were thrilled and ran home as soon as possible with all the candy they got their tiny hands on.” By then Mina has her head thrown back, laughing at your idiotic plans from when you were ten, and for once you thanked Jeongyeon for airing your stories out. 

“I had to be their bodyguard for like a week since there were a lot of angry kids after them,” Jeongyeon says in between laughs. “They were lucky they had a friend in a higher grade to ‘protect’ them.” She proudly ends. 

“You took 30 percent of our candies, you didn’t do it for free.” You grumble as you sit in your previous spot. “So please get out of your high horse.”

“Well,” she starts grinning at your annoyed face. “My services aren’t for free-”

“You also ratted us out to our parents,” Jihyo says cutting her off. 

“You got grounded?” Mina asks, laughing at you both. 

“I did, had to give out half of the candy to the other kids…” Jihyo complains, letting her head fall on Sana’s shoulder. 

“My dad just took half my sweets, he said it wasn’t that bad of an idea, just poorly executed.” You shrug with a smile on your face. 

“Yeah, you’re not going to be allowed to be alone with my nephew again, you’ll corrupt him.” Mina teasingly says.

The night goes on, and more stories are shared until Mina and Sana are saying their good nights and going to their tents, leaving you and your friends behind. 

“It’s a shame Nayeon couldn’t come.” Jihyo says after a moment of silence, gaining hums of agreement. 

“Yeah, but she couldn’t just fly in, she had the business trip planned for a while.”

“Speaking off…” Jihyo starts, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Have you picked it up?”

“How was that even related?”

“I- uh yeah” you say, picking up your phone to show them a picture of it. 

“Hm, you picked well.” Jeongyeon tells you, her hand squeezing your shoulder. 

You could only smile at them, happy to have their support through all of this. From the moment you called them in a state akin to panic to this very moment. You couldn’t wait for the perfect moment to finally ask Mina. 

❂

“Ok so, I’ll call you but I’m probably going to be done by 7, and we can grab dinner.” Mina offers through the window of your car. 

“We’re probably done by 7-7:30? She said it was right by her house but it’s 30 minutes out.”

“I’ll wait at Sana’s then. The agency is not too far from her house, I can catch an Uber or something.”

Once you’re done with the little drills in the new rink, you wait for Jihyo to finish up hers. 

“So, have you given it more thought? Do you know when you’ll be popping the question?” Jihyo says, skating to you after putting in some pucks. 

“I’m not sure? She’s going on her press tour soon, so I think I’ll wait for a bit,” you say getting up to help her with her gear.  “I have all the time in the world.” You add with a lovesick smile. 

“You’re insufferable I hate it.” She says jokingly, taking off her helmet. “Help me carry these out, the kids didn’t storage them.” She points to the cones next to the wall. 

Once out of the rink and ready to pick Mina up after a short shower, you’re both inside the car and Jihyo is deep in her feels, blasting “Casual” by Chappell Roan. 

“You are in a stable relationship, why are you screaming like someone took your heart out and stomped on it?” you question laughing at her behavior. 

“I just imagined a scenario so that I could sing it with passion, obviously” she simply answers, not caring about your teasing comment. “No way!” She suddenly says. 

“What?” You quickly answer, alert to whatever danger she might me pointing out.

“Look over there,” she says, pointing at the tree you were about to pass. “There are owls here too!” she excitedly tells you. 

You laugh at that but do take your eyes off the road for a second to look at them. If you hadn’t, you would have noticed that the driver didn’t see his stop sign and was heading straight to you.

[estellan0vella]

My Love, My Life ❀ includes: Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Yuta, Megumi, Yuji & Toge (REQUESTED) Part 2 to this

On the third day of his relentless wait, as dawn begins to break and the first rays of sunlight filter through the window, something shifts. Gojo, eyes closed but not asleep, feels a faint squeeze around his fingers. His eyes snap open, his heart pounding as he looks down at your hand, still entwined with his.

"Is it...?" he whispers, hope and fear battling within him.

Then he sees it—a flicker of movement, your eyelids fluttering as if fighting to open. He leans forward, his breath catching in his throat. "Come on," he murmurs, his voice trembling. "You can do it."

Slowly, agonizingly, your eyes open. They are unfocused at first, searching the room, but when they land on him, a spark of recognition flickers in your gaze. Tears of relief fill Gojo's eyes, and he squeezes your hand gently, afraid to let go.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "Welcome back."

Your lips part, and though it takes immense effort, you manage to speak, your voice weak. "'Toru..."

Hearing your voice again is like a miracle. He chokes back a sob, nodding fervently. "I'm here," he assures you, his grip on your hand tightening. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay."

Tears of relief and joy mix with the lingering fear as he watches you slowly come back to life. The strongest sorcerer in the world, once feeling helpless, now clings to the hope that you will recover. Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, despite the pain and the tubes and wires, there is a connection, a promise of healing and love.

"I love you," he whispers, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I'll never leave your side."

You manage a faint smile, your strength returning with each passing second. "I love you too," you reply, your voice a fragile whisper but filled with the same unwavering emotion.

Days pass like an eternity in the sterile hospital room, each moment weighted with uncertainty and longing. Nanami Kento remains steadfast by your bedside, his vigil unbroken despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The steady rhythm of the monitors becomes a monotonous soundtrack to his thoughts, a constant reminder of your fragile state.

Then, as if a miracle whispered through the hushed corridors, there's a subtle shift in the air. Nanami's breath catches as he notices the faint flutter of your eyelids, a sign so small yet significant in the vast expanse of the room. His heart pounds against his chest, hope and fear waging war within him.

"Ken..." Your voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes through the room like a symphony to his ears. His head snaps up, disbelief and relief flooding his features as he meets your gaze, those eyes that he feared he might never see again.

"I'm here," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion as he reaches for your hand, gripping it tightly as if afraid you might slip away again. "I've been here."

You struggle to sit up, weak from your ordeal, but determination shines in your eyes. Nanami moves to help you, offering his unwavering support as you find your strength. Tears glisten in his eyes as he watches you, a mixture of overwhelming joy and profound gratitude swelling in his heart.

"I thought I lost you," he confesses, his voice trembling with emotion. "I couldn't bear the thought of facing this world without you."

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek, the warmth of your touch grounding him in the reality of this moment. "I'm here, Ken," you assure him, your voice a gentle melody that soothes his soul. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Days blur into nights, each passing moment weighted with the unbearable anticipation of Sukuna Ryomen. He sits vigil by the hospital bed, his presence a constant shadow in the sterile room. The machines continue their ceaseless symphony, but he hears only the echo of his own heart, pounding against the confines of his chest.

Then, like a whisper in the darkness, there is movement. A flutter of eyelids, a faint twitch of fingers. Sukuna's hand reaches out instinctively, trembling as it hovers over the figure lying before him.

"Hey," he whispers. "Can you hear me?"

And then, as if in response to his desperate plea, their eyes flutter open, the once vacant gaze now alive with recognition. A faint smile tugs at the corners of their lips, a beacon of hope in the sea of uncertainty.

"'Kuna..." they murmur, their voice fragile but filled with a strength that defies comprehension.

Relief floods through him like a tidal wave, washing away the shadows of doubt and fear. He grasps their hand tightly, as if afraid they might slip away again if he lets go.

"You're awake," he breathes, his voice trembling with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you."

But they shake their head, a faint chuckle escaping their lips. "You could never lose me," they whisper, their words a promise wrapped in a vow of eternity.

Four days pass like an eternity in the confines of the hospital room. Toji sits by the hospital bed, his presence a silent plea for his partner to return to him. Every moment feels like an eternity, each beat of their heart a victory against the looming specter of death.

Then, one morning, as the rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, a flutter of eyelids breaks the stillness. Toji's breath catches in his throat as he watches, disbelief warring with hope in his chest. Their eyelashes brush against their cheeks, a faint sign of life returning to their fragile form.

"Toji?" a voice, weak and hoarse, but unmistakably theirs, breaks the silence.

Tears of relief blur Toji's vision as he leans closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

A faint smile tugs at their lips, a flicker of recognition in their eyes. "What happened?" they ask, their voice barely more than a whisper.

Toji takes their hand in his, his grip tight with reassurance. "You were hurt," he explains, his voice trembling with the weight of the words. "But you're going to be okay now."

Their eyes search his face, finding solace in the depths of his gaze. "I'm sorry," they whisper, their voice laced with regret.

Toji shakes his head, brushing a strand of hair from their forehead. "Don't apologize," he says firmly. "Just focus on getting better."

The room is bathed in the soft glow of morning light, a welcome change from the harsh fluorescence of the hospital's overhead fixtures. Yuta sits in the same chair beside your bed, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but filled with a glimmer of hope. He hasn't left your side since that fateful day, his presence a silent vigil against the encroaching darkness.

As if in response to his unwavering devotion, your eyelids flutter open, revealing tired but unmistakably alive eyes. Yuta's heart leaps in his chest, relief flooding every fiber of his being.

"Hey," he breathes, his voice laced with equal parts disbelief and joy. "Hey there angel"

You blink, the haze of unconsciousness slowly dissipating as you take in your surroundings. Your gaze lands on Yuta, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

"Yuta," you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm... I'm okay."

Tears well up in Yuta's eyes as he reaches out to grasp your hand, his fingers trembling with emotion.

"You scared me," he admits, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I thought... I thought I had lost you."

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent reassurance that you're still here, that you're not going anywhere. In that moment, surrounded by the beeping of machines and the scent of antiseptic, you both know that you've been given a second chance—a chance to heal, to love, and to cherish every moment together.

Only allowing himself to be dragged away to eat or wash, Megumi maintains his vigil by your bedside, his devotion unwavering even as exhaustion threatens to consume him. And then, like a faint glimmer of hope in the darkness, there's a subtle shift in the air. His hand still clasped in yours, he feels a faint pressure, a response so slight it could be mistaken for imagination.

His heart leaps in his chest as he lifts his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign of consciousness. And there it is, a flutter of eyelashes, a twitch of your lips. His breath catches in his throat, tears springing to his eyes as he watches you slowly awaken from the depths of unconsciousness.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. "Can you hear me?" His fingers tighten around yours, seeking reassurance in the warmth of your touch.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first before recognition dawns in them. A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you squeeze his hand in return, a silent reassurance that you're still here, still fighting.

Relief floods through Megumi, overwhelming him as he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Thank god," he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you."

Several days pass, each one stretching out like an eternity for Yuji Itadori as he maintains his vigil by your side. But then, as the morning light filters through the curtains, a subtle change ripples through the stillness of the hospital room. A flutter of eyelashes, a faint twitch of fingers—signs so small, yet they stir Yuji from his restless sleep.

His eyes snap open, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he gazes at you, scarcely daring to believe what he's seeing. Your eyelids flutter, and then slowly, so achingly slowly, they lift, revealing eyes clouded with confusion and pain, but undeniably awake.

"Hey," Yuji's voice cracks with emotion, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave. "You're awake." His hand, which had never left yours, tightens its grip, as if anchoring you to this moment, this reality.

You blink slowly, trying to focus, to make sense of the world around you. The room feels foreign, the beeping of the monitors unfamiliar, but there's something undeniably comforting about Yuji's presence beside you.

With effort, you manage a faint smile, a glimmer of recognition in your eyes as you turn to meet his gaze. "Yuji," you whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse, but music to his ears.

Tears blur Yuji's vision as he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his relief and joy overflowing. "I'm here," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm right here, and I'm never leaving your side again."

Days blur into nights, each moment weighted with uncertainty as Toge remains steadfast by his partner's side. Then, one hazy morning, a subtle change ripples through the stillness of the room. His partner stirs, eyelids fluttering open like delicate petals unfurling to the dawn.

Toge's heart leaps, a tumultuous mix of relief and apprehension flooding his senses. He watches with bated breath as their gaze flickers around the room, finally settling on him. For a moment, their eyes lock, and in that fleeting exchange, volumes of unspoken words pass between them.

Slowly, their lips part, and Toge's name escapes in a hoarse whisper, like a fragile melody breaking the silence. Tears well in his eyes, but this time, they're tears of joy, of hope rekindled from the brink of despair.

He leans closer, his hand reaching out to brush against their cheek, trembling with anticipation. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he speaks the words he's longed to say, throwing all caution to the wind to speak to his partner.

"I'm here... I love you."

Their eyes glisten with recognition, with understanding, as if they too have been waiting for this moment. And in that instant, the weight that has burdened Toge's heart begins to lift, replaced by a newfound sense of hope, of renewal.

@mangiswig

I have spent all day cooking and I'm cooking good

[marsbutterfly]

Headcanons: The Five Senses Of The Human Body After Losing Hanji Zoe

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since last year, since part 3 part 1 came out. I miss them. I miss them a lot :(

warnings: fem!reader, grief and mentions of hanji's death. NSFW once you get to touch: masturbation, dildo riding, praising, crying afterwards.

You see Hanji in the old books that collect dust in the old shelves in your room. The pages that never got the pleasure of being touched by their fingers, the words on the pages that never once got to see those whiskey brown eyes.

You see Hanji in the apron that hangs in the kitchen, still covered in flour from the cake they tried to bake not long ago. They kept saying they would wash it and get it clean before baking again but they never actually got the chance to do it.

You see Hanji in the box of extra sets of glasses that sits on top of the dresser. Actual frames and battle frames, broken glasses and brand new ones they never even got the chance to wear.

You see Hanji in the stack of paperwork they left behind. Unfinished drafts for new flying machines, titan experiments with Armin's Colossal Titan, a few half-written love letters dedicated towards you that you had never read until a few days ago.

You see Hanji in the dark corners of the bedroom, where their jacket hangs from the chair. A spot you haven't touched in weeks, if not a month. Not since before the rumbling even started because you know they were very particular about the places they kept their things.

You smell Hanji in the dirty bed sheets they left behind. The covers are still messy and thrown around, half hanging from the bed as you haven't had the courage or the strength to fix it. You can still clearly see the image of their body laying around naked, an arm over their face while their leg is on top of yours.

You smell Hanji in the half empty bottle of shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom. In the soap bar that has been broken in half because they couldn't find a replacement, so they tried their best to make it last.

You smell Hanji in the field of flowers right outside the city, a place where the two of you would go whenever they needed time away from the job as the commander. Sunflowers had always been their favorite.

You smell Hanji in the rain that pours outside your window. The memories of when they would go outside and allow themselves a few minutes of peace and quiet, just feeling the water against their clothes and their skin, moments that the two of you could share together.

You smell Hanji in the dirt, no matter where you go. Gardening had always been an activity the two of you shared, even if you were not the biggest fan of dirt and grass. But you could never deny them anything, not when it caused such a big smile to take over their face.

You taste Hanji in the leftovers you got from their favorite restaurant on the very last date the two of you went on together. A small place hidden behind all the buildings of the capital, where the waitresses knew you by heart and already knew your order.

You taste Hanji in the bottle of wine you had saved for the day the two of you got married. You never had the chance to savor it together so you take it to the area where you built a small gravestone for them and pour some on the empty ground, knowing that not even their body is down there.

You taste Hanji in the dragon fruits that Levi brought back for you. He knows those were their favorite and therefore he knows you, more than anyone, need to taste them again to feel connected to the person you had grown to love the most.

You taste Hanji in the food you accidentally made slightly too spice for you because you were so used to making it like that for them. You end up adding too much pepper and you are all too used to drinking lots of water during meals to make sure they are happy. But they aren't here anymore.

You taste Hanji in the tea bags that never got open, bags and exotic leaves that were confiscated from the military and the two of you stole from the Military Police, bag that you now have to try on your own because Levi is too busy traveling the world and rebuilding society and Hanji... Well, they aren't here anymore.

You hear Hanji in the old recordings Kiyomi Azumabito had saved from when all of you were having secret meetings away from Paradis. To be able to hear their voice again after witnessing their death, to be able to hear their laugh and the seriousness all combined into one recording. You could almost picture them next to you again.

You hear Hanji in the birds that sing outside. They would wake up as soon as the sun would rise and study the birds while sitting on the window ledge, a cup of tea in one hand while the other held a journal against their thigh, the pencil tightly gripped in between their fingers.

You hear Hanji in the way that you speak. After so many years as lovers and even more so as friends, you couldn't help but acquire some of their mannerisms. The jokingly pronounce T's at the end of your sentences, the loud burst of laugh when you first begin, the subtle roll of your tongue when you pronounce a few words.

You hear Hanji in the street music around the area that used to be surrounded by Wall Sina. Most of the performers know you by name, from times before the rumbling, when you and Hanji would walk together along these streets and slow dance to the sound of the instruments.

You hear Hanji in the moans you let out. Their name still falls from your lips and you can hear their voice, calling you a "good girl" and "what a wonderful job you are doing for me, Moonlight." Their praises still echo through the walls of your heart.

You touch Hanji every time you touch yourself. As soon as your eyes close, you lose the feeling that you are the one doing it to yourself as you begin to imagine their fingers inside of you once more, their thumb brushing against your clit.

You touch Hanji every time your fingers aren't enough and you have to resort to wrapping the strap they used to wear around a pillow. The way it slides inside of you and you cling to the pillowcase, imagining it's their shirt, you cry out their name and a few tears come out of your eyes against your will. You ride the strap until you are crying their name so loudly half the town can hear. You most likely cry afterwards.

You touch Hanji every time you run your fingers above your naked skin, trailing the hairs like a feather falling from a flying bird. You touch the areas of yourself you hate the most and you can almost listen to their words of love, about how beautiful you are and how they could never love anyone like they love you.

You touch Hanji every time the palm of your hand covers your nipples. Every time you squeeze your breasts at the exact same strength level they would and whimper at the feeling, lying to yourself that this is actually them, that they are still here and touching you in such an intimate manner.

You touch Hanji every time you close your eyes and you are finally able to dream about them. About a life in which they didn't have to sacrifice themselves, that you didn't have to see their body fall to the ground. You touch their face and see them smile once more, a sight you are so scared of forgetting, you smell their skin and you hear their voice in such a sweet tone you can almost taste it,

"I miss you."