#automatic door operator

[kittykatinabag]

The good news: my blood draw today didn't make me dizzy or make me pass out once I got home like the one I did back in early 2022 did.

The bad news: I feel obligated to go to work tomorrow since I'm feeling about the same amount of tiredness as I usually do.

We'll see if it all hits like a truck when I wake up and don't have energy from food in my body.

[gireportstory]

Automatic Swing-door Operator Latest Industry Trends: Revenue, Price, Sales Analysis Report 2025

"Global Automatic Swing-door Operator Market 2025 by Manufacturers, Regions, Type and Application, Forecast to 2031" is published by Global Info Research. It covers the key influencing factors of the Automatic Swing-door Operator market, including Automatic Swing-door Operator market share, price analysis, competitive landscape, market dynamics, consumer behavior, and technological impact, etc.At the same time, comprehensive data analysis is conducted by national and regional sales, corporate competition rankings, product types and applications. This report is a detailed and comprehensive analysis for global Automatic Swing-door Operator market. 

According to our (Global Info Research) latest study, the global Automatic Swing-door Operator market size was valued at US$ 1018 million in 2024 and is forecast to a readjusted size of USD 1553 million by 2031 with a CAGR of 6.3% during review period.

Key Highlights of Automatic Swing-door Operator Report 1.Research the competitiveness analysis of major global Automatic Swing-door Operator players and manufacturers, by company profile, market revenue, sales volume, gross margin, key development strategies. Major companies covered include ASSA ABLOY、Nabtesco、Stanley Access Technologies、KONE、Dormakaba、TORMAX、Horton Automatics、GEZE、Portalp、Allegion、ERREKA 2.Evaluate the growth potential of the Automatic Swing-door Operator market, including global Automatic Swing-door Operator market size and forecast analysis by consumption value, 2020-2031 3.Identify the global and key country Automatic Swing-door Operator market opportunity size, covering global Automatic Swing-door Operator market share and forecasts (consumption value) by region and country, 2020-2031 4. Statistical analysis of global Automatic Swing-door Operator market share and development prospects, and segmented by product type and application, 2020-2031  5. Analyze the industry development factors affecting the Automatic Swing-door Operator market, and provide key insights into market opportunities, drivers, restraints, new market opportunities or policy factors.

Main Content Chapter 1, Automatic Swing-door Operator product scope, market overview, Product Overview and Scope, Consumption Value, Market Size by Region 2020 VS 2024 VS 2031 Chapter 2, top manufacturers of Automatic Swing-door Operator , with Major Business, price, sales, revenue and Gross Margin and Market Share (2020-2025) Chapter 3, focus on analyzing the Automatic Swing-door Operator competition status, sales volume, revenue and global market share of the top 3 and top 6 market players (2020-2025) Chapter 4, to segment the Automatic Swing-door Operator  market size by Type with Consumption Value and Market Share by Type (2020-2031) Chapter 5, to segment the Automatic Swing-door Operator market size by Application, with Consumption Value and Market Share by Type (2020-2031) Chapter 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, to break down the sales data of Automatic Swing-door Operator by countries, including sales volume, sales value, revenue, consumption value and market share of key countries in the world (2020-2031) Chapter 11, Automatic Swing-door Operator market dynamics, drivers, restraints, trends and Porters Five Forces analysis Chapter 12, the key raw materials and key suppliers, and industry chain of Automatic Swing-door Operator industry Chapter 13 and 14, to describe Automatic Swing-door Operator sales channel, distributors, customers, research findings and conclusion.

Reasons for choosing this report 1. Competitor analysis: Understand the Automatic Swing-door Operator market position, market share and share of major competitors, and quickly develop efficient marketing methods and market strategies to maintain a leading position in the market landscape. 2. Expand business and develop new markets: Understand the driving growth factors and constraints of the market through Automatic Swing-door Operator market research reports, gain insights and make wise investment decisions, and provide analytical references for new market development. 3. Identify target customers and M&A planning: Identify the top manufacturers in the Automatic Swing-door Operator market, make strategic decisions on mergers and acquisitions, and classify potential new customers or partners in the target population to better penetrate the market and enhance the competitiveness of the company's core business. 4. Reduce cumbersome data collation: Understand the focus areas of leading companies through the results of extensive research and analysis conducted by an experienced team of Automatic Swing-door Operator market researchers to develop wise tactical plans. 5. Presentation support: Use reliable, Automatic Swing-door Operator high-quality data and analysis to strengthen your internal and external presentations and provide strong data support.

About Us Global info Research is a report publisher that focuses on collecting global industry information, mainly providing market strategy analysis for enterprises and helping users understand industry development opportunities. It focuses on industry research, market share analysis, market share, customized research, corporate strategic planning, industry chain research, database analysis and top industry survey services. The market research reports published by Global info Research are trusted by more than 30,000 companies. It provides analytical report support for enterprises in the market competition landscape and assists enterprises in making wise investment decisions.

[jisanvai]

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[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The forest was silent. Too silent. Xavier felt it in his bones before the emergency signal even reached his com-device. His muscles tensed, lowering his sword as the vibration against his wrist sent ice through his veins.

He abandoned the trail immediately, feet pounding against the earth as he raced back to the location informed about the injured hunters. His knuckles whitened as they dug into the skin of his palm until it almost bled. Despite never doubting your abilities for a moment, he was consumed by a desperate wish that he had been there to prevent this from happening.

When he finally reached the hospital, the fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his face. The sight of you, broken and bloodied on the stretcher, caused something to fracture inside him. He stood paralyzed in the doorway, watching as medics rushed around your unconscious form, their voices fading to white noise.

“Hunter down, multiple lacerations, possible internal bleeding...”

One step. Two. He was beside your bed now, his hand hovering inches from yours, afraid that his touch might somehow hurt you more. A nurse tried to usher him away, but the look in his eyes made her step back. He was trying so hard to pull himself together, but the facade was crumbling.

“I’m staying,” he said simply, the words leaving no room for argument.

Days passed in a sterile blur. Xavier didn’t move from the uncomfortable chair beside your bed. He didn’t eat. There was a day when he slept like he was dead, with your hand clutched tight in his to feel your pulse. He’d just watched your chest rise and fall, as if his vigilance alone could keep you tethered to this world.

When your squad members came to visit, they brought news—the mission area had been mysteriously cleared out. No Wanderers remained. Not one. The cleanup had been thorough, leaving no traces behind. Nobody had seen who did it.

One of your colleagues shifted uncomfortably under Xavier’s gaze. “Strangest thing. Like they vanished overnight. Even the nest we couldn’t breach was empty.”

Xavier simply nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.

When the doctor suggested he get some rest, Xavier simply shook his head, eyes never leaving your face. He wouldn’t leave your side until he was completely assured that you were going to be okay.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, the words meant only for you despite your unconscious state. “I’ll always be here.”

Only when you stirred slightly, days later, did something change in his expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest tremor in his steady hands. He leaned forward, close enough that only you could hear the whisper.

“I will always find you. Always.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The operating room doors burst open as another trauma case rolled in. Zayne was mid-consultation when his pager buzzed with the emergency code. Standard procedure—until he glimpsed your face beneath the oxygen mask. Despite his professional exterior, panic was building inside him like a storm, threatening to break through his carefully maintained composure.

His clipboard clattered to the floor. “Get Doctor Dean,” he ordered sharply, already moving toward the gurney. “I know this patient.”

“Sir, protocol states—” the resident began.

“Get. Doctor. Dean.” His voice cut like a scalpel. The young doctor scrambled away as Zayne reached for your hand, his practiced fingers automatically finding your pulse.

“BP dropping, multiple trauma, suspected hemorrhage,” the paramedic rattled off. “Combat injury, ambush scenario.”

Zayne’s mind raced. As a former combat medic who’d seen countless injuries, he’d treated soldiers under artillery fire, but this—this was different. This was personal. Seeing your blood soaking through the bandages twisted his insides in ways combat never had.

“Doctor Zayne, you need to step back,” Doctor Dean said firmly, already moving to intercept him. “You know protocol.”

“I’m her physician,” Zayne countered, his voice tight as he tried to get closer.

Doctor Dean blocked his path. “Your emotions will compromise your judgment. We’ve got her.”

Zayne’s fists clenched at his sides as they wheeled you toward the operating room. Every instinct screamed at him to follow, to take control, to fix you himself. Instead, he was forced to watch through the observation window, a spectator to your fight for survival, his mind a whirlwind of unbridled fear.

Hours passed like years. His colleagues offered coffee, suggested he rest. He didn’t respond. His eyes never left the monitors displaying your vital signs, gripping the observation window’s edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

In your recovery room, Zayne sat perfectly still, your hand clasped between both of his. His thumbs pressed against your wrist, monitoring your pulse as if the machines couldn’t be trusted. Others who passed by the room hardly recognized the distinguished cardiac surgeon in the haggard man who refused to leave your side.

Yvonne entered to adjust your IV, giving Zayne a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Doctor Zayne, you should get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep when she wakes up,” he replied without looking up, his professional demeanor completely abandoned.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, his composure cracked just enough for you to see the storm that had been raging beneath.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered hoarsely, “ever scare me like that again.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery was packed for Rafayel’s showcase, champagne flowing as critics and collectors mingled among his latest masterpieces. Thomas beamed at the turnout, already calculating the evening’s profits.

Then Rafayel’s phone rang.

The transformation was instant. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by an expression Thomas had never seen before—horror and fear combined. All thoughts of the gallery, the collectors, his artwork—everything disappeared in an instant.

The champagne flute shattered on the marble floor. Rafayel was already moving, shoving through the crowd without a word of explanation.

“Rafayel! Where are you—the collector from Rome is waiting to meet you!” Thomas called after him, but Rafayel was already gone, racing down the steps two at a time, car keys in hand.

The sports car’s tires screeched against the asphalt as he tore through traffic lights, honking frantically at slower vehicles, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. When another driver cut him off, Rafayel slammed his fist against the horn, a string of curses falling from his lips. His hands shook violently on the steering wheel, heart racing faster than the car.

“Move!” he screamed, swerving dangerously into the next lane. “Get out of my way!”

The hospital parking lot wasn’t meant for the kind of turn he attempted. The car scraped against a concrete pillar, but Rafayel didn’t spare it a second glance as he abandoned it half in a disabled spot, keys still in the ignition..

At the reception desk, his hands trembled so violently he could barely hold your ID card. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice cracking. “Please, I need to see her now.”

When they finally led him to your room, Rafayel froze in the doorway. Tubes and wires connected you to machines that beeped rhythmically, monitoring the life still flickering within you. Your skin was ashen, eyes closed, chest barely rising with each shallow breath.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, approaching slowly as if afraid you might shatter. He sank into the chair beside your bed, taking your limp hand between his. “Cutie, please. Can you hear me?”

A nurse offered him a blanket as night fell, but Rafayel shook his head. Hours passed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. There would be no painting, no eating, no sleeping—nothing until you were stable.

When his phone rang—Thomas, undoubtedly—he silenced it without looking.

As dawn broke, a doctor found him still awake, your hand pressed to his lips, whispering promises only you could hear.

“She’s stabilizing,” the doctor said gently. “But recovery will take time.”

Rafayel simply nodded, eyes never leaving your face. “Time is all I have to give.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The notification from Mephisto came during a crucial meeting with the N109 Zone’s security council. The mechanical crow landed urgently on his shoulder, displaying the screen that showed what had just happened. Usually, Mephisto watched over your missions, keeping Sylus informed, but this time—something had gone terribly wrong.

He stopped speaking so abruptly that everyone at the table turned to stare. The blood drained from his face as the footage streamed directly to his personal display—you, surrounded and overwhelmed, fighting until you couldn’t anymore.

“Boss?” one of them ventured. “Should we continue with—”

“Meeting adjourned,” Sylus declared, already on his feet. “Indefinitely.”

No further explanation. No delegation of responsibilities. The council exchanged bewildered glances as the leader strode from the room, his coat billowing behind him, a storm of fury and fear brewing beneath his composed exterior.

Minutes later, the distinctive roar of his motorcycle echoed through the compound as he tore toward Linkon City, weaving through traffic at speeds that turned the world around him into a blur. The only clear thought in his mind was reaching you.

When he arrived at the emergency ward you were in, no one dared question why this person with an imposing, dangerous aura was storming through their halls.

The doctor who approached him looked nervous when Sylus started to ask questions, not bothering to mention who he was. “Mister, she’s lost a significant amount of blood. We’ve managed to stabilize her, but—”

“Show me,” Sylus commanded.

Your room was silent save for the mechanical beeping of monitors. Sylus stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of you lying motionless, bandages covering much of your visible skin, an oxygen mask obscuring half your face.

Without a word, he pulled a chair to your bedside and sat, taking your hand in his.

“I need the names,” he said to the empty room, calling either Luke or Kieran. “Everyone involved. Every detail. Now.” Whether it was Wanderers or some shady people who did this, he would eliminate them all, leaving no traces behind.

As night fell, he remained at your side, one hand holding yours while the other tapped commands into his device, as he kept tapping his feet from either impatience or anxiousness. He wouldn’t let himself breathe peacefully until he knew you were okay.

Only when you stirred slightly, a small sound of pain escaping your lips, did his facade crack. He leaned forward, brushing hair from your forehead with such gentleness.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll handle everything else.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb’s comm device blared the emergency alert in his office—a sound it was programmed to make for only one person’s vitals. The color drained from his face as he stared at the readout, the severity of your condition displayed in harsh red numbers.

Nothing else mattered. Not Skyhaven, not his duties, not anything except reaching you.

The hangar technicians scrambled as he approached, his expression sending them into immediate action. “Prepare my craft for immediate departure,” he ordered, already climbing into the cockpit.

“Sir, the preflight checks—”

“Now!” The word echoed through the hangar, silencing all objections.

The journey that should have taken hours was compressed into a white-knuckled descent that violated at least six safety protocols. As the craft touched down on the hospital’s landing pad, security personnel rushed forward, only to stop short when they recognized the Colonel’s insignia.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the first orderly he encountered inside, frantically searching for you.

His uniform opened doors that would have remained closed to others. When he reached the ICU, the attending physician intercepted him, datapad in hand.

“Colonel, she’s sustained significant trauma. We’ve induced a coma to manage the—”

“Take me to her.” It wasn’t a request.

The sight of you connected to life support sent a visible tremor through his body. This was worse than any nightmare he’d ever imagined.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, sinking into the chair beside you. His fingers brushed against yours, then curled around your hand. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His mind was already calculating retribution. Whoever had done this—be it Wanderers or other enemies—they will pay for this.

Days passed. Nurses came and went. Messages from Skyhaven accumulated, unanswered. Caleb remained unmoved, his thumb tracing circles on your palm as if trying to coax you back to consciousness through touch alone. 

“Colonel, you should rest,” she suggested gently.

“I’m fine,” he responded, voice hoarse from disuse.

When you finally began to stir days later, Caleb was there, his face the first thing you saw as consciousness returned. Relief washed over his features as he pressed his forehead to your hand, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Behind his smile, the knowledge that those responsible had already answered for their actions. But that was a conversation for another day. For now, you were awake, and nothing else mattered.

Another draft out. Also based on this request.

[lockontoronto]

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[moon-fics]

Pepper Spray Lovers

Pairings: Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

A/n: I'm going to need a break after this one. Holy shit.

It was the same every night for you. Serve drinks, clean cups, chat with pilots, and never give out your number. It was a loop that you found comforting and easy to follow. At the Hard Deck, there was a guaranteed safety with the amount of trained pilots around.

You never have to memorize names because the call signs they have are way too ridiculous to forget. They stand out, and based on their personality, you can match them easily. For Hangman, you chalk it up to him always talking to a woman at the bar, but never taking her home. For Rooster, it's because his mustache sometimes looks like a beak to a bird.

You treat each customer the same and smile when they order. You highly doubt any of them know your name, but why should they? You serve them drinks, and they pay their tab. That's all you need or want from them.

"Can I get a water?" A soft voice asks from behind you. You're cleaning a pile of cups while Penny takes orders. You aren't supposed to be bothered, but you assume Penny is busy. You can fetch some water and return back to your cleaning.

Without even looking at the person who ordered, you grab a clean cup and fill it with water from the water dispenser. You spin around and place the cup on the bar top. You only look up for a second but you immediately stop on him.

It's his smile that catches you off guard. It's almost silly how adorable a Top Gun pilot can look by just smiling. His hair is gelled back neatly, and his glasses are a little lower than where they should be.

"Thank you," He nods while taking the glass. His fingers graze yours, and you realize you're still holding the cup. Your hand flinches away automatically. "Busy night?"

You force yourself to speak because you cannot just stare at him. "Yeah, it's definitely busier than usual," You say while clearing your throat. He nods and takes a sip of his water. "There must be something huge happening for so many Top Gun pilots to be here." You glance around the room to see it practically filled with people wearing navy uniforms.

"I'd tell you if I could," He chuckles. "I'm Bob," He holds out his free hand to shake. You gladly take it, and there's a shiver that goes up your spine at how nice his arms look. Before you can respond, someone is calling him over. He gives a little wave as he parts from you.

Throughout the night, you catch him staring at you. Usually, you'd find it creepy or enough to cut him off, so he leaves. Instead, you try to catch him. It gives you some enjoyment to watch when he nervously looks away after getting caught. After a while, he understands the game and begins playing along.

--

It's closing time, and by now, everyone has left, including Penny. The beach waves are all you hear as you check the register and count the cash left over. There's still a smell of alcohol in the air, but it's mixed with salt and sunscreen.

After shutting the register and turning off the lights, you lock the doors. Right as you pull the key out, you hear rustling. No one should be out this late on base. So, either you have a wild animal nearby or someone is stalking you. Either way, it could mean trouble.

Silently and slowly, you reach for your pepper spray. You unlock the safety feature and press your thumb over the top of it. The rustling gets louder, and your body trembles from anxiety.

"Do you need someone to walk you to your car?" A familiar voice rings from behind you. On instinct, you swing around and aim the spray at them. "Hey, hey, wait!" The person yells while putting their hands up in surrender.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness to see Bob standing in front of you. You don't put the pepper spray down, but you remove your thumb from it.

"What are you doing? That was so scary!" You scold. One corner of his lips turns up in a half smile that is still charming.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," He explains. He lowers his hands and puts one in his pocket. He looks concerned that you're going to spray him anyway, but you decide not to. "It's late, and I know that sometimes it can be dangerous on base." He mumbles.

"So, you waited out here for me to close up? It's been like an hour since I saw you leave the bar." You raise an eyebrow. There's no way he waited that long for you.

"I waited," He admits with a nod. You suck in your cheeks at how honest he is. It's refreshing but also a bit odd. "Sorry that I scared you. I thought you heard me walking up to you." He chuckles to himself.

"It's alright. Just, next time, announce yourself or maybe wear a bell." You smile.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, "I'll think about tying a bell around my belt next time."

"Next time?" You tease. You aren't sure what he means by it, because it could simply be a joke. You don't know if he'll be back at the bar because sometimes people show up once and never return.

He seems caught off guard by your repeating his words. "I mean, it's a popular bar. It's the best one on base, so I just assumed I'd come back," He clarifies while scratching at the top of his lip nervously.

"Would you walk me to my car every time?" His eyes practically twinkle at your question. As if your offer has brought a genuine joy inside him. "You did say it's dangerous on base at night."

"I'll walk you to your car as many times as you'd allow."

It takes longer than you expect to get home. Mostly because you're enchanted into a conversation with Bob way past curfew. Once you walk through your door, you get a sense of excitement for your next shift.

--

The music is loud, and so are the pilots. After a long day of training and sweating their asses off they've returned to the bar. Not that you mind anymore.

You get to continue your favorite game with Bob as he plays pool. Every time he makes a shot, he looks for you to see if you saw. When he gets a ball in one of the pockets, he waves. When he scratches, he talks to you until his turn again.

This continues until the end of the night, until he walks you to your car.

[theviolentlesbian]

I hate the people who come into my place of work like "oh you guys are open? You looked closed from outside." Like do you say that to every store you go into? We look as open as every other store in this strip mall wtf do you mean "we look closed"????

[starkeymeow]

rafe with siblingpack!pogue!reader . . .

he would hear you say “my brother” a lot.

you’d toss it into conversations like it meant nothing, like “my brother borrowed my charger again” or “my brother said that movie was mid.”

but it was always a different brother. rafe started noticing that.

one night, while driving back from a late-night gas station run, he finally asked, “how many siblings do you actually have?”

you shrugged like it was no big deal. “six. well, technically seven, including me.” and he almost drove off the road.

he didn’t say anything right away. he just filed it away.

six siblings. six people who share your childhood, your last name, your house. six people who have stories he doesn’t know. six chances to screw this up.

later, he joked about it. said stuff like, “you hiding me from your family?”

and you told him straight-faced, “no. i’m hiding them from you.” and he laughed, but deep down he knew you’re not totally kidding.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet them. it’s just, he didn’t want to lose before he even got the chance to prove himself.

the first time he dropped you off at your house, he saw the shadows through the window.

someone was pacing the hallway. someone else was on the porch barefoot, eating cereal out of a mixing bowl. the porch light flickered. music was playing. someone was shouting from upstairs.

you leaned against his truck door, thumb tracing a chip in the paint, and said, “you don’t have to come in.”

and he knew what you mean. not just tonight. but in general.

you don’t have to see all this. you don’t have to see the unfiltered version of me. but he wanted to. it’s just, he wanted to deserve it first.

you thought about bringing him home, yeah. more than once. usually late at night, when he’s driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of your neck like it's instinct. when the roads are empty and he’s looking at you like he’s still trying to figure you out.

he’ll ask little things: what your house is like, why you never bring anyone around, and you always dodge it, joke your way through.

truth is, you didn’t think he’d want to see it.

even if he asked.

but then today happens. you were supposed to run to the gas station and grab milk. you were hungry. he was already with you. cole had texted some passive-aggressive version of ‘get here before someone eats the rest of the pasta’ and the sun was already going down.

so you said, screw it.

and now, here you are.

you don't even need to knock. the door's unlocked, like always. probably wide open all day. you walk in first, and rafe follows, just a step behind, slow, cautious in the way you never really see from him. like he’s entering a space he shouldn’t be allowed in.

the house smells like cheap candles, burnt toast, and whatever jude poured down the sink last night. the tv’s on so loud the floor vibrates. somewhere in the distance, a door slams and someone yells ‘get the hell out of my room’ in a voice you can’t place yet. might be cole, might be a feral animal.

rafe pauses just past the threshold.

“this a bad idea?” he murmurs, voice quiet but right in your ear.

you glance at him, try not to wince. “kind of.”

he huffs a small laugh, but doesn’t press.

you kick your shoes off automatically, sidestepping a pair of muddy cleats that definitely weren’t there this morning. a small blur zips past your legs, barefoot, wearing a black hoodie and something strapped to his head with duct tape. he’s muttering something about ‘operational recon’ as he disappears around the corner.

“rowan’s in mission mode again,” you mutter.

“jesus,” rafe says under his breath, eyebrows raised. “how many are here again?”

you just wave him in further. the living room is barely holding itself together. a pile of laundry sits half-folded on the armchair, and someone’s hoodie is draped over the ceiling fan cord like a noose. jude is sprawled on the floor like a corpse, watching the tv upside down, arms flung wide, one sock on. next to him, kit’s curled into the couch, hoodie zipped all the way up, knees tucked under her chin.

neither of them looks up.

you clear your throat as you step over an open bag of chips someone clearly gave up on.

“kit. jude. maybe try pretending we have manners.”

kit looks up first. her eyes land on rafe and immediately narrow like she’s scanning him for weak points. she’s got that look she always gets when you bring someone new around. mostly bored, mildly suspicious, like this is all taking time away from her personal agenda of doing nothing.

“you brought someone?” she says, raising a brow. “thought you were still in your antisocial era.”

“she is,” jude mutters, not taking his eyes off the screen. “she just wants someone to suffer with her.”

“true love,” kit says flatly. “so romantic.”

rafe glances between the two of them, then back at you. you catch the faint twitch of a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

“kit, jude,” you start, tilting your head toward him, “this is rafe.”

“cameron?” jude pipes up, finally looking over. “like . . . that cameron?”

“no,” you say. “a different one with the same face, voice, and trust fund.”

rafe gives him a polite nod. “hey.”

kit stares for another beat before her mouth lifts slightly. “ballsy move, bringing tannyhill into this dump.”

“it’s not that bad,” you argue, but even as you say it, a dog barks in the distance and something clatters in the kitchen.

jude shrugs. “i give him ten minutes before he bails.”

“you want a timer?” rafe asks, tone dry.

“ohhh,” jude grins. “he’s got jokes.”

before you can even roll your eyes, another crash comes from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable voice of cole yelling “i said don’t fucking touch that!” and nadia snapping something right back, sharper, quieter, way more terrifying.

you walk toward the noise and gesture for rafe to follow. he does, weaving past the wreckage of backpacks and tangled shoes by the hall.

in the kitchen, cole’s leaned against the counter in a faded white tee, sipping a beer like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground. nadia’s across from him, arms crossed tight, face set like stone. there’s a pot boiling on the stove and something singed on the burner beside it.

cole eyes rafe as soon as you walk in. no hello. no smile. just a squint.

“we picking up strays now?”

“do not,” you warn, pointing a finger. “do not start.”

rafe just lifts a hand. “not a stray. came voluntarily.”

“worse,” cole mutters. “means you’re either stupid or into her.”

“definitely stupid,” nadia adds, dryly, without turning around.

you rub a hand over your face. “rafe, meet cole and nadia. the kitchen trolls.”

“i’m not a troll,” cole says. “i’m the cook.”

nadia turns to rafe with a sigh and a faint smile. “sorry in advance. he’s only here because he ran out of beer at his place.”

“false,” cole says, gesturing with the bottle. “i brought this.”

“that’s expired,” she fires back.

“so’s my patience.”

“anyway,” you cut in before they start again. “we’re just here for a second.”

“sure,” nadia says, though her eyes flick back to rafe. not judgmental. just reading him.

then rowan reappears, making a dramatic dive-roll across the linoleum, blanket cape flapping. he skids into the cabinets, hops up, and shouts, “agent deployed!” before vanishing again.

rafe blinks.

“what the hell?”

“that’s rowan,” you sigh. “he thinks he’s in a war movie.”

“he’s eight,” cole adds helpfully. “don’t feed him. don’t look him in the eye. he’s fine.”

you glance at rafe again, just to check. he doesn’t look freaked out. he looks . . . kind of amused, actually. like he’s genuinely curious about how this turned into your life.

you lean a little closer.

“still wanna be here?”

he shrugs, small smile playing at his lips.

“figured it’d be worse.”

“worse?” you echo.

“yeah,” he says. “like, knives flying. yelling. exorcisms. this is just . . . messy.”

you snort. “give it time.”

but when you look back at him, standing in the middle of the chaos, arms relaxed, not checking the door, you think maybe he can handle it after all. maybe he already is.

a/n: me when i rewatch shameless LOL but yea this wont be a series but maybe ill write headcanons or blurbs here n there with rafe & reader who just has a bunch of siblings in the cut. also yes ik i said 6 siblings and only introduced 5, the 6th is away from home rn !! we’ll get to her another time idk, lmk if u want a brief rundown on ur new fictional siblings maybe

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @adribarbie @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms

[probablyasocialecologist]

Data from a license plate-scanning tool that is primarily marketed as a surveillance solution for small towns to combat crimes like car jackings or finding missing people is being used by ICE, according to data reviewed by 404 Media. Local police around the country are performing lookups in Flock’s AI-powered automatic license plate reader (ALPR) system for “immigration” related searches and as part of other ICE investigations, giving federal law enforcement side-door access to a tool that it currently does not have a formal contract for. The massive trove of lookup data was obtained by researchers who asked to remain anonymous to avoid potential retaliation and shared with 404 Media. It shows more than 4,000 nation and statewide lookups by local and state police done either at the behest of the federal government or as an “informal” favor to federal law enforcement, or with a potential immigration focus, according to statements from police departments and sheriff offices collected by 404 Media. It shows that, while Flock does not have a contract with ICE, the agency sources data from Flock’s cameras by making requests to local law enforcement. The data reviewed by 404 Media was obtained using a public records request from the Danville, Illinois Police Department, and shows the Flock search logs from police departments around the country. As part of a Flock search, police have to provide a “reason” they are performing the lookup. In the “reason” field for searches of Danville’s cameras, officers from across the U.S. wrote “immigration,” “ICE,” “ICE+ERO,” which is ICE’s Enforcement and Removal Operations, the section that focuses on deportations; “illegal immigration,” “ICE WARRANT,” and other immigration-related reasons. Although lookups mentioning ICE occurred across both the Biden and Trump administrations, all of the lookups that explicitly list “immigration” as their reason were made after Trump was inaugurated, according to the data.

27 May 2025

[wandasaura]

STAY ALIVE (REPRISE)

summary — after your girlfriend takes the one thing from you she promised she never would, the only person you think to run to is olivia

warning(s) — mentions of rape, sexual assault, previous rape, alluded to ptsd, anxiety/panic, mentions of blood, domestic abuse, physical abuse, angst/hurt, comfort, protective liv and rollins, mentions of sonny carisi, fin is lowkey ur work bestie, alludes to mommy issues, pet names, physical contact, mother-figure olivia benson, unfortunately two hamilton lyric reference

authors note — olivia benson returns? with more angst and more comfort? amanda rollins features? read part ii here

Your heart hammers in your chest. If you bring this to her, it’s real. Your palms are clammy, they’re shaking. Your entire body is shaking. You can hear Fin’s voice down the hallway, in the break room where Sonny left donuts, it’s gravely and low — far away. It reverberates against your muscles like they’re panes of delicate glass. The sensation of him cutting right through you feels like it did when you’d accidentally zap the tip of your finger in time with the metal tweezers during operation. It’s jarring, unexpected. It startled you.

Your hand is trembling now. You can’t bring this to her, but she’s the only place you thought to go. You don’t want to drop this on her — on Amanda and Sonny, Fin and Kat, — but it gets laid on SVU anyways the second a cotton swab touches the laceration on your cheek. She raped you. You’re the special victim now.

A knot forms in your belly, the reflection of your sunken eyes and temporarily discolored face in the reflective pane on her office door is sickening. You’ve been shaking for a while. It’s not new. Your fingers had started going when he’d gotten mad over a wine glass. Your jaw had started when a fistful of your hair was snagged and guided into the brick fireplace you’d once tenderly decorated with stockings. Your knees… maybe the force of her shoving you down onto them before she’d unzipped her pants had shattered your kneecaps. You can’t be sure. The only thing you feel is blinding cold or blinding scorching heat ripping deeper into one of the many bleeding wounds on your body.

“Hey, can I help you?” Your body goes rigid when a familiar voice cuts through the office. You love that voice. That voice has become like a sister to you in the years that you’ve been at svu. That voice sends fear coursing through your body. This is real. This is real. This is real. She raped you. She took the one thing from you that she promised he wouldn’t. You know who it was. Of course you do. Thirty-nine percent of sexual violence is committed by someone you know. You just had to fall into that category.

You don’t know how you’d gone unnoticed for so long. Everyone here was so perceptive, yourself included. If the officers at the front didn’t catch someone upon entry, someone on your team did, but it could’ve been half an hour that you’d been standing in front of Olivia’s office, unable to force yourself inside, and unapproached by a Detective — a colleague, friend, mentor. These people were your family, and you’d never wanted them to see you like this. Like another one of the people they’re burdened and empowered to aid. It’s a rewarding job, one that you all do graciously, but its taxing, and you're personal. You’re not self absorbed to know that this will rattle the precinct.

Amanda’s hand sweeps across your back, and you might’ve jumped ten feet into the air with the way you recoiled so automatically, your bruised bones that felt like jelly beneath blood puffed skin aching at the quick motion. Your hair fell away from your face, the hoodie that you always wore overtop of your work clothes slipping off your head until Rollins could see you — identify you.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She cooed, that southern drawl at the forefront of her concern as her eyebrows drew inward. Her fingers flexed, her left hand reaching for her hip; an unconscious response that sparked when she and Carisi let themselves be pulled together. You swallowed thickly, panickedly bouncing between her concern filled blue eyes and the phone strapped to her belt. In an instant, both of her hands were cradling your face, pulling your jaw one way and then another like a frazzled mother. She was a mother. Billie and Jesse were so lucky to have her. Your heart sinks at her concern. It can’t fall much farther than it already has today.

Amanda’s knuckles rap on Benson’s door before you can even process that she’s pulled you into the warmth of her embrace and tucked you beneath her other arm. “Liv,” She speaks firmly, but it lacks the usual depth of her beacon when she’s truly in Detective mode. This isn’t Detective Rollins that's guiding you into a disclosure, it's Amanda; the woman who has become your sister in the years that your lives had been so intertwined.

“Oh, my god.” Olivia gasped when her eyes flickered up to find Rollins’ at the door curiously. You stood meekly at Amanda’s side, your gaze set on the floor even though the blood smeared across your favorite hoodie was evidence enough of some kind of assault. Olivia didn’t need many more context clues to figure out what the nature of the assault was as her eyes scraped across the purple handprint peeking out from the collar of your button-down.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to undress from last night’s shift.

“M-My, I— I—“ You stuttered, your teeth sinking into your lower lip when it became evident to yourself and the women around you that you weren’t in any position to lead the conversation right now. Olivia nodded, setting her reading glasses down on the mound of paperwork that had accumulated since the start of the week.

You didn’t flinch so hard when Olivia’s hand swept across your back, guiding you over to the couch beneath three windows. The blinds were pulled shut, but you could recognize Kat’s figure pacing by her desk as you sat down. Amanda closed the door before she joined you and Olivia on the couch. Neither woman expected you to realize that your eyes watched Amanda carefully, on edge that she’d flee unexpectedly.

“Alright, sweetheart, can you tell me what happened?” Olivia asked softly, keeping a hand on the small of your back where there was thankful a patch of fabric clear from blood. She would’ve handled the bloodied garment regardless had it been stained, but keeping her hands clean was an honored bonus in this line of work.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sob caught you off guard, tumbling out of your mouth and into the relatively empty office. “She raped me.” The words came out between you beginning to hyperventilate and release another broken sob. “My girlfriend.”

Olivia nodded, letting you sit with that information for a few seconds before she prompted you with another question. “Okay. What else can you tell me? What do you remember?”

In that moment, beneath the soft current of her comfort extended like the pillowy feathered wings of an angel, you couldn’t be a victim. The switch that was always there in the back of your mind flipped, and every sense that hadn’t been overruled by searing pain remembered where you were, what you did for a living.

You cleared your throat, mucus pooling on the back of your tongue that you swallowed thickly. The texture of silicone still irritates your lips, the ghost of a memory vibrant enough to pull you beneath the tide of stimulation like it was still happening. Your tongue poked out to lick at your lips, and although your shoulders squared, you didn’t pull away from Rollins who had found a way to hold onto your leg without you realizing when she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. It kept your knee from shaking, bouncing up and down as anxiety ate away at what remained of your strength. “I, um, I went home last night. Late. Sonny and I got caught up at the corner, he showed me pictures of the girls from over the weekend, because I couldn’t stop by…” Your eyes flicker to Rollins, begging her to believe you, to remember that you always come over on Saturday, but last week you’d been unable to for one reason or another.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Rollins nodded, her hand brushing hair off of your cheek. You're not even sure when that happened. When it had fallen out of the rats nest at the back of your hair and slipped into the blood still freshly weeping from your tender wounds. “Alright, so you and Sonny got caught up talking, what happened after that?”

“I went home. B-Back to my apartment.” You stumbled over your words, flashes of last night coming to you quickly, disorientingly. “Um, s-she was already home from work, or maybe, m-maybe she didn’t go. I, uh, I never really got the chance to ask. I put my bag down on the couch and she was in the kitchen. You can tell when she’s mad. Her shoulders cave in, and she puts more weight on her left leg than her right. And, and, she… she was so mad, and I didn’t know why, until she threw a wine glass at the wall. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” You crumbled, your eyes damp, willing tears to fall, but they’d seemingly dried out. You’d cried yourself dry.

“This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Olivia’s voice was firm, just like it was when she talked to any victim, regardless of whether you had reason to believe they were guilty of something equally relevant in a case. But, that courage that she extended like an olive branch — like it didn’t chip away at fragments of her happiness in the middle of the night — caught in the back of her throat with heavy emotion. You weren’t a kid. You hadn’t come into the station requiring to be handled like one or overseen like one, but you were young. Only a year out of the academy and already being thrown at her feet with pride disguised as something else, something intimidating that would dissuade you, unravel your true intentions and fit with Special Victims.

You hadn’t let Olivia down for a second, and in becoming her rising star of the squad, she’d gotten to see your softer side. Like how you cry with a victim when you don’t think any of your team is around to watch the tip of your nose quiver. And how you get down to any kid's level, regardless of their anger and how that anger was channeled irrationally. She recalls many scratches and bite marks adorning your forearms on a particular case, but by the end, you’d be the only one the child had wanted when they rushed off the stand in hysterics. She’d taken you under her wing. Guided you when she’d seen how you let this job affect you. You’d become something of another kid to her, though you were sufficiently less expensive then Noah, even if you pinned your tab on her after every night out.

“Does she…” Amanda swallowed, seemingly unable to say the words that were at the tip of her tongue. Even if you didn’t realize it, your body was in fight or flight mode, and all that you were concentrating on was disclosing your assault to Olivia before you passed out, a throbbing in your head from when she’d thrown you into the bedroom door prominent and blackening. Your vision is blurred with black pearls, though nothing is as iridescent as the glimmer of twinkles between the black dots whenever your gaze dances to the lamp on Olivia’s desk. “Does she hit you often, sweetheart?”

You don’t know when that started. Whenever you broke down, Amanda resorted to calling you some variation of a pet name that dulled the ache in your heart just enough to force you into clarity again. You noticed that she fell that to strategy sparingly, but let it run rampant with you. You could assume it all came back to the relationship she had with her sister — you’d had many conversations about how she saw you as a kind of second chance — but you’d never asked, but you didn’t want it to stop if it was something she was unaware of. Amanda Rollins was not unaware of how slivers of your broken heart healed whenever she showed you she cared, but she’d let you think she was. That was just the shit sisters did when heart-to-hearts sounded unappealing and unnecessary. Whatever Rollins' reason was, it had prompted Olivia to indulge in the same affections. Though, you think Benson inevitably would’ve let her walls down around you regardless. She was horrible at hiding her soft spot, even when Fin declared favoritism in a meeting tauntingly.

“Yes.” The words are hoarse as they pass your lips, but you don’t let yourself deviate from what you’re here to talk about. You swallow dryly, in desperate need of water, but you can’t wash away the evidence that’s slapped across your tongue and your throat. You know the drill. “S-She raped me in the bedroom. On the bed. T-The sheets are pink. The, the, um, the straps in the closet. S-She threw it there before she stormed out. Um, I, I— I passed out after that. My, my u-underwear’s, um, it’s my pocket— she, um, she left them on, but I… I couldn’t, I couldn’t walk in here in them… I—“ You dissolved into tears, and Olivia didn’t hesitate to pull your face into her chest, careful of the cuts that leaked crimson liquid.

Olivia held you for a couple minutes while Rollins stepped out of the room. The only reason she’d been able to sneak out was because Olivia had replaced the weight of her palm on your thigh, keeping that one knee steady the same way Rollins had before the blonde crept into the main room to inform the squad. She knows where your girlfriend works, she knows where your apartment is, all of them do. They know you. They’ve all gone to incredible lengths to know everything about you that you're willing to share. Fin could tell Benson your coffee order off the top of his head, even though he adamantly denies remembering that you like low-fat soy milk, vanilla cold foam — not syrup —, and one (specifically one) extra scoop of ice.

“I know, I know.” Olivia conceded, patting your blood damp hair. Her face met an uncomfortable sheen of concern when her digit twitched, aware of a certain thickness that coated rings and knuckles. “Did you hit your head?” She asked softly, pulling away from you only to inspect your pupils. “Can you follow my finger, sweetheart?” She holds a finger in front of your face, or maybe it’s two, you’re not sure, but you do as she asks only to be met with a sigh of displeasure. “Alright, we need to get you to the hospital. The squad car will be quicker. Sirens and lights.”

“N-No.” You choked out, aware of what that meant; implied. A wounded officer. Sirens and lights to seal the reality. You were raped, beaten, already victimized and striped of your dignity, you couldn’t swallow your pride enough to continue letting it happen. You’re a New York City Detective; a Special Victims Detective, you know every step to avoiding this, how had you let it happen? “No, no, I-I’m fine!” You weren’t fine, not at all and you knew it, but somehow that was the only defense you could find that would explain your apprehension to her. Somehow, Olivia saw through you either way.

“No dispatch. Just you, me, and Rollins. We‘ll relay only what’s necessary to Kat, let Fin take the reins in detainment and interrogation. This stays close until it can’t, I can promise you that. Rollins probably already called Carisi, a warrant is probably on the way as we speak. But we cannot do anything about that until we help you. So, let me help you. You’ve done it before, I know you can do it again.” She encouraged, her fingers tickling the wrinkled skin of your shin. Your quivering lip keeps the pale patch distorted and red, and Olivia hates how her eyes continue to drift to the monument of sadness on your face.

“I-I’m so sorry!” You sob, breaking down, losing any kind of grip on your emotions as the adrenaline waned and was replaced with whatever traumatic response your body could force out; right now it was apparently hysteria. “I’m sorry! For forgetting what you taught me! I shouldn’t have let it happen! I-I should’ve stopped it! I h-had my gun, a-and my taser, and I’m a d-dective and she’s a-a-a fucking shelf stocker b-but I froze and I shouldn’t’ve! N-Not again!” There it was. The root of your frustration, your inability to accept where you found yourself. Olivia froze, her hands on your face becoming stones for a single second before she melted and held you tight, like you were just as young and malleable as Noah — like she could still rewrite all the trauma before it impacted you emotionally and mentally forever.

“Again?” Olivia had to ask, because she needed to know if this had happened before, if you were only disclosing now because it had left you physically marred. You wouldn’t have been able to hide this. Not from her. Not when any excuse never would’ve explained the mark on your neck of all the injuries that littered your once glowing skin. Olivia had complimented you yesterday, knowing you’d been down a rabbit hole of moisturizers that could combat the budding Spring weather in New York. Today, she couldn’t even tell that the dry redness on your cheeks had cleared up, the blood splattered nad caked onto your skin concealing any kind of recognizable progress.

“I was twelve.” You whisper, because after years in her Unit, beneath her command and her angel-like affection, you’d learned where her brain wanders when answers are left unspoken. “Not her.”

Olivia nodded, because that’s all that she could do. She needed to call her babysitter. There was no way she was leaving you until you got that discharge slip from the charge nurse, and even then she’s sure her and Amanda will duke it out over who you stay with while you heal — neither one is going to let you back at that apartment until your girlfriend has either been arrested, or moved out and far from Manhattan at all.

“You have all of the control now.” Olivia reminded you, shying away from her typical promise of it all getting better at some point, in some way. This will never go away, the first account never went away, it ruined relationships, destroyed opportunities, left you feeling so impossibly boxed into an alleyway at points, but… it did lighten. You didn’t feel so shackled anymore, but part of you could credit that to getting away. You’d gotten away from home, from your family and the connections to your attacker, built a new life, one on the mission to become a police officer. You’d surpassed the biggest dream you’d ever had already. What else did you have to push yourself toward? “I’m with you, at every step of the way. You’re not alone, not anymore, sweetheart.”

Before you could respond, not that you had the words, or the capabilities, the concussion you assuredly had beginning to get the best of you, Rollins burst into the room. “Cap, Fin’s got a warrant.”

“Send him and Kat. We’re going to Mercy.” Olivia nodded, “I need to call my babysitter.”

“I already called her. Sonny’s taking the girls to his Moms. I’ll text him to meet us there.” Amanda nodded, rounding the couch to approach you. You hadn’t even realized Olivia stood up, arranging her blazer over her shoulders until the buttons of her blouse were hidden away. “Hey, sweetheart,” Amanda caught your attention, slowly easing her touch onto the small of your back until she could guide you to stand. “There we go, take it easy.”

Your vaguely aware of Amanda directing Rollins where to guide you, but in a moment of clarity, all you registered were the faces of officers and secretaries in the precinct watching you be walked out, their whispering words haunting your already terrorized mind.

“With me, sweetheart. All you need to do is stay with me and Rollins until we get you to Mercy. I know you can do that.” Olivia stepped up beside you, blocking your sight until fresh air broke across your face.

“We’ve got you.” Amanda promised as she guided you into the squad car, climbing into the backseat with you while Olivia climbed into the drivers seat, pulling off onto the road before Rollins had even gotten the door closed all the way behind her body. You didn’t have anybody the first time. It had been a long walk to clarity in solitude, but with Olivia’s radio buzzing in the center console, left untouched despite the chaos of New York City, and Rollins actively pushing off her duties as a mother to a toddler and an infant, you felt like you had a real chance this time; a chance that wasn’t defined by your own persistence, but by the family you’d found.

[itsrlymine]

idk if you’ve answered this before or if it’s something you may not want to answer but i was wondering how your journey from the early stages of finding out about manifesting up until knowing you’re the operant power and your full potential was like

my manifesting journey so far

Hello my love! I think I just haven't seen the question yet but I would love to answer!

As far as I'm concerned, I knew manifesting as manifesting around the time I was 18 and in my first year of university. But ofc, I was manifesting the whole time before. The university I went to had the lowest acceptance percentage ever but I still managed to get in even with my grades that didn't meet their requirements and i didn't even do the college essay that everyone else had to do. I remember just deciding over and over that I would go there no matter what anybody said. I was told it was expensive and I didn't care, I was gonna go anyways. It was $40k/yr at the time and I got $36k worth of scholarship....... I just thought that was just luck.

Before then, I was obsessed with One Direction and 5 Seconds Of Summer like y'all it was bad! I wanted to see them in concert so freakin bad, it was like my life depended on it. I literally manifested them coming to my state and to a city that people don't really tour all the time and yall!!!!! I was like right in front of them and I def passed out hearing Zayn sing live. I saw both bands live together, it was incredible. I used subliminals to clear my skin in high school as well but eventually forgot about them.

I think having my dad tell me I could do anything I wanted is what lead me to believe that if I wanted something, it was automatically mine.

In college, I would always have s*x with the guys i wanted just by visualizing or saying they wanted me sooo bad (still works now!). I would make up friend groups in my head and then find that i would be in them not even two weeks later. I watched "The Secret" in my first year and that was really transformational for me bc I always felt like I was failing God and my family bc I didn't want to go the medical route/even finish college.

The summer of 2021, I was 22 and at home with my parents and broke asf and i said no more! I started consciously manifesting again even though I didn't know that's what it was called. I decided I would get a job in marketing that would pay me over $70k/yr even though I had one month of experience and only certifications in the field. Did that matter??? Of course not!!!!! It was remote and had unlimited pto and i could go on as many vacations a year as I wanted. I found out about the law a month after I started my job but for some reason, it felt so complicated and I found myself trying so damn hard rather than just reminding myself how I got what I wanted before. literally inner conversations, visualizing and talking out loud about my desires.

What made me realize I could manifest anything was when I changed my menstrual cycle and went to Dubai for free twice. What the 3d looks like never matters especially when it came to my cycle, I deadass couldn't see how my internal organs would change according to what I wanted but ofc they changed anyways. it was shortened and I haven't had cramps in months. Going to Dubai for free by imagining Abdullah slamming the door in my face and telling me I was in Dubai. I literally made a pinterest board of where I'd go in Dubai and I went to every single place. I would tell myself over and over that I'm gonna leave my wallet at home because everyone was gonna pay for me bc we are rich asf duh!. When I tell y'all that's exactly what happened!!!!

I've manifested so other "crazy" stuff but yea these ones definitely altered my brain chemistry.

[bluemantics]

ficlet giveaway prize for @yuutsunaoi of klance "struggling to adjust with their new roles as the red and black paladin." i hope you enjoy!

Shiro was gone, and everything was going incredibly wrong.

"Pidge, go to sleep."

"I can find him."

"I'm serious. You need to sleep."

"You can't tell me what to do, Keith, you're not my mom."

"We need you well-rested for Voltron, and I'm the Black Paladin--"

"Isn't he your brother? Do you even want him back?"

Lance groaned, pinching his nose as he leaned against the wall. He had positioned himself just outside the Castleship's living room after he saw Keith go in, worried that the temperamental fighter would offend their youngest teammate. Lo and behold, it hadn't even taken two minutes before the two started to clash.

While Lance could appreciate how they normally melded, he knew that Shiro's... vanishing would trigger fight-or-flight responses in both of them. Honestly, it was a miracle that Keith hadn't spirited off to some random planet on a panic-induced sabbatical. Or maybe the true miracle was that Pidge hadn't ripped Keith's face off, he wondered, as he walked through the door and took in the scene before him.

Pidge had jumped on top of the couch, face contorted in anger, hands balled at her sides. Her computer was lying forgotten beside her feet. Facing her, Keith was entirely red, thick eyebrows pulled down in distinct rage. At least, that was what he wanted Pidge to think.

It was easy for Lance to note the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. Yeah, that comment about Shiro had definitely landed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance called out, raising his arms. Instantly, both heads whipped to face him, expressions unchanged. "Let's back it up, guys."

Keith straightened up and crossed his arms. "It's fine. Pidge just needs to listen."

"I swear to god," Pidge seethed, "I will tear your stupid hair off your stupid head."

Okay, Lance was always in support of a hair insult when it came to Keith, but he had to stop this.

"No one is ripping anyone's hair. Pidge, I admire what you're doing here. Really, I do," Lance began, gesturing to the computer. "No one else on the team can sort through all the data you're collecting from the lion and the Galrans."

"I know. That's why I have to keep working," she snapped. Lance approached her slowly.

"Okay, but what if I told you that's the reason you need to slow down?"

"That makes no sense." Pidge looked curious, though, and a soft smile pulled at Lance's lips. He'd caught her on the hook easily. Unlike the others, Pidge couldn't be persuaded with placating words or niceties. No, what she needed was a little bit different.

"Logically, humans can't operate at capacity for 24 hours straight. We don't have the brainpower." He knocked on his own head to demonstrate, aware of Keith's eyes fixating on his every movement. Good. Maybe he could take something out of this. "Brains need time to breathe, Pidgey."

"I know that," she huffed, but her eyes softened slightly.

"So, if you know that, you know you're likely not an exception." Lance reached over to her computer and plucked it up, closed the lid, and held it out to her. His heart melted a little at her frown. Pidge was far too young to be losing her family and Shiro at the same time, much less being burdened with their rescues. "You'll find him. I know you will. But you're gonna make a mistake or miss something if you aren't in tip-top shape while you search."

Hesitantly, Pidge's hand darted forward to pull her computer to her chest. Hugging it to herself tightly, she looked between Lance and Keith, apprehensive yet seeming more open than before. Finally, she gave Lance a sharp nod. It wasn't long before she jumped down from her perch and stomped out of the room, the automatic doors swishing shut behind her. Keith let out a sound that sounded like a mix between a sigh of relief and a groan.

"I'm shit," he mumbled, wiping his hands down his face. A chuckle pulled out of Lance's throat.

"A little bit," Lance agreed, turning to face Keith with amusement clear on his face. His lighthearted mood died down, though, when Keith moved to sit on the couch, elbows braced against his knees as he slumped over. "Oh, hey, buddy."

"I can't do this, Lance."

"What? Force Pidge to sleep?" Lance quickly took a seat at Keith's right, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"All of it," Keith muttered. His deep eyes looked thoughtful and weary as they stared straight ahead, fixed on nothing. "People wanted to listen to Shiro. Sure, sometimes they'd disagree, but they eventually came around. They trusted him to know more. I trusted him."

"Hmm," Lance nodded, thinking back. Keith wasn't lying; following Shiro had been natural. He was older, experienced, and had a solid balance of intimidation and empathy. "So you don't feel like you've got that same respect as Black Paladin?" Keith let out a broken laugh, shaking his head.

"Why would they listen to me? I'm a mess. I didn't exactly hide that."

"No, that's not it," Lance pressed. "They just don't think you understand them."

"I don't. They're right."

"Well, you can try," Lance said, gears turning in his head quickly. "Tonight was a good example. Pidge is angry, kinda like you, about a lot of stuff, but especially about losing control. She feels like she's entirely out of control with the loss of Shiro and all the changes in our lions."

Keith was watching Lance, now, eyebrows raised at his explanation. Hopefully, that was an invitation to continue. "So, meet her where she is. Relate to her. Explain things how she'd want to hear it, not in the way you think Shiro would."

"I'm not good at that," Keith responded, shifting uncomfortably. His hands twitched where they rested. "You do that shit way better."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to help you. Which is literally my job, by the way." Lance's hand moved between the two of them as he spoke. "I can help you meet them where they are, help them feel seen. I'll show you their communication styles. I promise, it isn't as hard as it seems."

"Okay," Keith agreed, unsure but still affirmative.

"But you have to help me, too. This is a partnership."

"A partnership?" Keith snorted in disbelief. "You hate working with me off the battlefield. You called me stupid at least five times in the last month."

Lance scoffed, waving the notion away. "Well, I'm a mature adult, so I can put aside my qualms with you despite your tragically dramatic hangups." That drew an actual laugh from Keith, oddly enough, sparking little butterfly flaps in Lance's stomach. Weird.

"What do you need?" Keith asked through the slight upward tilt of his lips. Shaking his head, Lance snapped back to their conversation.

"Teach me to fight."

"Fight?" Keith tilted his head. "You're our sharpshooter, though. You shouldn't need to do hand-to-hand." While that acknowledgment pleased him, Lance rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but clearly I'm occupying some different shoes now." He shrugged. "I need to be ready to fill any gaps on the team, now, with one of our close-range guys out of the picture. Plus, I can't always expect that the battles won't come to me, even if you guys try to protect me."

Without pause, Keith sat up, leaning toward Lance. His eyes bore into Lance's with an intensity and fire expected out of the former Red Paladin. "You'll take it seriously?"

A pang struck Lance's gut. "Obviously. I'm insulted you'd ask."

"Fine, then. It's a deal."

"It's a partnership," Lance reminded him, elbowing his side. A grunt of affirmation sounded from Keith, who shoved Lance away with an arm. Letting the momentum carry him, Lance flopped down onto the couch with a pleased sigh.

The whole team had been struggling recently, not just Lance and Keith. Pidge was staying up to run data on Black. Allura spent overtime poring over diplomatic records and contacting foreign planets. Hunk struggled to tamp down on his anxieties during group discussion, nausea clear on his face. Even Coran was less chipper and more focused than before.

But, just maybe, if Keith and Lance could lead the way, the others would fall in step. Together, they could... make it easier. Okay, even.

That was only his privately held theory, though. Voicing it aloud was unthinkable.

"Bedtime?" he suggested to Keith.

"Training," Keith shot back, heaving himself to his feet and yanking the couch cushion out from under Lance. Crashing to the floor with a yelp, Lance stared up at Keith, rubbing his leg.

"Ow, dude!"

"I'll meet you at the training deck in ten minutes. Get changed and grab water."

Lance smirked at his retreating back and shoved himself upright.

Yeah, they'd be fine.

[wendyyyyyyyy]

OPERATION : Oblivious Idiots

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

⚠️ Content Warning : This chapter contains themes of kidnapping, confinement, physical restraint, emotional distress, implied violence, and references to a bomb threat. Reader discretion is advised.

⸻

Part 7 : Through Fire, Through Fear—For You

Chan stood with his hand on the cold metal doorknob, looking back at the boys with that practiced, warm smile—the one that always convinced them he had it handled, even when he was seconds away from breaking. “I’m just going to re-check the west hall. In case we missed something earlier,” he said, calm and measured.

“If I’m not back in an hour… tell the staff. Do what you need to do.” Chan just smiled.

“Hyung…” Jeongin called, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What do you mean if you don’t come back? Where are you really going?”

He didn’t say anything back. He just turned and walked off.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, the members exchanged a look. Of course they weren’t letting him go alone. Not when you were still missing. Not when Chan looked like he was about to throw himself into something reckless. So they followed. Quiet, careful, just out of sight.

Chan entered the room B27 the message had led him to. It was eerie—dust clinging to every surface, air thick and unmoving like no one had stepped foot in there for years. A faint buzzing sound filled the silence. Something didn’t feel right.

He stepped forward. The second his boot hit the cracked floor tile—

Click.

The door locked behind him.

His heart sank.

He turned and yanked the knob—nothing. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a trap.”

Outside, the members arrived just in time to see the door shut. They rushed to it, trying to open it. Nothing.

“It’s locked!” Jeongin panted, slamming his hand against it.

Changbin sighed, “It’s an automatic lock… looks like only whoever set this up can open it.”

“Chan hyung! Are you okay in there?!” Felix shouted through the door.

Chan widened his eyes and realized the members have tailed him from behind. Of course, what did he expect? Since they’re all here already, he had to go all in now.

From the other side, Chan called out, “I’m alright! Don’t panic. Just don’t do anything rash!”

And then, you heard it.

The commotion. The voices.

It was faint, muffled… but they were there.

You tried screaming, thrashing, even if the cloth gag stopped your voice from breaking through. It was useless.

But then—he heard you.

Chan’s head whipped toward the wall. That sound. It wasn’t just the boys.

That was you.

He pressed his ear against the vent on the wall. It was old, rusted, but sound carried through it.

“Y/N…?” he whispered, afraid he imagined it.

You whimpered again, desperate, hopeful.

He gasped, instantly crouching down and speaking directly into the vent.

“Y/N! Do you hear me?! I’m right here!”

You froze. His voice—his voice.

A sob wracked your chest. Tears spilled uncontrollably as you cried behind the gag. The way he called your name… you weren’t alone.

“Y/N, I’m here,” Chan said again, louder. “I hear you. I’m not gonna leave you behind, okay? You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I promise.”

You let out a choked sound. His voice was the only thing anchoring you to reality now.

“I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be anymore. I’m coming to you, Y/N. No matter what it takes. Just hang on.”

Chan’s fists clenched. He had to get to you. He couldn’t just talk to you through cold metal. He needed to touch you, to hold you, to make sure you were really okay.

Meanwhile, outside the room, the boys knew time was up. This wasn’t just a prank or a lost-and-found situation anymore. They had to inform the staff—now. So Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin took off, sprinting down the halls to find someone, anyone, who could help.

Jisung, Jeongin, Changbin, and Felix stayed behind.

But just as the first taste of hope returned…

Chan’s phone buzzed.

New Message:

“You didn’t follow the rules. You brought the others. Now, she suffers.”

Chan’s blood boiled. “No. NO! Don’t you fucking touch her!” he roared.

He rushed back to the door the boys were at, yelling, “She’s in the room next to me! Y/N is right there!”

“What?!” Jeongin cried. “We’ll go to her!”

But before they could move—

Darkness.

The power cut again. The corridor was swallowed in black.

A cruel, mocking twist of fate.

Buzz.

Another Message:

“If anyone opens her door… everyone dies. The door is wired to a bomb.”

Chan froze. “DON’T OPEN IT!” he screamed. “STOP! THERE’S A BOMB!”

Everyone stopped.

A deadly silence fell.

Even you heard it. The word bomb ringing in your ears like a death sentence.

You started shaking uncontrollably. Tied up, gagged, unable to scream, terror ripping through you like fire.

Chan couldn’t waste a second anymore.

He turned to the vent.

He was going in.

No thoughts. No hesitation. No logic. Just you.

He unfastened the loose bolts, shoved his body through the tight metal tunnel, heart thundering in his chest. Dust coated his skin, scratching his arms, but he didn’t stop. He could hear your every sob that made his heart ache in ways he couldn't understand.

You heard him too. His desperate crawling. His ragged breaths. His devotion to do anything to have you in his arms.

And then, he burst through.

The vent door crashed open, and Chan fell into the room, covered in dust and sweat, but you could sense his eyes even in the dark—those warm, determined, beautiful eyes—searching for yours.

You broke. The moment his arms wrapped around you, you let go. The fear, the pain, the helplessness—it all came out in your sobs.

“I got you,” he whispered, pulling you into him. “You’re safe, Y/N. I’ve got you now.”

He untied your wrists, gently removed the gag, and held your face in his hands like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

But just as your heartbeat began to slow—

Buzz.

New Message:

“The bomb will go off in 15 minutes. You can defuse it… by saying two conversations to each other. The bomb is voice regulated. The answer is between you… and about you. Clue: feelings.”

You stared at each other. Holding hands. Confused and terrified.

But you had no choice now.

Your love might be the only thing that saves your lives.

⸻

Part 8

[huxhsz]

✈ — weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 01 - "first" meet┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 03 -regeneration

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

— content warning/s:

non-consensual medical & scientific experimentation

torture and pain (electrocution, physical restraint)

implied abuse and dehumanization

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 02 — EXPERIMENT

You hear the screaming before you see them.  

High-pitched and thin, broken in places where their breath cuts out.  

You freeze. Your hand tightens automatically around Caleb’s wrist. His fingers flex beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. His gaze sharpens, head tilting slightly toward the sound.  

You know that voice.  

The door slides open with a soft hiss, and the cold, sterile air of the lab spills out. Caleb steps in first, leading you by the hand. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s calm—too calm—but his grip is firm. Steady. Like he’s done this before. Like it’s nothing.  

You don’t want to look. But you do.  

Unicorn is strapped down to the operating table, arms and legs pinned beneath thick metal restraints. Their hair is damp with sweat, sticking to their forehead and cheeks. Thin white hospital clothes hang off their small frame. Wires snake from their collar to the machines humming around them, feeding streams of data into flickering holographic screens.  

They’re shaking.  

Their dark eyes are wide and glassy with tears, locked onto the masked scientist leaning over them. There’s a thin instrument pressed against their chest, just over their heart. A faint blue glow pulses from the tip, growing brighter with every strained breath they take.  

"Again," one of the scientists says.  

“No—!” Unicorn gasps, but the scientist presses the device deeper.  

Their body arches violently beneath the restraints, their back bowing off the table. Their scream splits the room in half.  

Your breath catches painfully in your throat. You try to move—try to step forward—but Caleb’s hand tightens around yours.  

“Don't.”  

Your head snaps toward him. “We can’t just—”  

“We can’t stop it,” he says. His voice is flat. Cold. “It’s a waste of energy.”  

You shake your head, swallowing against the knot in your throat. “But—they’re hurting them—”  

“Yes,” Caleb says. His gaze is fixed on Unicorn, but his expression doesn’t change. “They always do.”  

Unicorn’s breathing stutters. Their chest rises and falls in shallow, broken gasps. Tears slip down their temples, disappearing into their tangled hair.  

"Please," they whisper.  

Your legs move before you can think. You pull away from Caleb’s grip—hard enough to make him stumble—but his hand closes around your arm before you reach the table.  

“Stop.”  

“Ca—Destroyer!”  

“If you interrupt,” he says evenly, “they’ll make it worse.”  

You choke on a breath. “How could it get any worse?”  

He doesn’t answer.  

The scientist adjusts the device. The blue glow pulses brighter. A sharp, electric sound fills the room—high-pitched and unnatural—and Unicorn’s whole body locks up. Their mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Their eyes are wide, pupils blown, their lips trembling.  

“I…” Their head tilts toward you, barely moving beneath the weight of the collar. Their gaze struggles to focus through the haze of tears. “It… it hurts…”  

You feel sick.  

Caleb’s hand slides down to your wrist, thumb pressing lightly against the inside of your palm. His touch is warm. His grip steady.  

They’re strapped down to the table—thin wrists pinned beneath metal restraints, pale skin mottled with bruises. Their dark hair fans out beneath their head, damp with sweat and sticking to their flushed cheeks. Electrodes are attached to their temples, to their chest, to their throat. Their mouth is open, breathless sobs escaping between broken cries.

The scientists are talking. Calmly. Flatly. Adjusting the settings on the machine as if Unicorn’s body isn’t arching in pain beneath their hands.

"Subject 001’s core stability is deteriorating."

"Increase the output by 5%."

"Yes, sir."

Unicorn’s back bows violently. Their mouth stretches wide in a scream you can’t hear through the glass. Their body thrashes against the restraints, limbs jerking uncontrollably. Their eyes are wide, glassy, tears streaking down their cheeks.

Caleb’s hand moves. He presses his palm flat against the glass, his jaw clenching.

"They’re killing them," you whisper.

"Yeah," Caleb says darkly.

Unicorn’s breathing sharpens—short, shallow gasps. Their chest heaves. Blood wells beneath the restraints where the metal cuts into their wrists. Their body convulses violently once—twice—before going still.

The monitor flatlines.

A sharp, continuous beep.

You flinch.

Unicorn’s head falls limply to the side, their dark hair sticking to their damp cheek. Their eyes are half-lidded. Glassy. Empty.

"They…" Your voice catches. "They’re…"

"No." Caleb’s voice is cold. Hollow. His hand slides down the glass. "Just wait."

You’re about to demand what he means when it happens.

The monitor flickers. The long, continuous tone of the flatline cuts off abruptly.

A beat of silence.

Unicorn’s chest rises with a shaky inhale. Their fingers twitch.

The scientists exchange a few brief words. A quick note is entered into a tablet. The restraints are removed.

Unicorn’s eyes flutter open. Slow. Unfocused.

They sit up. Their legs swing over the side of the table, small hands curling loosely over their knees. Their gaze lifts toward the glass. Their dark eyes are clear, calm. Empty.

They smile.

"Good morning!" Unicorn chirps brightly.

Your breath stops.

The bruises on their wrists are already fading. Their cheeks are flushed with new color. They tilt their head, dark hair glinting beneath the overhead lights.

"Where am I?" they ask cheerfully.

The scientists don’t answer. They’ve already turned away, gathering notes and dismantling the machine.

Unicorn slides off the table. Their legs wobble slightly beneath them, but they recover quickly. Their gaze shifts toward the window. Their eyes meet yours.

Their smile brightens.

"Hi!" they wave. "Who are you?"

Your stomach drops.

Caleb steps away from the glass. His hand curls loosely at his side. His expression doesn’t change, but his gaze hardens.

"You see?" His voice is low. Bitter.

You swallow. Your mouth tastes like metal. "How…?"

Caleb’s eyes darken.

"They don’t know," he says. "They just know it works."

You stare at Unicorn.

They’re already being led out of the room by one of the handlers. They glance back over their shoulder, catching your eye through the glass. Their smile never fades.

As if they didn’t just die.

As if none of it happened.

Unicorn raises a hand and waves.

You can’t move.

"Come on," Caleb mutters. "It’s over."

He turns and walks away. His shoulders are tense.

You remain standing at the window, your pulse pounding painfully in your ears.

You’re sitting in the observation room again.

The glass is cold beneath your fingertips, the faint outline of your breath fogging the surface. The room beyond it is too bright, too sterile. The low hum of machines pulses against your skull, steady and sharp.

Inside the room, Caleb is strapped down to the table.

Metal cuffs circle his wrists and ankles. His dark brown hair is damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead. His breathing is steady, but his jaw is tight, his knuckles white where his hands curl into fists. Electrodes are attached to his temples and chest, thin wires running from his skin to the machine standing beside him. The screen pulses with bright lines, sharp spikes that match the rapid beat of his heart.

He doesn’t look at you. He’s staring at the ceiling. His eyes are narrowed. Cold. Detached.

"This is test sequence 14," one of the scientists says.

"Begin."

A sharp pulse crackles through the air.

Caleb’s body jerks. His back arches against the restraints, breath hitching sharply between his teeth. His hands curl tighter.

The hum of the machine deepens.

The gravity in the room shifts.

You feel it first in your chest—a heavy pressure sinking into your lungs, squeezing the breath from your throat. The glass vibrates beneath your fingertips. The metal tray beside the table shudders. The lights overhead flicker.

"Containment field holding," a scientist says.

"Increase output."

"No," you whisper.

Caleb’s breath sharpens. His teeth flash in a snarl as his body strains beneath the cuffs. The table creaks beneath him. The glass beneath your hands trembles violently.

"Output increased by 10%."

Caleb’s eyes snap open.

You stumble back a step.

His eyes—normally deep violet—are blazing now, burning bright and unnatural. The air pulses around him, pressing outward. The lights overhead shatter in a burst of sparks. The scientist closest to him staggers back, clutching his chest.

"Containment field destabilizing—!"

"Shut it down—"

A violent pulse tears through the room.

You gasp, hands flying to your ears as the pressure slams against you. The walls groan. The glass splinters beneath your hands. Blood hums beneath your skin, too fast, too loud—

"SHUT IT DOWN!"

The machine powers down with a metallic hiss.

Caleb’s body collapses back against the table. His chest rises and falls sharply. His eyes slide closed, his head tilting to the side. His hands are trembling where they hang limp at his sides.

The scientists are already moving toward him, adjusting the restraints, collecting data.

"Another failure."

"We need to increase the threshold."

"He’s destabilizing too quickly."

You press your hand to your mouth, trying to steady your breathing. Your knees feel weak.

One of the scientists reaches toward Caleb’s arm. His fingers brush Caleb’s wrist—

Caleb’s hand snaps upward. His fingers wrap around the scientist’s throat.

The glass between you cracks.

"Shit, Subject 002—!"

The scientist’s face twists in panic as he claws at Caleb’s hand. Caleb’s eyes slide open. His gaze is dark. Empty.

"Release him!"

The guards rush forward. Caleb’s grip tightens.

And then—

"C...― Destroyer!"

Your voice breaks.

His eyes flick toward you.

For a moment, you see it—recognition flickering beneath the surface. His hand loosens. The scientist falls to the floor, coughing.

The guards seize Caleb’s arms, strapping him back down as he exhales shakily. His gaze slides toward you. His eyes have darkened, the unnatural glow fading back into violet.

"Take him to containment," one of the scientists orders.

Caleb doesn’t resist. He sits up slowly as the guards unlock the restraints and haul him to his feet. His head tilts slightly toward you as they drag him toward the door. His gaze finds yours through the fractured glass.

You can’t breathe.

He doesn’t smile. But his lips move.

I’m fine.

You know it’s a lie.

The door slides shut behind him.

You sink to the floor, your head falling into your hands.

The room feels too empty without him.

Later, you’re back in the hallway. Cold fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. You’re waiting outside the medical ward, hands curled over your elbows. You’re still shaking.

The door slides open. Caleb steps out.

He’s still pale. His hair is damp. His uniform jacket is unzipped, the collar hanging loose around his throat. His gaze sharpens when he sees you.

"Hey," he says quietly.

You swallow thickly. "Destroyer—"

Before you can say anything else, his hand lifts.

He presses his palm gently over your eyes.

Your breath catches.

"You don’t have to look," he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers brush lightly against your temple. "It’s okay."

"But it’s not okay."

His hand shifts. His thumb brushes your cheek. His gaze softens.

"I don’t want you to see it."

"You…"

He doesn’t let you pull away. His other hand touches your shoulder.

"You’re shaking," he says.

You inhale sharply. "Of course I am! They—they were hurting you, and I couldn’t—"

"I’m used to it."

"That doesn’t make it better!"

His gaze darkens. His hand stays where it is, steady over your eyes.

"You don’t have to watch," he says softly. "Not if you don’t want to."

You press your hand over his. Your heart is still hammering painfully beneath your ribs.

"I do," you whisper.

His breath hitches. His hand slides away from your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek. His violet eyes catch the dim light—soft and sharp all at once.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then his hand falls to his side.

"Come on," he says. "Let’s go."

His hand lingers briefly against your wrist before he starts walking down the hall.

You follow him.

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 3

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: yooooo, finally an update!! thanks for waiting everyone~ i actually took a small break because my friends and i had a beach outing and that was great!

previous / masterlist / next

you feel like you had the longest dream in your entire life the moment you slowly open your eyes and reveal the white plain ceiling with matching beeping sound coming out from the machine.

it takes a second or two to realize that you're in a hospital.

like a seemingly newborn, your half lidded eyes traveled across the room until it reached the sight of some peculiar white haired male with his face buried on your arm, sleeping uncomfortably while sitting on the cold hard chair.

you could feel your whole body ache when you tried to move some parts of your body to stop it from numbing when you noticed some kind of empty feeling—like something was missing.

it did not take you a while to realize that your stomach feels so empty right now, and you know it's not because you're hungry, but because you couldn't feel your baby anymore.

an anguish screech escapes from your mouth when you realize that the baby isn't part of your body anymore. tears stream like a waterfall as your body automatically sits up and hugs your lower body, specifically your stomach, because you cannot accept the fact that your baby has been taken away from you.

this immediately woken satoru up and started to console you. “hey, hey, y/n! i’m here. i'm here.” his voice was soft and comforting but there's a hint of shakiness due to your sudden outburst.

“satoru, my baby! i can't feel my baby! my baby is gone!” as an upcoming loving mother, it hurts you so bad that you'd rather die than to accept this.

the sound of the machine keeps on loudly pulsating, meaning that your heart rate is rising quickly and it's dangerous for you to get stressed since you just came out from the operation.

“y/n! the baby is fine. our baby is fine. they were being cured by the best doctors so don't worry.” pulling your body close to his, satoru caresses your hair and keeps on murmuring some comforting words to calm you down.

but it seems that his actions were no avail when he saw your lower stomach bleeding. feels like his own blood had disappeared, his pale face becomes more paler when your extreme sadness cry turns to extremely painful cry.

his body seemingly moves on its own and presses the button to call for help while still managing to calm you down.

“where's my baby? g-give me back my baby! satoru, do something!” it pains satoru to see you like this. a whole crying mess who cannot even digest the fact that her baby was in intensive care so they can become better.

suddenly, the door in your room opened, revealing the doctor and their nurse—shoko was there too. they immediately inject you with midazolam to calm you down and it works almost instantly. satoru watches your body go limp as your wound continues to bleed.

satoru and shoko were instructed to wait outside as they transfer you to another room to tend your wounds. after you were scouted to exit the scene, satoru fell on his knees and leaned his back on the wall.

god, what did you do to deserve this kind of thing?

letting out a soft sob, satoru prayed once again—something that he just learned yesterday. he prayed that all of your pain, burden, suffering, and all must disappear because satoru couldn't list any single reason why you must suffer like this.

“you should go back at least for now, gojo. i’ll handle things here while you freshen yourself up.” shoko suggested but satoru just shook his head, refusing to leave your side.

“don't be a fucking stubborn. you still have other things to do, don't forget that.” shoko hissed.

“but i need to be by her side. i need to be there to support her whatever i can.” satoru slowly let himself up and looked shoko straight in the eye.

“do you think she still needs you to be by her side? oh please, not after what you had done.” the doctor rolled her eyes as she toys with the unlit cigarette on her lips.

for some reason, satoru was having a deja vu, it was like they're in her clinic once again and they argue where you heard things that you shouldn't have. as much as satoru would like to shut her down, he's worried that you might hear him say nasty things that he didn't mean to say.

“shoko, please…i know you're mad at me and you wanted to be hostile towards me. i actually don't care if you hurt me or insult me, just not now. i need to stand by her side and i don't need you to tell me what to do.” satoru stood up and his gaze on shoko became hard.

the doctor just tsked and decided to drop the conversation for your sake. there's a whole silence in the atmosphere when satoru suddenly thinks about your little breakdown earlier. you're looking at your child and he is too. he really wants to go to the baby but he thinks it would be better if the two of you are together.

satoru was excited to see his baby, sure. but something inside stirs up something that he personally couldn't explain. was it because he remembers your conversation when he first knew of your pregnancy? that he found himself unable to answer your questions during that night?

but whatever the reasons are, satoru was ultimately willing to ignore it and just focus on becoming a better husband and now a new father towards his child with you.

the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the one and only satoru gojo, the pride of his clan, your husband on papers, your most hated person, your child's father—swore to himself that he will treat his son as his own flesh and blood, not as the heir that will dethrone him from being the pride.

and most of them all, he swore to himself that you will be treated way, way better than everyone, specifically and especially him. satoru will patch up the wounds that he had caused you.

but not all wounds can be treated by a mere bandaid.

an hour had passed and now you're once again in your room, but this time, you're more than calm as you finally understood the situation—thanks to shoko who patiently explains everything to you.

like right now, she's standing by the end of your bed while satoru was on his seat just like the first time you saw him in this hospital. shoko carefully and softly explained what was going on with you and gave you some sort of assurance.

“you suffered from placenta abruption which caused your placenta to detach from the inner walls of your uterus. it unables the baby to receive oxygen and nutrients with the placenta detached. that is why the doctors had no choice but to put you into a cesarean delivery so it can save both of your lives.”

“and about your baby, don't worry, they're in safe hands. currently in the neonatal intensive care unit where the baby is under process of developing it since it came out during your six months of pregnancy and is premature.” she continued.

then, shoko put a hand on your shoulder, slightly massaging it to give you some comfort. “worry not, y/n. we're not going to let anything hurt your baby. they're safe here and are guarded with blessings and restrictions so no other curses or unauthorized people could touch your child.”

all this time shoko speak, your head was hanging low and it seems like you're having a hard time digesting everything. but you still get what she meant by putting you under a cesarean because it's the only way to save you and your baby's life—which you're incredibly grateful for.

“c…can i see my baby?” your tone was quite hushed, probably because you hadn't really talked to anyone after what happened to you.

shoko gently shook her head and gave you an apologetic smile. “i am so sorry, y/n. but you need to rest first and we, the doctors, recommended you to not move too much since it can open up your cesarean stitches once again.”

to everyone’s relief, you nodded at her words, like you agreed to get better first before seeing your child.

“alright, i gotta excuse myself now. i have an appointment later this afternoon.” shoko gives you a smile before sending a knowing gaze at the man beside you, saying ‘you better not forget that you still have other things to do’ look.

“mhm. take care and thank you for helping me during all of this, shoko.” you replied tried to return the same smile but it only reached a have, you just wished she could feel your sincerity towards her.

“i don't accept thank you’s, yet. i can only accept it if i see you in a much better condition. so if you want me to say you're welcome, then get better.” her words make you giggle a little but you take that as a note.

giving you a one last smile and a secretive glare at your husband, she finally left the scene…and that leaves you two, you and your husband. silence engulfs the whole room, only the sound of your beeping monitor keeps on echoing and adds awkwardness to the atmosphere.

you take a small peak at satoru who's looking at an empty space somewhere, looking like he's in a deep thought. you're not sure if you want to talk to him or not, but taking the preceding events from earlier, you see no reason.

on the other hand, satoru was lost in his thoughts because he's trying to construct everything that he needed to say to you. he's kinda bad at impromptu when it comes to you and mostly forgot his points and other subtopics because he's being blinded by the emotions that keeps on distracting him.

satoru also noticed your small gazes towards him and it feels like you're not planning to talk to him first, so he finally initiated a conversation.

“do you feel any pain in your body?” he asked you.

however, it took you a while to answer because you're not sure if your following responses are gonna be normal, sarcastic, or not answering at all. but you choose the first one because the two other choices would most likely put you into stress and makes your healing process becomes slower.

“my tummy hurts but i'm fine…and i'm also hungry.” you replied, that's it.

satoru was glad that you're answering him…well. anyway, he smiled at you and carried on with the conversation. “if the pain gets worse or it causes you discomfort, you must tell me immediately. and about that hunger, we still need to wait at least eight hours for you to eat something heavy. but for now, you can only take liquids and…the doctor said you could eat oatmeal and eggs—maybe we should get that. the doctor also to avoid greasy food and it would take at least six weeks for you to recover, and then…what are the other things he said again?”

while satoru was busy yapping, you slowly think that he's speaking to himself more than he's speaking to you because of how concentrated he looked and it somehow brings some sort of warmth in your chest because he really tries himself to remember all of the things that the doctors had prescribed him for you.

“satoru…” you called out to him, but he's still busy talking about do’s and don'ts and keeps on going while you occasionally call his name.

“satoru.” he's still busy talking.

“...satoru?” yep, still talking.

his yappings are getting too long and you're running out of thin patience, so you hold into his arms and that makes him look at you and stop talking instantly. breathe in relief, you finally stopped him from his own shenanigans.

“i—i’m sorry, i talked too much.” satoru awkwardly chuckles to himself, but you just shrugged it off. “anyway, what is it?” he asked.

“satoru, i was wondering…how did i end up here? all i know is i was in my room, i feel my tummy hurts really bad and it got me so worried about my baby. then all of the sudden, there's blood seeping down on my legs then everything black out.” you said.

“well…” then satoru proceeds into another minutes of yapping about what happened based on what they had said to him back then. you'd understand that yuuji and megumi were planning to cheer you up by a surprise room visit when they smelled blood and that made them instantly realize that something was going on with you. so they called shoko and yaga to break into the room, and there they saw you lying in your own pool of blood.

nodding slowly, the question that was formed because of the preceding events were finally put into the end. “oh, so that's what happened. anyways, do you think yuuji and megumi could be here tomorrow? i wanted to thank them.”

“sure. i’ll come with them tomorrow. but now, let's get you some light foods so you can sleep tonight.” satoru stood up but he froze as his feet were not walking. you watch him turn back to you while you give him a confused look.

“will you be alright being alone for like…five minutes? i’m just gonna be quick and get you some food. i promise i’ll be back before you know it.” you just let him do what he wants and just continue watching him. satoru looked at you for a long seconds, rather seemingly so hesitant. but you told him you'll be fine and just do his thing, so satoru assured you once again that he'll be back then uses his teleportation.

now, you're alone (for a while) in this room. your thoughts wandered towards your baby who you knew is in the same building as yours. you really want to run towards that room where they are located but you forcefully shut yourself because it'll just make things worse. you're still in the process of healing and you want to be at your strongest when you're with your baby.

but something was still arguing inside your head. it's the desire to run towards your child and the desire to get better—

“y/n.”

“shit!”

something—no, someone was suddenly in the room. it was satoru who's pouting at you like a puppy who got lost. his sudden appearance makes the beeping machine beside you go wild as you curse out profanity because you're that shocked.

thankfully, your heart beat becomes normal again and nothing bad happens. but you'll be sure to send out a death glare to your husband who's still pouting.

“what the actual fuck, satoru?! do you want me to die of a heart attack?!” you glared at him, still your hand is at your chest.

“i'm sorry about that. but i cannot bring myself to leave you like that even for a minute.” he said.

“i told you i'll be fine. you don't need to guard me 24/7 anyway, so go and grab or do whatever you want.”

“no!” satoru whined…and that surprises you, because this might be the first time you saw him whine like a child, especially without any involvement of alcohol or sugar to activate this kind of his system. this was just a new sight to you.

“then how are you going to get some food?”

“i’ll just have them deliver it here.”

“seriously? you're going to order and deliver oatmeal and eggs?” your eyes were wide at his crazy idea. like yeah seriously, for an oatmeal and eggs? he could literally get it from a convenience store.

“what? i'm gonna order some food for myself too, you know.” he pouts, again.

“okay, you order your food online. and we'll get mine at a convenience store.”

“what? no! i told you i don't want to leave you alone.”

“then i’ll come with you. we'll go and buy my food together if you're really that worried about leaving me alone.” you said sarcastically.

“what the hell is that suggestion? absolutely not!” satoru gasps. he's so dramatic.

“well then, i’ll just starve!” you huff at him before turning your head away from him.

“i—wait, i'm sorry. i really can't force myself to be away from you. i'm just scared that when i'm gone even for just a minute, s-something might happen again and i’m not there to help you out instantly.” the sad look on his face is back, similar to what he looked like when he confronted you in the hallway.

after hearing his explanation, you turned back to him and said, “there are things that come unexpectedly. you cannot also force yourself to stick with just in case an emergency would occur, you'd be there. for all that i know, you still have other things to do, like you have your priorities.”

“but you're my priority,” he said seriously. well that caught you off guard.

“whatever, just go and get me some food.” you brush it off.

“...”

“...ok.”

the night ended with satoru eating his ordered food happily while you were still glaring at the man because he really stick to his words and ordered your food online instead of just running to a convenience store or buying the hospital once. although, it makes you wonder, how is there a plain, plain! oatmeal and a boiled egg that has been selling online?

well, whatever it is, at least your hunger has lessened and your relationship with satoru has gotten…at least a little better.

[part 4 is up tomorrow! and you know the drill, for those who would like to be added to the taglist , just comment — ©luvvixu2024]

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a/n: istg guys i'm trying my hardest to get y'all tagged but some really did not appear when i @ your blogs huhu. but don't worry, that won't stop me from tagging y'all, so i am just going to manually mentioned you on every chapter update ;)

[gemstone-gynoid]

i'd rather sleep on it.

my current car, the automatic door locking doesnt work anymore, and the radio and sound systems dont work anymore, after the battery had to be replaced. but all other functions of my car still operate correctly.