#just keep going and don’t ever stop; rest and allow yourself to heal and then keep going!! 💌 you won’t regret staying 💕

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[tarotwithavi]

What is coming into your life?

+ some messages that you need to hear

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Masterlist

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Thank you so much for your love and support 💕🫶🏻

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

The first thing I’m getting is that many of you have been focusing on personal growth, and it’s paying off. I see a lot of you realizing that you’re truly capable of achieving anything you set your mind to. You’re stepping into a powerful energy of self-confidence and self-love, and this shift is going to attract a lot of good things into your life.

Keep your eyes open for new ideas, projects, or invitations that come your way. Whether it’s a sudden thought or an offer to attend an event, these opportunities could be really beneficial for you. Trust your instincts.

Some of you might be considering doing something that no one in your family has done before. This could be a bold move or a unique choice. I want to encourage you to take that leap. By doing so, you will break a cycle of family patterns, especially around standing up for yourself and your dreams. It’s a brave step, but it’s one that will bring healing and growth.

I’m also picking up that some of you will soon spend quality time with an important male figure in your life. This could be your father, grandfather, or someone you look up to with strong masculine energy. This time together will feel meaningful and may even strengthen your relationship. Some of you are thinking about having an important conversation with your parents. This could be about expressing gratitude for everything they’ve done for you, or it could be about something else on your mind. Either way, I see this discussion changing perspectives in a positive way, bringing deeper understanding.

I also sense that many of you will receive a new opportunity related to making more money. This might come through a job offer, a project, or a chance to use your talents in a way that allows you to earn from them. This is a great time to explore how your skills can be turned into something valuable.

However, I do feel that some of you are worried or stressed about something, particularly when it comes to the outcome of an exam, test, or project. Let me reassure you—you don’t need to worry. The results will be positive, and you’ll feel satisfied with how things turn out.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

You need to stop giving your time and energy to people who don’t appreciate or value you. If you are in a position where you can protect and care for the people you love, then do so without overthinking the outcome. However, if you’re not in a place to make decisions for them, it’s important not to try and control everything. Remember, before you can protect or help others, you need to protect yourself first. Secure your own place, take care of your own well-being, and then you can support those around you.

It’s also important to understand that you don’t always have to be strong. It’s okay to just be yourself. You don’t need to carry the weight of everyone else’s problems. Be honest about how you feel, and don’t be afraid to show vulnerability.

I see that many of you are incredibly talented, with unique skills and gifts. But what’s holding you back is your own self-doubt. You might feel like your talents won’t be appreciated or recognized, so you keep them hidden. But how will you ever find people who truly appreciate you if you don’t share what makes you special? Take this as a sign to put yourself out there. Show your talents to the world so you can connect with those who truly see your worth and value your skills.

For some of you, there’s a big change coming. You may be pushed in a new direction or forced to change the path you’re currently on because it’s no longer good for you. Don’t see this as a bad thing; instead, view it as an opportunity for growth and self-improvement. This change could lead you to a better version of yourself.

I also sense that some of you are stuck in a confusing or unstable relationship. The person you’re talking to or have feelings for might be giving you mixed signals , one moment they seem totally in love with you, and the next, they act like you don’t matter to them. If this is the case, it’s important to recognize that this is not a healthy situation. When someone’s actions make you doubt yourself, it’s a clear sign that something isn’t right. It’s better to walk away now, before it hurts you more in the long run.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

I see that in the coming weeks, you’re going to need to work very hard on something important. This could be related to a project, job, or personal goal you’ve been focused on. However, all this hard work might take a toll on your health, so it’s important to be extra careful and take good care of yourself. Don’t push yourself too hard. If you feel stressed or overwhelmed, make sure to take small breaks when needed. Remember, it’s okay to slow down sometimes.

The good news is that what you’re working on ; whether it’s something you’re involved with now or something you’ll start soon , is something you’ve been wanting for a long time. You’ve probably dreamed about this moment, so stay positive and trust the process.

I feel the need to remind you that you are deeply loved by the higher power, whether you believe in God, the universe, or Mother Nature. No matter how many mistakes you make or how unworthy you may feel at times, you are always loved and supported. You are part of something greater, and that love is unconditional.

Now, take a moment to think of a yes-or-no question that’s been on your mind. The answer to that question is “no.” This might be the guidance you need to help you move forward.

Back to the main message, something significant is going to happen within the next few weeks. I would say by the end of this month or the first week of October, you’ll experience an event that will bring up strong emotions. It could be overwhelming happiness or sadness, but either way, the feelings will be intense. Be prepared, and try not to let the situation control how you react. Stay calm and centered, no matter what comes your way.

Also, a little advice: some of you need to wear more yellow or add yellow to your wardrobe. This color might bring positive energy into your life. If you’ve been feeling unwell, like having a fever or headache, I see that it will likely pass within 48 hours. But if you’ve been having constant headaches, don’t ignore them ,it might be time to see a doctor just to be safe.

Lastly, angel wings and a purple or pink dress will be meaningful symbols for you, so keep an eye out for them. They might show up in your life in some special way.

I also feel like adding this

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[kechiwrites]

not quite heart-shaped

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: you and simon both have the 14th off, and by god you were going to make the most of it. pt. 4/?

wc: 2.3k

cw: afab + fem!reader, fluff, banter, cunnilingus, fingering, teasing, very light breeding kink, femme pet name (princess), no use of y/n ever.

an: the return of medic reader, special thanks to @weebitofaslag who with a single comment reignited my love for their dynamic. babes all my knowledge of the military comes from romance novels, mw2 campaign and my fleeting contact with the canadian armed forces. so like if i get something wrong…don’t tell me. happy valentines day!

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

"Three." The tense quiet of the bedroom is disrupted by your offer. 

Ghost stands in front of you, and despite his crossed arms his posture is deceptively casual.

He scoffs at your pitch. The standoff is common for the two of you. Basically foreplay at this point. Pretending to be irritated and annoyed with each other until you're basically begging to rip each other's clothes off.

"No way." He grunts, but doesn't provide a number of his own.

You can't keep the disbelief out of your tone.

"Less than three, Simon? You're losing your touch!"

That does get a rise out of him and he stops leaning against the bathroom door frame.

"More than three. Anything less than five is a waste of both of our days off. But you knew that, didn't you, princess?"

"I don't know if I have five in me to give, honestly." You choke out, already tugging off the sweater you wore. 

"If I'm eating you out, I'm spending the day down there." He huffs. 

You're breathless when you finally respond, your cool and collected demeanour crumbling in the wake of his assertion.

"Yeah okay, that's fine, but wanting to fuck me after? I may not even be conscious." When he doesn’t respond, you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera lead discovering a villain’s plot. "Maybe that's what you want! Simon! Who knew you were so depraved?" It’s easy to be silly with him lately, even more so when you’re both free of the oppressive air of the base you’re both stationed at.

"Get on the bed or get out of my house." His shirt’s already off, and it’s oh so hard to stay on the task of mocking him when the cut muscle and little bit of fat on his torso shine under the room’s low light. With the mask still on, and the dark fabric of his pants obscuring his bottom half, he makes quite the sight. The pale, wide expanse of his chest, only broken up by tattoos and healed, pink scars and sandy, blond chest hair makes your mouth water. He steps towards you, hooking the thumb under the mask and pulling it up. It feels as though the cloth is moving in slow motion, your heart beating loud and erratic with anticipation. When he stops so it rests on his nose, you exhale, not quite disappointed, but you sure as hell aren’t relieved. 

“Sex in a bed?” You question facetiously, willing your brain to revert back to being a little shit. You know he can’t stand when you're being a brat, it reminds him of just how easily he’d lost control, just how messily he’d fucked you the first time, but around Simon you just can't seem to stop yourself, “You're spoiling me.” You lay back on the bed as ordered, contorting your arms to shimmy out of your bra, then your bottoms, tugging your underwear along with them. Not a thong this time, a fact that seems to disappoint Simon when he notices your regular boyshort panties entangled in your discarded sweatpants. 

“Yeah, don't get used to it, I'm just tired of the smell of antiseptic.” He mutters, kicking your discarded clothes off to the side.

You snort derisively, spreading your legs so he can lay between them, allowing for him to brush the petal soft skin of his lips against your hip, your thigh, just above your knee. “Ladies and gentlemen, the last true romantic.” You mumble, patting the top of his head, lamenting your inability to card your fingers through his fine blonde hair. 

Your entire body jolts when his tongue comes in contact with your clit, a full body shiver alerting Ghost to just how badly you'd needed this. He hasn't shaved and his stubble scrapes the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing a jolt up your spine, shuddering breaths escaping your lungs as his mouth gets better acquainted with the lips of your cunt. 

He drags his tongue over you in your entirety, taking special interest in the skin just below your entrance, he stays there, skimming, sucking, licking, until you're worried he'll manage to give you a hickey there, on your fucking taint. He has you dripping with his spit and your own slick, and the sound when he returns to your clit is obscene. He brings both hands up towards your abdomen, but neither continues the course to where you want them, on top of your chest, plucking at your nipples, or even around your throat, obstructing your airway. Instead, Simon's left hand pushes down on your abdomen, and his right gently shifts the hood of your clit up so he can abuse it better. 

All the soldiers in all the world and you had to hook up with the one who eats pussy like that?

"Fuck." You wince, and you twitch away from him as best you can, which only makes him suck harder, like he’s giving you ‘two for flinching’. You groan loud and unashamed, assured by the privacy afforded by not fucking on base for once. Your toes curl and relax over and over, the periodic tremble of your hips against his mouth has him holding you down as best he can, determined to pull more sounds from your wide open mouth. Your whole body tenses and you let out a litany of curses only disrupted by stutters of his name, all while you clench around nothing. He’s mumbling into you as you come, but whatever he’s saying ultimately doesn’t fucking matter when the vibrations of his voice make you want to cry or scream or kick Simon in his stupid masked face.

There's barely any hangtime between your orgasm shuttering through you and Simon circling his arms around your thighs before he tongue fucks you mercilessly, letting the tip of the muscle broach your entrance while he drags the edge of his teeth over the still buzzing flesh of your labia. He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you onto his face, until you get with the program and begin rolling your hips, pressing your clit against the bridge and tip of his nose, allowing his tongue to push deeper within you. 

Your body is already dripping its satisfaction all over his chin, and this time with breath barely in your lungs it takes longer for him to get you into a place of desperation again. But by God, does Simon Riley get you there. This time he takes a break from the constant contact between your cunt and his tongue to slip one of his thumbs into your entrance, fucking you with slow and deliberate strokes, like a promise of what he’ll do to you later when he finally fucks you. Long, greedy swipes of his tongue jar your brain like a hit to the head. You try to struggle away, levering up with your arms before he tugs you down again like a fucking ragdoll, like you trying not to lose your fucking mind is a slight inconvenience to him. He lays wet, panting, open mouth kisses over the pulsing heat of your cunt, and when you you raise your head to - fuck you don’t know - curse his entire bloodline, you can see he’s helplessly grinding his hips into the mattress, seeking some sort of friction while he tongues at your folds, while you soak him to the knuckle. It’s hot, hotter than it has any right to be and you flop back down, turning your head into his pillow to muffle your moans. Old habits and all that. Unfortunately, the pillow is steeped in Simon’s scent, and your eyelids drift closed when you inhale deeply. Your breath stalls and you ride out yet another climax on his tongue, this time very grateful for the way he fingers you through it, even if his thumb isn’t nearly big enough. The bed beneath you bears the brunt of your orgasm this time, damp sheets attesting to your fervent enjoyment. 

“What a mess you’ve made.” He speaks, once you stop huffing, voice disturbingly even, like he didn’t just factory reset your body. Which is…incredibly irritating.

“You know technically as a doctor I outrank you.” You snip, nose in the air. 

“So?” He lifts his head, but his eyes are still locked between your legs, not quite able to decide if he wants to move from where he is so clearly comfortable.

“So…” you mock him, squeezing your thighs around his neck, until his stare is redirected to your face. “you should be fucking nice to me, asshole.” He digs his thumbs into the back of your knees, until you release him. Slowly, he drags himself up, over your body until he can lay on his back next to you. 

“You know, I really should have finished inside you that first time. Knocked you up and had you taken off base.” And wouldn’t that have been a fun conversation for you to have with your CO. ‘I’m so sorry ma’am, he wears a mask and has big hands and knows my kinks. I had no choice, ma’am.’

“Stop talking or I’m gonna sit on your dick.” You whisper, shutting your eyes against the harsh beam of the light overhead. Your heart rate is finally starting to settle, and you’re grateful for the moment of reprieve, the few moments he gives for you to stitch your mind back together, to regain purposeful use of the human language. 

Shoulder to shoulder in his bed, and no longer occupied with singing Simon’s praises, your mind begins to harmlessly wander, unhelpfully cataloguing that you aren’t even halfway through what he’s planned for you. You also start to filter through your responsibilities due in the coming days. It’s automatic at this point, a system you developed during school, when papers and projects and your social life all constantly contradicted each other. You’d come, at the hands of yourself or someone else, and your orgasm cleared brain began building a calendar. Nothing today, of course, you’d cleared your schedule and no one had questioned why. Most people wouldn’t question anyone taking off Valentines.

The “holiday” never really stuck out to you in the past, for one reason or another. Work, med school, family stuff, hell sometimes you just didn’t fucking feel like it. But this year, today, you can’t help yourself. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Simon.” You puff, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling, letting your brain make patterns out of the popcorn ceiling.

“Ah,” he vocalizes, voice gruff. “Right.” he shifts in his bed, and you figure you’ve got about 30 seconds before he gives you the dusty combat boot. Your face burns with embarrassment, why the fuck did you say that? When did he ever give you even the slightest inclination he gave a shit about some overblown, capitalistic, aggrandized-

“Here.” A bag of jellybeans is unceremoniously plopped onto your bare chest, right between your tits. 

“Where were you hiding these?” You gawp, struggling to string together a sentence as you examine the bag of colourful candies. It has a bow on it. You finger the pre-tied ribbon, stuck on with an adhesive pad.

“Under the bed.” He grunts, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like he’s fending off a headache, but you think he may just be embarrassed, if the pink tips of his ears are anything to go by. 

“This is sweet.” You choke out, and you have to sink your teeth into your already swollen lower lip to stop from giggling hysterically. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Mng.” He makes the noise in his throat, forgoing the English language for the easy comfort of grunts, watching you tear the bag open and chew on a handful of the brightly coloured beans. All at once, like some kind of animal. The flavours don’t quite go together, strawberry and buttered popcorn and root beer. Others you can’t even begin to pin down. But you're too frazzled to eat them how you usually would, your favourites first, then making combinations with whatever’s left, guided by the suggestions on the back of the bag. And ultimately, it’s not altogether too unpleasant. It works, in a fucked up, saccharine sweet kind of way. Kind of like you and-

“Alright, put it away.” He rasps, turning over to cover you with his weight once more, sliding down to get started on orgasm three. 

He plucks the bag out of your hands and drops it on the nightstand near you, devoid of any knick knacks or photographs, just a beat up 70s style alarm clock that acts as a pedestal for your candy.

“My beans!” You shout, trying in vain to secure the confection for further enjoyment. You give up your fruitless endeavour when Simon sinks his teeth into the flesh of your breast on his way back down to your pussy. 

“I didn’t get you anything.” You moan, pressing the cool palms of your hands to your overheated face, soothing the mix of embarrassment and giddiness stirring in your mind.

“I’ll live.” He grouses, bending your knees, holding your thighs up and together with both palms at the back of your knees. You can’t see his face. Have never seen the whole thing, but you’d bet all the jellybeans in the fucking world, that Simon Riley’s cheeks are pink.

the beans were soap’s idea for sure. poor guy’s definitely heard them fucking more than once. support city girls, reblog what u like. happy valentines.

[rorywritesjunk]

Suppose I never ever let you Kiss me so sweet

Your healing powers are limited to one person a day but that doesn't keep Buggy from demanding you heal him. Rating: PG-13ish. They kiss. It's kinda fluffy as well. Warning: Broken ankle, bratty Buggy, Reader teases and mocks Buggy (playfully). Established relationship. I think they're married? Kissing. Suggested themes near the end. Devil Fruit powers causing discomfort (Not sure if that's really a thing but I've seen folks talk about it lately and decided to run with it). A/N: Request from @chochotorianime10 "hey Love your buggy stories. I was hoping I could request a buggy and s/o that has healing powers like Karin from Naruto thank you!!!(sorry if I spelled anything wrong.)" This was fun to write. Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it. Title comes from "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor.

“Listen, Cabaji, just bite my arm and you'll heal, okay?”

The acrobat could only stare at you in mild horror, eyes darting between you, your arm, and the captain that was hovering over the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched how this would play out.

It was just a broken ankle, that much you were able to tell when he fell off the unicycle with his foot catching in the spoke and pulling it down on top of him. While it had been hilarious to watch, almost happening in slow motion, you were at his side immediately, untangling him from the small wreckage before looking for injuries. 

“I-I 'm just fine. I don't need to… bite you.” 

“Oh, so you don't want to walk properly again?” You shrugged as you started to stand up. “Okay, then that's fine with me. I can't force you to do anything.

“Cabaji, stop being an ass.” Buggy said. “Bite her damn arm.”

He knew what your abilities were capable of. While Buggy found it a little harder to get hurt with his Devil Fruit powers, he wasn't invincible. He sometimes needed healing and while the first time you told him to bite you, he thought it was some weird kind of foreplay, but now he was used to it. 

Cabaji really really didn't want to do this but you knelt back down, holding your left arm out to him. He saw blue marks along your arm before he bit into your skin carefully. You didn't move, keeping your eyes on him as a warm aura surrounded him, the pained look in his eyes fading as he started to relax from the pain relief. He pulled back and looked at you with fascination as you stood up, holding your hand out to him. He took it and allowed you to pull himself up, stumbling for a moment but you caught him, steadying him on his feet while he hesitantly put weight on what was his injured ankle.

“How did you-”

“Good, you can walk.” You pulled back from him. “Get your shit out of the way and fix your damn unicycle.” You glanced over at Buggy. “You done with me now, Captain?”

“For now, but don’t go too far.” He told you. You put your hands on your hips and looked at him, giving him a look that said You’re an idiot. It took him a moment to realize why you were looking at him before it dawned on him. “Go get something to eat then, don’t crowd the place! Geez, Doc. Go away, we don’t need you now.”

You grinned cheekily at him before heading off to get a snack. Cabaji couldn’t help but watch you leave before Buggy turned on him. “What are you staring at?! Get back to practicing! Did you hit your head? You should know what to do by now for this shit, Cabaji!”

The acrobat did as he was told, not wanting to face the wrath of his captain.

~

You grabbed yourself a snack before retreating to the bedroom to read a book you found in one of the towns you recently stopped in. You managed to get some supplies you needed before Buggy launched some of the Buggy Balls at it, one of the items being a book to read while you rested. Being able to only heal one person a day was frustrating at times, you wanted to be able to help more people and you had to make the decision on what injury was a priority. Cabaji breaking his ankle was a priority, and you hoped no one else needed help until tomorrow. 

So to keep yourself from overdoing it, you made sure to rest, snack, and do something to pass the time until Buggy finished up for the day, demanding your attention for the evening which you were more than happy to shower him with. 

You were an hour into reading, eating some crackers and cheese when Buggy showed up, looking grumpy as he tossed his coat and kicked his boots off. He was making a fuss about something but you were tuning him out for now, knowing he needed to get that excess bit of energy out before he would relax for the evening. It often meant him pacing around the room, kicking things away if they got into his path, maybe punching a wall before he would settle onto the bed beside you.

Today, however, he paced a few times before stopping at the end of the bed with his arms crossed as he faced you. He cleared his throat a few times, trying to get you to look at him, and finally a hand came and pulled your book out of your hands and tossed it aside. 

“Rough day?” You asked, annoyed that you lost your place in the book. “Y’know, you could have just said something.”

“I shouldn’t have to say something!” He insisted, stomping his foot before he dramatically threw himself down onto the bed beside you, voice now muffled with a pillow when he spoke. “My body hurts and you can’t help me now because you helped Cabaji instead.”

You rolled your eyes and reached over him to grab your book to set it on the nightstand. “You wanted me to. He was a priority, Buggy.”

“Yea, but so am I.” He whined, raising his head just enough to look at you. You patted him on the head and he frowned. “Don’t mock me and my discomfort.”

“Well, Buggy, I’m tapped out for the day.” You reminded him as you leaned down to kiss him on the top of his head. “How about I kiss your boo-boos and make you feel better?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, of course not!” You insisted as you took his bandana off and tossed it aside, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, okay, actually, maybe a little, but mostly because you know Cabaji needed my help more.”

He rolled onto his back and huffed, looking up at you with a frown. “Maybe, but I still deserve your attention.”

“Well, obviously.” You said, rolling your eyes. “How can I forget to shower the Great Captain Buggy, the Genius Jester, with the attention he deserves?”

“Now I know you’re mocking me.”

“Never!” You feigned innocence, both hands on your cheeks as you stared at him, aghast he would accuse you of such a thing. “I love you too much to ever mock you.”

Buggy glared at you before rolling onto his side, his back now to you as he crossed his arms to sulk. You stared at him, the fearsome Captain Buggy acting like a petulant child in that moment. Honestly, you loved him but sometimes you couldn’t help but tease him just a little. Still, you felt just a bit bad, wondering if maybe you went a bit too far, so you leaned over him, your hand on his shoulder as you kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Buggy.” You murmured softly. He huffed, refusing to look at you. “I can’t heal you but I’ll kiss your booboos to make them feel better, how about that, love?”

“Hmph. You don’t deserve to.” He mumbled back, refusing to look at you. You managed not to roll your eyes, pressing your lips to his cheek, trailing kisses down to his jaw while your hand moved beside his face to turn his head to look at you. Thankfully he toned down the brattiness because he didn’t pop his head off to get away from you. He definitely wanted your attention. 

You pecked him on the lips, grinning down at him as he moved onto his back once more, arms crossed as he glared up at you. “Tell me where it hurts, Buggy, and I’ll kiss it to make it feel better.”

“Everywhere.” He sighed in frustration. 

Buggy had told you how his body sometimes ached from his Devil Fruit powers, the constant popping of his limbs off his body causing some discomfort if he did it too often in a day. He wasn’t in need of healing most of the time, he just wanted your attention which you were fine to give him. 

“Okay, so here?” You asked before kissing him once more on the lips as you moved to straddle him carefully, being mindful in case he was having more discomfort than usual. He uncrossed his arms, resting his hands on the top of his thighs as he relaxed underneath you. When you pulled back, looking down at him, he looked just a bit calmer than when he first came into the bedroom. “Where else, my love? I need you to tell me.”

“Here?” He pointed to the nape of his neck and you wasted no time in leaning down to kiss the spot where he was pointing, nibbling gently at his skin before sitting back up to look down at him. Buggy looked back up at you, obviously trying to think of where else on his body he needed some ‘healing’. You didn’t wait for him to tell you before taking both of his hands in yours, softly kissing his knuckles one by one, the backs of his hands and finally his palms, each brush of your lips over his skin lasting just a few seconds before you moved on to the next one.

“Where else, Buggy?” You asked as you lowered his hands back down. He didn’t respond so you leaned back down to kiss him on the forehead, holding his head carefully in your hands before you began to list off some options for him. “Shoulders? Elbows? Tell me, love.”

“Everywhere.” He mumbled, his eyes wide as he watched you unbutton his shirt, pushing it open before you kissed the base of his throat. He let out a soft moan, his hand back on the top of your thighs as you lingered there, sucking on his skin softly. “Y-Yea, there too, babe. The neck really aches.”

“I know, Buggy.” You chuckled as you pulled back. “Y’know, if your body hurts this much, I may need you to remove the rest of your clothes so I can give you a proper look over.”

He perked up a bit, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “Is that what the Doctor orders? Get me naked so you can examine me?”

“Afraid so, Buggy.” You told him, shaking your head. “That’s the only way I’ll be able to treat you is if you’re completely naked.”

“You should have said something earlier then!” He sat up abruptly as he started to remove the rest of his clothes. “What else do you recommend, Doc?”

“I recommend staying in bed for the rest of the night.” You said as he tried to remove your pants while you were still on his lap. You put your hands on his to halt his actions for just a moment. “No strenuous exercises, rest, and to let me take care of you.”

Buggy looked up at you, head tilted to the side as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were almost sparkling, full of love now and trust for you, knowing you would always be there to take care of him. “That all, Doc?”

“That’s what the doctor orders, Buggy.” You told him as you gave him a kiss. “Just let me care for you, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded, leaning into your kiss. “Whatever you want.”

[majoryeager104]

Betrayal part 4 (final

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/n Bit of a timeskip but this was the part I enjoyed writing the most + bonus at the end to cheer y’all up <3 summary: After Touyas final battle with his family, you’re finally allowed to visit

warnings: spoilers for his conclusion, language, injuries (his scars), ANGSTYYYY sad, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel pookie I promise 🙏

It was cold, and sterile-smelling in the facility. it had been some time since your attempt at a fight with him. Some time since you’d betrayed his trust, and now?

Now he was dying in a holding facility. you stepped quietly into the room, taking a deep breath as you mentally prepared yourself. Your burns had healed away, but your body still ached from the stress as you looked into the room. There stood Enji, Rei, Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo- everyone was here.

Even Touya, in the tube-like contraption that kept him alive. Upon seeing it, you already wanted to cry. No matter what you did, nothing could prepare you for that sinking feeling. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you save him? You stared at the machinery, the only things keeping his heart beating, your body feeling sore and empty as you approached the Todoroki family

“…hello”

was all you could muster, your eyes never leaving the machine that encased him. This was a terrible way to die. It wasn’t right. It was downright cruel. They should’ve just let him succumb to his injuries. Should’ve let him pass on, let him rest, let him- no, no, you wouldn’t be able to handle that either. And you’re here now, right? For the same reason they put him here- to spare any time you could with Touya. It was a gruesome environment, the faces of the Todoroki family as the looked towards you. Everyone in the room felt the same weight bearing upon their shoulders, some more than others- helplessness, grief, guilt. the only sounds in the room were the hums of machinery, and Touyas soft breathing, tucked away behind the glass as he watched the closest thing to a family he’d ever had, grieve over him before he was even gone. It was a bone chilling experience, even for him. “h…hey”

he rasped out weakly, and all their heads whipped around to look at the dark glass separating them. “…just y/n”

was all they needed to hear, with soft nods and glances towards you as the Todoroki family relented quickly to his wishes, leaving you alone in the room with him, with Touya. Your Touya. Trapped behind glass on a steady march to death. “…hey…Touya”

you whispered, stepping closer to the dark glass. You couldn’t see through it, and deep down you were glad of it. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him in his current state- literal charred skin and bones. You placed a soft hand against the glass, as if hoping he’d feel it. he didn’t, but he saw it. He took a shuddering breath, not able to do much else as he finally attempted to speak again. “…’m sorry…for everything”

you blinked, your eyes already glassy as you processed his weak but gentle voice as it hit your ears.

“…didn’t wanna burn you…but I did…sorry..”

You looked up, a tear streaking down your face as you attempted to put your plea to gentler words. Stop it. Stop it you’re making this so much harder.

“Touya, you don’t need to-”

“let me finish doll….Please..”

his voice came out a bit stronger that time, his will overpowering his weakness. He was begging you to let him go in the most peaceful way he could.

“…I pulled you into my mess…let you get attached, let you buy me clothes, food, you know… I’m sorry”

you sniffled softly, covering your face with a palm as you looked down, your tears spilling down your face and hitting the floor as you listened.

“…I did warn ya though…”

you heard a wheezy chuckle through the glass as he spoke, shaking your head as you choked back a sob. You didn’t want to admit he was right. That he had warned you, so many times “don’t waste your money on a dead man” the words came back to your mind like a flash flood.

“…but honestly, I hoped you wouldn’t listen…and I’m sorry for that too…”

“Touya please…” you cried weakly, looking up at the glass, like if you looked at that blank dark glass long enough, you’d see him again, how he used to be, maybe even catch a smile on his face.

“Don’t waste your tears on me…’m not worth it, doll… been telling you for years…just…I love you… just leave…don’t visit me again…do it for me…”

“I love you too… I don’t wanna go…” you sobbed weakly, kneeling against the glass, your shoulders slumped in defeat under his soft tones and pleas.

“Me neither, doll…me neither…sorry…”

————————————————————————

(a/n bonus if you’re crying <3)

you stayed there for a while, with those being the last words he’d uttered before he couldn’t speak anymore, his body and mind spent as he silently watched you weep at the feet of his holding cell. God he wished he could hold you, wished he could wipe away those pretty tears- no, he’d kiss em away if he could, like he always did. He drifted in and out of consciousness, too weak to think or speak, even as an unfamiliar silhouette stood in the doorway. you looked up to see a little kid, a young girl, with silvery hair, red eyes, and a small horn on her forehead. She smiled, sympathy in her eyes as she reached down to hug you. Shoto walked in behind her, kneeling to rub your back, another hero- Eraserhead, you recognized, standing in the door with a cautious look on his face. “Hey miss! Mr Shoto told me you were sad… don’t cry, mister Aizawa said I was allowed to help you! Everything’s gonna be okay, okay? I promise!”

How’d y’all like that bonus 🥹🥹🥹

[ssinnerplazahotel]

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙚&𝙀

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Three*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC:5k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, it’s the 50s/60s

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2

Christmas was usually your favorite time of year, you loved the festivities and the decorations. You and your mother had an annual tradition of taking a trip downtown to soak up some of the atmosphere and to be a part of the hustle and bustle of the busy holiday season. You expected this year to be different, being in Memphis and away from home. But things were drastically different now.

You were in the dining room with Dawn and Cynthia setting up for the Christmas Eve dinner party that Elvis hosted every year. You weren’t sure how anyone managed to get excited over these parties like they didn’t have them nearly every night—you blamed it on the holidays.

You slipped away after setting the table, going upstairs to take a breath before the bulk of the crowd arrived. You heard the gentle sound of the piano resonating from the music room. You recognized the song playing, it was one you often heard coming from the room during some of Elvis’ many long, sleepless nights. You stopped by the door, leaning against the frame as you watched him.

He only played for a moment more before his hands froze on the keys. He turned his head, meeting your eyes. “Birdie,” He said, his voice no more than a whisper in the, now, silent room.

“Hi,” You whispered back. He held his hand out for you with a blank stare—just a hint of a smile on his face. “What’s wrong?” You asked as you crossed the room and took his hand.

He pulled you down beside him on the piano bench, bringing your hand to his lips and holding there for a moment before pulling away. “I’m okay,” He said. You weren’t convinced.

“Tell me,” You pressed. “I can see it in your eyes that something's wrong.”

He turned his head to laugh, looking back at you with a playful expression that you could see straight through. “I guess I get blue during Christmas.”

“Why?” You asked with a concerned tilt of your head.

His smile faded quickly, his eyes focused on yours but somehow distant. He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly a few times. “I miss her a lot around Christmas…”

You nodded, bringing your right hand up to cup his face. You felt your throat tighten as you brushed your thumb against his cheek. You had spent all day trying to force down your own emotions surrounding the holiday. It was the first Christmas without your mother, and as much as you wanted to push away the emotions stirring in your chest you knew it was just a matter of time before it really hit you.

“The years keep goin by a-and…pretty soon it’ll just be another Christmas.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It won’t be so different, it’ll be normal and it won’t feel like anything’s missing.”

“You’ll always miss her, E.” Your voice was unsteady as you held on to your composure.

He met your eyes again then, his expression softening. “Oh, birdie, I-I didn’t~ I-I shouldn’t’ve~”

“I want you to talk to me~”

“But I know you’re hurting too,” He said, putting his hand over yours where it still rested on his face. “Are you okay?”

“No,” You admit. “But…Dawn says it’ll pass. It has to pass, right?”

“I don’t know if it ever stops hurting,” He said somberly. “But I hope it gets easier to live with.”

“My mother,” You started, trying to blink away your tears. “She always said that you gotta hurt to heal but…I’m worried that once I start allowing myself to feel those feelings they’ll never go away.”

“You can’t keep it in forever, baby.” He turned his head to kiss your palm before letting your hand go. “That’ll only end up doing more bad than good.” He turned his attention back to the ivory keys of the piano. “I see you headin for that dark place. You can’t let yourself go there, you gotta find another way. If you can’t cry it out, maybe you can figure something else out.”

“Is singing your way?” You asked, watching as he began to play the gentle chords of an old Christmas song that you couldn’t remember the name of.

“I don’t know,” He said. “I just let the feelings happen, I don’t do anything to stop 'em but I don’t do anything to solve ‘em either.”

“I really miss her.” You sighed. “I can’t grasp the fact that I’ll never see her again.”

“Or put your arms around her,” Elvis added solemnly, his fingers slowing coming to a stop against the keys.

The two of you sat there staring down at the piano in silence. Tears welled in your eyes, you didn’t have to look up to know Elvis was crying after you heard the trembling breath he released. You didn’t say anything as you laid your head on his shoulder, a tear racing down the bridge of your nose as you did so. He put his arm around you, laying his head against yours. There was nothing to be said as the two of you sat there silently weeping for reasons so similar that you understood each other without speaking.

You wanted to stay there crying on his shoulder for hours, but you eventually had to pull yourself together to go finish set up for the party. Elvis was reluctant to let you go, he wanted to escape to his room and hide there until the festivities were over.

“Come on,” You said, pulling him up from the piano bench. “You put on a smile and go entertain your guests like your mama would’ve wanted you to.”

He smiled gently at that, tears still clinging to his lashes as he pulled you into a hug. “You’ll be there, that’s the only reason I’ll go,” He said. “You’ll come see me after?”

“If I can get past the guards,” You teased, pulling away from the hug and looking up at him. You reached up and thumbed away the remainder of his tears. “I’ll see you out there.”

“Okay, honey,” He whispered, closing his eyes as you kissed his cheek. “I’m right behind you.”

You left the music room feeling lighter than when you walked in. Talking about your feelings actually did ease the tightness in your chest.

When you got back downstairs there were already guests arriving, causing you to put on a smile as you greeted them on your way to the kitchen.

“Where were you?” Your aunt asked when you joined her by the stove.

“I needed a minute,” You said without elaborating, hoping your puffy eyes were enough of an explanation. “Do you want me to start moving the food to the dining table?”

“You can, I doubt anyone will really sit down to eat,” Dawn said. “Make it look nice anyway.”

“Sure.” You grabbed a pan of food from the counter before walking it out to the dinner table.

You caught a glimpse of Elvis as you sat the food down, you were surprised to see how well he had pulled himself together. If you didn’t know any better you wouldn’t have thought he was hurting at all as he smiled and laughed with his friends and family.

*

You were stripping the table to wash the linens when Dawn emerged from the kitchen, having just finished the last of her chores for the night. The party was still alive and well, though most of the guests had already left. There were still a handful of people hanging around making enough noise to keep everyone else awake.

“Let me help you.” Dawn started to fold the tablecloth.

“Don’t worry about it~”

“I insist.”

You smiled in thanks as you went to take the rest of the table linens to the laundry room, Dawn following silently behind you. Her silence made you feel unsettled, she was never quiet. You didn’t bother to say anything about it as you loaded the linens into the wash, hoping to escape to your room afterwards.

“Thanks,” You said after starting the washer. “I think I’m going to turn in. I’ll get up early to clean up after everyone’s cleared out.”

“Okay.” She nodded as you tried to get past her to leave the laundry room.

“Is everything okay?” You asked when she didn’t move.

She didn’t say anything as she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out your mother’s scarf. “I found this in the laundry a few days ago.”

You took the scarf as she handed it to you.

“Elvis’ laundry,” She clarified, causing a crushing feeling to wash over you.

“It must’ve gotten mixed in somehow,” You said. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

Dawn sighed, turning to shut the door of the laundry room before facing you with her arms crossed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act clueless, we both know you aren’t.”

You looked down at the scarf in your hands, mentally cursing yourself for not making sure you got it back sooner.

“I explicitly asked you to keep a low profile around here,” Dawn continued with a disappointed expression. “Of all people—Elvis?”

“I’m not sure what you think is going on~”

“I don’t need the lies or the excuses,” She said, her demeanor was calm but the glare on her face told you everything you needed to know about how angry she was. “I can’t lose this job, you know that. I let you into my home, into my life, I took you in after your mother’s death and you put me in jeopardy like this?”

You tried to speak but you weren’t able to get a word in.

“Whatever you think you’re doing stops now,” She said. “It’s insane and inappropriate.”

“Why is it so insane?” You dared to ask. “Is it so unbelievable that he likes me?”

“Yes, it is.” She lowered her voice in an attempt to keep from raising it. “There’s only one thing a man like that wants with a girl like you.”

“A girl like me?”

“A colored girl.”

Your lips pursed as you matched Dawn’s glare, your gaze unwavering. “And what’s that?” You asked, your voice quiet as you struggled to keep it steady.

“You’ll know once he gets it,” She said. “He’ll drop you so fast you won’t even get the chance to put your arms out and catch yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” Your voice sounded unsure even to your own ears.

“Really?” Dawn asked, her eyebrows raising. “Just how long do you think he’ll go on playing this game with you? Sneaking from room to room, waiting until the coast is clear—or at least until he thinks it is~”

“Your point?”

“Why would he keep putting himself through all that trouble when he can, and does, have any girl he wants,” She continued. “He’ll never choose you, for obvious reasons.”

“He’s not a racist, Dawn." Your hurt morphed into anger. “When he looks at me that’s not all he sees.”

“Is that what he told you?” She asked with an unconvinced expression. “His contract won’t even let him sing for a negro charity, you think they’ll let him walk around with you on his arm? It’ll never happen. Whatever you have going on, do yourself a favor and end it before you get hurt.”

“There’s nothing going on,” You said. “He’s my friend, we talk sometimes. There’s no harm in that.”

“Just don’t let your scarf get lost in Mr. Presley’s room the next time the two of you talk.” She turned to leave.

“Elvis,” You corrected before she was gone. “He hates when people call him Mr. Presley.”

She cut her eye at you once more before opening the door and leaving the room.

*

You didn’t meet Elvis in his room that night like you had promised. As much as you wanted to not let Dawn's words get to you, you couldn’t help it. She was right, and despite your own stubbornness to believe her, you knew it.

Elvis was Elvis.

There were thousands of women all over the country that wanted him. Only god knew how many of them actually had him. How many of them he pined after in the same ways that he'd pined after you, ways that you were a fool to believe were special. In reality, the only thing special about your situation with Elvis was that nobody knew about it. Nobody could know about it, even if you wanted them to. Your relationship wasn’t a relationship at all, it was just a secret--hidden behind closed doors. If you knew anything about things done in the dark, you knew they always came brutally to the light.

You were lying in bed that night when your door opened, startling you out of your uproar of thoughts. You sighed as Elvis closed the door. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” He repeated. “I’ve been waiting for you, birdie. You standin me up?”

“No, Elvis." You pushed the covers from your legs and got up before he could join you on the bed. “You have to go.”

“What’s the matter?” He asked, his expression turning serious.

“Dawn,” You said. “She found my scarf in your room and she…”

He seemed to relax after hearing that, putting his arms around your waist. You closed your eyes as his scent invaded your senses, making you swoon as it always did. “I’ll talk to her~”

“No.” You walked out of his arms and towards the door. “You have to leave, E. I don’t want to do this tonight.” You tried to open the door, only for him to stride over and push it back shut. “I don’t think we should carry on like this. Not anymore.”

“What’d she say to you?” He asked, trying to meet your eyes as you stood facing the door, your hand still on the knob. "Tell me."

“This was a really dumb idea." You finally met his eyes, the anger you felt towards Dawn returning as you replayed her words in your mind. “I don’t know what I was thinking, okay?”

“No, not okay,” He said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I-I thought we~”

“You thought wrong,” You snapped. “You can have any girl in the world, why the hell are you so bothered with me?”

“I don’t want any girl, darlin, I want you." He reached out to touch your face. “You’re my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.” You pulled away. “I’ll never be your girl, Elvis. Not as long as you are who you are and I am who I am.”

“I thought we were past this.”

“It’s not about color,” You said in frustration. “It’s about you being Elvis Presley. It's about everyone in the world knowing who you are, everyone in this house--they worship you.”

“Birdie~”

“I’ll never know you outside of these rooms, I’ll always be confined to this space with you. Behind closed doors, hidden. A secret. I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to understand who you are. Who I am.”

“Birdie,” He said again, taking his hand from the door and making you face him. “You’re my girl, that’s who you are.”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes down as he held you by the waist.

“W-What we have, it’s different,” He continued. “I don’t have to be Elvis Presley when I’m with you, b-because that’s not who you expect me to be. I can be me, I can be myself a-and you won’t want me any other way. That’s why you’re my girl, regardless of everything else. Regardless of what your aunt or anyone else has to say about it.” He took your face in his hands, making you meet his eyes. He stared at you for a moment, an unfamiliar look in his sapphire eyes. “You’re my girl...tell me.”

You looked at him, not saying a word as his eyes flitted wantonly over your features.

“Tell me,” He repeated before silence engulfed the two of you once more. His jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth, a short laugh leaving him. “Come on, baby, don’t make me force it out of you.” He stepped impossibly closer as he lowered his head and graced his lips over yours. “You know I can.”

Your eyes fell closed as he pressed his lips fully against yours, your hands coming up to hold his wrists as he held your face. You started to push him away, but your resolve was waning quickly. You broke the kiss first, trying to come back to your senses but failing miserably as he continued to trail kisses down your jaw and your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin.

“Tell me you’re my girl.” He breathed against your skin, his hand traveling down your sides as he continued his assault.

You couldn’t help the sound that escaped your lips as he hiked your dress up. “E-Elvis~”

“Uh-uh,” He chided disapprovingly. “You know that’s not what I wanna hear, little girl.”

You rolled your eyes, angry at yourself and your lack of willpower. You grasped his shoulders for dear life as his hand slipped past the top of your panties, bracing yourself for the mind-numbing feeling of his fingers pressing against you.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the door. You were so wonderstruck by the feelings that came over you as he fingered you against your bedroom door. You would’ve done or said anything he wanted at that moment, despite the conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. All you needed was for him to keep making you feel everything you were feeling.

His lips found yours again, kissing you feverishly. You moaned when his fingers curled inside of you. He started slow, building his pace until he had you ascending towards your high.

You held your breath, barely holding yourself up on your trembling legs. “Oh, god.”

Elvis groaned, breaking the kiss and looking down at you. His free hand came up to wrap around your neck, not adding any pressure but holding you there as he watched you fall apart, his rings were cold against your burning skin. “Tell me you’re my girl.”

“E-Elvis~”

“Say it,” He said more firmly, his fingers halting deep inside of you.

You whimpered, throwing your head back against your bedroom door, teetering so desperately over the edge of your release.

“I-l’m your girl."

“That’s what I thought.”

He removed his hand from your underwear but before you could complain he dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties to the side and burying his face in your heat.

You stood up on your tiptoes, unsure of whether to give in to the immense pleasure or run away from it. Your hands grabbed onto his hair in an attempt to ground yourself as your soul positively left your body.

The pleasure was unlike before as he sent you careening off the edge with stars dotting your vision. If not for the death grip he had on your hips, you were sure you would’ve hit the ground.

Elvis hummed approvingly as you rode out your orgasm, his tongue massaging your clit thoroughly throughout, only pulling away when your legs started to truly give out. He sighed as he stood, holding your body against his as he wiped the remainder of your release from his chin. “Should’ve tasted you sooner.”

Your expression was still dazed as he kissed you, wrapping your useless legs around his waist and carrying you to your bed. He laid you down under him, kissing you deeply for another moment before pulling away.

“Let me clean you up, mama,” He said, but you ignored his words and continued to kiss him, your hands traveling down his chest until they rested on the buckle of his pants. “What’re you doin?” He chuckled.

“I want you,” You replied breathlessly. “All of you.”

He pulled away and met your eyes with a concerned expression that you didn’t understand. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I am,” You insisted, you weren’t sure if you had ever been so sure about anything. It could be the high of your previous orgasm talking or your desire to actually feel like you were his, even if was only for a moment. “I-I’m your girl. I want to be your girl.”

“You are my girl.” He sounded as if he was reassuring you. “My pretty girl.”

You sat up when he stood up from the bed, watching him turn the lock on the door before he started to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. He did away with the shirt before joining you on the bed again. He sat beside you, kissing your shoulder and helping you out of your nightgown.

You shivered.

He tossed it to the ground, putting your arms around his neck as you sat completely bare before him. “Please, Elvis,” You begged, putting your pride and embarrassment aside. “Make love to me.”

“Not t’night.” You immediately deflated, a disappointed sigh leaving your lips. You started to pull away, wanting to cover yourself as your confidence was shot down. “What?” He laughed as he kept you in your spot.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You crossed your arms, your embarrassment reappearing as you avoided his eyes.

“I’m not,” He chuckled. “C’mon, baby. I-I’m not laughin at ya.”

You kept your eyes down, your arms crossed over your bare chest and his arm still wrapped around you. “Why won’t you make love to me?” You uttered quietly, you were convinced that there was something wrong with you. There was something about you that he hated so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to make love to you. “Aren’t you attracted to me?”

“Of course I am. You don’t know the things I’ve done to keep myself from taking you all way.” He tapped your chin with his index finger and you met his eyes. “I want the time to be right, that’s all.”

“The time will never be right.”

“It’s not happening t’night.” His tone was final.

“I want to make you feel good,” You said anyway, only recieving an amused smile in return. “Why are laughing?”

“Why are you so sensitive?” He shot back instead of answering, running his right hand down you bare thigh—reminding you again of your own nudity. “It makes me feel good hearing those pretty sounds you make when I touch you~”

“No." He gripped the bend of your knee pulled your leg until you laid against your back beneath him. “You know that’s not what I mean. If you don’t want me~”

“I want you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth before meeting your eyes again. “It’ll happen, just not tonight. There are other ways you can make me feel good.”

“How?” You asked, listening intently to what he had to say.

“Lot of ways.” He kissed you briefly before pulling away from you, positioning himself so that he sat back against your headboard. “C’mere, darlin,” He encouraged, patting his lap. “Sit right here.”

You followed his instructions, of course. Crawling up to where he sat and straddling his thighs. He took you by the waist and held you still as he rolled his hips up once, causing you to feel his painfully hard erection through his slacks. You released a surprised sound as the material of his pants rubbed against your bare heat.

“You feel that?” He asked, his voice starting to sound strained as you met his hips in another roll. “That’s how bad I want you.”

You couldn’t stop the pathetic whimper that left your lips as you rutted against him. You wanted so badly to have him in any way that he wanted you. “T-Tell me what to do.”

Elvis released your hips, kissing you as his hands went to unbuckle the front of his pants. Your heart rate increased as you anticipated his next move, finding yourself eagerly awaiting his direction. He didn’t speak as he grabbed your wrist and guided your hand up to your mouth.

"Spit," He instructed casually. He smiled at your hesitation. "It's okay."

You felt hot all over but you followed his instructions. His gaze was intense as he watched you, his eyes never leaving yours even as he guided your wet hand beneath his pants. He exhaled tensely as he wrapped your wet fingers around him. You watched his eyelids go heavy as he showed you what to do, taking his hand away when he thought you had the motion down.

“That's perfect, baby,” He whispered, grabbing your waist again and moving you against your own hand as you continued pumping him.

You weren't satisfied. “I want to feel you.”

He sighed but he wasn't annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"My cock?"

He could've lit you on fire and you would have burned up in half the time than you did in that moment. He made your physically weak.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"No."

"Don't be shy, birdie, you can say it. I wanna hear you."

"I...I want your cock."

The sentence sounded foreign on your tongue but he still muttered a gentle praise and pulled your arm away before reaching down to push his slack down, fully exposing his erect penis. He kicked the material the rest of the way down his legs, leaving him as bare as you were. He shifted beneath you, pulling your hips down until your heat met his aching erection. The sounds that left his lips made you feral, you didn’t want to miss a second of watching him pleasure himself with your arousal.

Your hips stuttered from the contact and you felt him shutter. You moved experimentally, your eyes threatening to fall shut. Elvis began to meet your movements in shallow thrusts and the pleasure you were feeling to intensified.

“Just like that,” He encouraged, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "Fuck."

Your hand moved from where it rested on his chest and wrapped around his throat. You applied the slightest pressure, teasing him. He tensed and his breath caught in his throat. His lips parted as if to say something--to warn you of his impending rapture. He started to push you away but you stopped him.

"I want you to," You insisted, encouraging him.

His movements faltered and his gaze went unfocused before his eyes rolled back and his hips stuttered against yours.

He swore, forcing you still as he came down. He exhaled while kissing your shoulder, still feeling the heat of your core against him. “Tell me.”

“I’m your girl,” You said knowingly, your eyes closed as you hugged him back.

“My girl.” His breathing started to even out again.

You pulled away from his embrace, looking down at his blissed out expression. You kissed him briefly on the forehead before standing from the bed.

“Where’re you are goin?” He asked following you with his eyes, a lazy smirk on his lips.

“Just a second,” You chided as you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth from your towel rack before standing at the sink to run warm water over it. You cleaned yourself up quickly before rinsing the cloth, shrugging on the white silk robe that Elvis had gotten you. When you returned to the room he had pulled his slacks back up his legs. He sat against your headboard with them unfastened, staring at the ceiling.

He only looked up when he noticed you, his blank expression softening into a smile. “There you are. I was getting lonesome, darlin.”

You cleaned him up before going to discard the rag in the bathroom. You turned off the lights and joined him in bed after, pulling your comforter over the two of you and laying your head on his bare chest. You listened to the steady beat of his heart, closing your eyes and getting lost in the sound as he traced patterns into your shoulder.

“It’s Christmas,” He said suddenly, his low voice cutting through the silence.

You couldn’t see the clock on your bedside table, but you figured it was past midnight now. “It is.”

He reached up to turn on the lamp, causing you to squint against the light.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he sat up in the bed, sitting up after him.

“Here,” He said, taking the ring off of his pinky finger and grabbing your hand.

“No.” You tried to pull your hand away. “I can’t.”

“Take it,” He laughed, slipping the ring onto your middle finger. You sighed, looking down at it on your hand as he left a tender kiss on your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“I don’t have anything to give you.”

“You give me everything just by being here with me like this.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I don’t want anything but you.”

You met his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh no,” He said with an exasperated sigh, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Fine, just don’t go getting yourself upset.”

You were hesitant to continue, you didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you had to ask. “Could you love me?” There was a beat of silence and you worried he misunderstood. “N-Not do you love me, but could you.”

“Could I love you?” He repeated, you nodded your head. He looked down, fidgeting with the ring on your finger for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to know how you feel.”

He chuckled softly, tapping your chin before answering. “I could love you.”

“You think?”

“I know I could.”

His response was enough to minimize your growing insecurities for the moment at least, so you didn’t question him further. Instead you smiled as he kissed you, kissing him back slowly. When he broke the kiss to turn off the lights you let your smile drop. Despite you temporary satisfaction, you were still dreading the feelings that would come back tomorrow when you left this room and went on acting as if this night never happened. You wanted to stay in this moment forever—or for any amount of time it took to fill you up enough to last a lifetime.

You knew then that, dreadfully enough, you were in love with Elvis Presley.

And it terrified you to your core.

*

[cosmicwindmillcomplex]

Do you have any advice for people who are about to start EMDR?

actually yes! And I’m so glad you asked because idk if I ever would’ve thought about making it into a post! apologies for the late response but wanted to give it a lot of thought! I’ve been doing EMDR on and off for about 3.5 years now with my therapist, as a disclaimer: I am not an expert so this would be my advice based on my personal experience with and knowledge of EMDR.

1. Make sure you trust your therapist or whoever the professional who will be guiding you through the experience is; also make sure that they are qualified with EMDR experience. They should not offer the option if they have no experience with it.

2. Make sure you are in a relatively stable enough place to go through it. Don’t lie just because you want to do it. it’s a very intense psychological experience and can be draining so just be somewhat prepared and don’t be surprised if you feel kinda worn out the rest of the day after the session. There have been times I have taken breaks from EMDR when other issues of life became problematic and as a result I was less stable. It’s not something you want to force when you’re not stable enough, for safety reasons. For me it was difficult to admit I wasn’t stable enough as I wanted to just “push through” thinking it’ll automatically heal me, but it doesn’t quite work that way.

3. My sister is also a licensed therapist and gave me this metaphor when I was struggling with EMDR, it has shifted my perspective and helped me a lot. Think of EMDR as riding a train through your subconscious/inner world (however you like to think of it). In between the bilateral stimulation parts your therapist will usually ask something such as “what are you noticing”. This is when you peek out the train window or poke your head out and see where the train has stopped. but you stay on the train and then repeat the process at the next stop. Do your very best to observe and not be “sucked in” to whatever you are noticing. What you notice could be an image your brain gives you, it could be a memory, or a physical sensation of some kind as well. It’s kind cool like your brain is communicating with you!

4. EMDR does require bringing up and having to somewhat relive your trauma in the controlled environment, which is why you want to make sure you trust your therapist and have any grounding items nearby or with you. If you go in person and drive yourself, don’t feel the need to drive away immediately. It’s okay to sit for a while until you’re ready. If you do telehealth maybe keep some grounding items near you and always be in a room/environment where you feel really safe. Allow time afterwards for some self care and taking it easy.

5. My therapist describes it as a process to try and close the trauma loop in a way that the memories don’t impact you quite as badly. Some have equated it to “exposure therapy but make it trauma”, although it’s kinda right, it’s more complex than that. Often things that come up repeatedly can be clues, like a branch of a tree, and through sessions you may find the roots deeper down. There may be root memories you’re not aware of and through EMDR you may eventually find those roots when you’re ready.

6. Be patient!!! You don’t want to overthink or over analyze it too much outside of therapy. It’s okay and natural to think of it but don’t try too hard to investigate, give your brain time and it will probably make sense later down the road when you are ready. I usually will write down something if it comes up and then try to put it out of my mind until next session. Don’t push yourself or judge too hard. It is a lot to go through and very heavy, it makes sense to feel frustrated or discouraged but you will make progress in your own time. Don’t be afraid to use a stop signal if you feel overwhelmed, you don’t always have to keep going!

7. Be honest! Do your very best to not worry about being judged or anything like that. Let your brain go where it needs to go without judgment or trying to control it. Don’t lie or try to force your session to to a certain way, all it will do is slow your progress! (Not trying to call anyone a liar intentionally, but sometimes we would try to direct or deflect certain things in session due to feeling like we needed more progress faster and fears/anxieties/doubts, as an impulse reaction almost, in this case we think about it for a while and journal on it until we have the words to talk it out and explain more in another session later on. “Lying” in this context can also just simply be telling your therapist you’re okay when you know that you are not.)

I hope this helps and makes some kind of sense! Wishing you lots of love and comfort as you start your journey with EMDR ❤️‍🩹

[lilblueprint]

Anti-Hero

I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting, always rooting for the anti-hero

At the end of the day, you are the one who saves him. Or, Jason gets the thirties blues and you take a hit, too.

Been a long time coming. I left a lot more to implication than I'd planned, but I hope you all enjoy this last Midnights piece nevertheless.

Tinnitus was screaming in his ears and his face was burning with heat from the previous explosion. He waited for the sound to fade out before springing at the remaining enemy. They went down in heaps of ash, and Jason sagged in relief. The smoke was clearing, but alarm bells were still going off in his head. Something wasn’t right.

Collapsing against the closest support beam, he tapped into his comms. 

“Hey, O. Can you hear me?”

The device crackled for a bit, then:

“I hear you, Red Hood. What do you need?”

“...who’s closest to my location?”

“--Red Robin is in the area.”

“Got it. Can you ask him to clean up here? I–”

His hand fell from his ear as his knees gave out. 

Jason hit the warehouse floor with a thud. He hoped the building didn’t burn down with him still in it.

“--Red Hood? Red Hood–”

.

.

.

“--Jason!”

It took a few tries for him to comfortably keep his eyes open. When his lashes finally settled, you came into clarity, leaning over him like an angel sent to collect him. 

“Am I still in one piece?” He groaned, forcing a smile onto his face. 

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. Ever so beautiful.

“Yes, you dumbass.”

He wrapped you into his bandaged arms, and you held onto him tightly as his wounds would allow.

-

Gotham’s sunsets were… strange. As far as Jason could remember, the light had always felt wrong when it washed over the city. Like it didn’t belong there.  

Maybe because I don’t belong here.

The manor was glowing on the hill to his right. To his left, shadows bounced far and wide as the light fluctuated between buildings. He kept his senses alert for fear of what he would see in the streets–Oracle had briefed them on a possible Arkham breakout tonight. 

Not him. He was on bedrest, or supposed to be. 

“Thought I’d find you out and about,” your voice called out. Groaning, he turned around with his hands up in mock surrender. 

“You caught me, sweetheart.”

“You won’t hear the end of it from Alfred,” you teased. “Not that I’m any happier about you sneaking out when you’re supposed to be resting.”

He averted his gaze as your eyes fixed on him. 

“I just wanted some air,” he mumbled, turning back to the rooftops. You padded over to him, grit crunching beneath your sneakers. Your hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it gratefully. He didn’t have to look at your eyes to know they’d softened, that they were testing his waters. 

He didn’t stop you from diving in. He never could. 

“What’s eating you, Jay?”

“...I don’t know.”

You waited for him, slowly drifting the two of you to a corner so you could perch on the roof ledge. When you swung yourself up, panic momentarily spiked in him as he saw you lean back. His hands twitched towards you instinctively, his entirety gravitating to you in order to make sure you didn’t fall. If you noticed, you didn’t mention it. 

“Talk to me,” you whispered, brushing your fingers lovingly along his cheekbone. He chased after your hands, leaning into your touch like it could heal him, him and all his mistakes. 

“I feel blue,” he admitted. 

“Blue?”

“Blue,” he agreed. “I don’t understand what it is.”

The two of you stayed silent for a while. You rocked gently on the ledge while Jason was slotted between your legs, head resting on your thigh. His hand gripped yours tightly, silently pleading with you to anchor him to your shores. 

“Do you think maybe it’s the holidays? Y’know, seasonal depression or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered. Another quiet minute passed before you made a move. You leaned down, snaking your arms about his torso. Your hands traveled further and further along his torso before quickly slipping into his jacket’s inner seam. “Y’know,” Jason smirked, reaching down to grab your wrists, “if you wanted to grope me you could’ve just–”

“Found them,” you announced, producing a pack of cigs from the leather folds. 

Jason’s jaw went slack. 

“...how long have you known about those?”

“About a year now,” you said, biting the broken edge of your nail clean off. Wait, did that turn him on? 

You gently loosened yourself from his grip, standing up and gesturing for him to do the same. When he towered a good foot above you, you reached into his outer pocket and pulled out a lighter. Laughing at his flabbergasted look, you turned to give the flint wheel a little jolt. 

The rosy golden hue of the sunset was suddenly cupped in your hands, hazy darkness had descended upon Gotham like a blanket of snow. Jason was drawn to the light as you blew experimentally on the flame to make it sway, flickering across your palm. 

“You catch on quick,” you commented, looking at the open pack of cigs. He was hesitant to put one between his fingers, you hadn’t liked smokers since your Bowery days. But here you were now, smiling wryly at him like it was no big deal. 

He chanced a crooked grin as he tucked the cig between his lips. Ignoring the open flame just inches from his face, he nudged his way into your space. Rough hands took up their place on your waist, your arm rested across his shoulders, and he was so close. 

“Help a guy out here, darling.”

“My pleasure,” you replied smoothly, holding the lighter up between the two of you. Angling your face to avoid the first wisps of burnt black smoke, you set fire to the end of the stick. 

Two pairs of eyes watched the cig smolder. Jason readjusted you so that you were tucked into his side. When your head fell onto his shoulder, he released the first lungful. It clouded your eyes as you watched its course. 

“Hey, Jay.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you here.”

He didn’t reply, but you knew he knew. 

It’s good to be back, doll. 

[ronearoundblindly]

A Forced, Fresh Start (3/3)

Steve Rogers x Super Soldier!Reader

Dénouer (see previous or series)

Warnings: a painful/disturbing process that reads like torture but is a chosen treatment, arguments, angst, fear of the future, illusions to past Hydra abuse, and implied smut. This work is entirely 18+, sorry, kiddos. MINORS DNI for this tale! WC 4k

Summary: Autumn is deprogrammed in Wakanda.

Anticipation is part of the problem.

That’s why Bucky left you and Steve in the dark about the deprogramming process. If you knew how the Wakandans would break your conditioning, you might fight it, or rather, fight it more than your mind and body already will. You might trick yourself into thinking you’re healed. You might bury the words deeper because you are trained to protect them, to obey them, to keep them bound to you, to keep you bound to them.

But knowing an attack is coming and knowing what the moves are…those are different beasts.

“Is that really necessary,” Steve blurts while two Dora Milaje follow Ayo’s instruction to strap you down to a similar machine to the Hydra and compound chairs.

The women simply continue from your wrists to your ankles before a thick belt lashes your torso against the seat.

Steve stares at your shaking hands.

“She’s volunteering,” he reminds, heading toward Ayo who waits behind a console reading your vitals.

“Captain Rogers, you are an observer here,” she pointedly reminds, “a guest.”

Steve wouldn’t dare disrespect the warrior, Wakandan or not. This is a favor. They do not have to help you, but they are out of deference to him and your situation.

“Steve,” you call, though it wafts around like a whisper.

He’s by your side again instantly.

“Rosie, I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“Did Buck ever tell you how long this took?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think they went this—“ his gaze rolls over the room “—intensely with his, but we’ll get through it, ok?” He grabs the tips of your fingers around the armrest’s end. “It’ll get easier, and then you’ll be free.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but you’d be shocked if such a bad liar could manage that kind of naivety.

Ayo barks for him to move. It’s time to start.

Day one only establishes your baseline, which is good because you and Steve only landed in the quintet two hours ago after a long flight.

Ayo reads out your words, and you change. They wake you. Ayo reads all of your words but the tenth, and you signal when the crawling under your skin subsides. You still change when she recites ‘enchaîné.’ They wake you again. Even after a twenty-eight-minute gap, the word still works, so Ayo begins once more, waiting slightly longer from when the crawling stops to finish the sequence.

You don’t change. The Soldier doesn’t wake.

It’s not foolproof, however, and throughout the long afternoon of words and waiting, you have to be jolted back to yourself nearly a dozen times. You’re exhausted and practically immobile by the time Steve gets you both back to your hut, letting Maple in from her run with the goats.

“You need food,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he gathers anything edible to offer you. He says he’ll plan better tomorrow. He’ll have things ready.

For now, it’s clear that you are in no state to go out in search of a meal, and he refuses to leave your side. Steve allows you to eat so little only because he can see fatigue weighing on your shoulders. He fills numerous containers with water, setting them close to you, ready throughout the night, then helps you change for bed.

You don’t say much. You can barely speak.

Steve has to wash your face by hand, scrubbing at the crusting streaks down your cheeks from old (and new) tears.

“Ok, sweetheart, it’s time to rest.”

This is the first night you two will share a room since the incident, and as excited as you are to be near him, your whole being is a frayed, live wire. So far, you’ve had just enough caring touch to not be overwhelmed. He’s not wrong; you should rest before the scale tips you toward panic. 

No chances are taken. The only way Steve feels absolutely comfortable sleeping beside you is for you to wear foam earplugs and for him to wear an actual muzzle over his face. In fact, he wears a recovered mask from Bucky’s restraints when he was the Winter Soldier. It serves its purpose. Steve can’t speak.

Without both safeties, he can’t be sure he won’t activate you again. You both know he will never forgive himself if he repeats that mistake. It’s been hard enough to convince him that having a dream is not his fault. He couldn’t control it any more than you could control your reaction.

You’re here on the other side of the planet to change that, you remind yourself. His masked face and your deprived sense are temporary. The pain of the process is temporary.

The lasting impact on your lives? Unknown.

Tonight, though. Tonight you get to sleep in Steve’s arms again.

Day two.

The least distance between each trigger word is tested.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You are kept buzzing on the cusp of activation for sixteen hours and receive another nine jolts to wake you. You are testy, fighting not to lash out at Steve’s incessant babying.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

You have a restless night, fearful of the next session.

Day three.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You’re being whittled down to bone by the repetition. Your only reward is the quiet, foggy respite of watching the room through her eyes before you’re woken again and again.

Ayo holds a conversation in front of you with General Okoye that peppers in all of your words, hundreds of extra phrases in between, and it still changes you.

Body fine but mind in tatters, you charge through the entrance of your hut fuming with no outlet.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

You struggle to keep down food. You fight sleep until it swallows you.

Somewhere in those few hours, you had a nightmare, Steve mentions over breakfast, one where you spoke rapid-fire Russian and didn’t respond to his or Maple’s attempts to soothe you. All you know is that 'tired' doesn’t cover the feeling inside you.

Day four.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable, Enchaîné.

You cry whenever a single one of them is spoken out of context. Ayo says them out of order, but your body seizes and hums with anticipation anyway. Eventually, the hum never stops.

You’re drained and flattened, rolled out and stretched so thin the daylight peeks right through you, and yet, you keep going.

You can’t stomach food at all, already full of bile and rage and pent up annoyance. You are living the nightmares now. You are dependent on ten words. They simply threatened to control your life before; now they enslave you every waking minute of the day.

“What can I get you? What do you need? What can I do?”

Part of you wants to strangle him, but instead, you grip Steve like a vice as the big spoon for entire night, sleeping or awake.

Day five.

You are broken finally but not in a good way.

The treatment calls for the repetition of all but the last word. You stay suspended in the warning buzz of activation, your body fighting in favor of transition solely for a respite. It hurts. You feel sick, but the change can’t happen without the last word. It’s like being dangled over a cliff and left waiting for the frayed rope to snap.

If only you had a knife…but would you cut the cord, cut your restraints, or…?

There’s no room for coherent thought while your brain fights and flies at the same time. Fear collides with the empty euphoria changing brings, if only for a second. Resistance dances with prepared obedience. Every real and fake memory you have replays at once.

All day. All night.

Ayo has different people come in to say the nine words, rotating throughout the hours in shifts because Steve refuses to be part of it.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Repeat.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Repeat.

Avant-guard, Quatre, Larmes, Mer, Vigne, Charmante, Fin, Trente, Négligeable.

Steve snaps, but you still argue with him to let it happen. Something has to happen.

It gets to the point you’re begging for them to just say the last word in any language you know. You shout the last word to yourself, but it can’t work on you. In a last ditch effort, you plead with Steve.

It comes out as a hateful growl. “Say the fucking word or go!”

The Soldier should be suffering, not you. You’re trying to kill her. You want her to die. He doesn’t have the instinct to kill. He doesn’t have the balls to torture you to make it better.

With heavy, downturned brows, Steve agrees that he can’t do it and leaves.

He’s only gone for a few minutes to feed himself and Maple. 

Another several hours go by, and Steve is visibly agitated. He advocates for your comfort more and more as the day drags on, escalating from gentle suggestions to fervent requests to belligerent demands. By then he insists—yelling a tirade of everything but curses directly in Ayo’s face—that you be left time to recover. You are half-grateful and half-annoyed by his attitude.

His arguing delays getting on with the bad bits so you can make real progress, and each time he laments how tired you are or how weak the treatment makes you, you believe it, too. If he doesn’t think you can take it, maybe you can’t, maybe you will never be rid of the Soldier, maybe you’ll always be haunted by the horrors of Hydra.

Ayo relents, keeping her sharp gaze on you as Steve unstraps you from the chair and guides you outside.

He’s allowed to walk you through the village square, though why they still describe it as a village is beyond you. Wakanda is an amazing mix of past, present, and future (or at least, it’s futuristic), and their local centers of commerce are no different. Steve was right to think a distraction would help.

The hustle and bustle of normal life washes over you. It grounds you in reality while lifting your soul up with hope.

One day, you’ll have this. You’ll begin again. You’ll be normal. You’ll start fresh. One day, the pain will be worth it. One day, you won’t even remember the anticipation, much less feel it race beneath every square inch of your skin. You won’t be a slave to ten simple words.

That future is hard to fathom while strapped to a chair, even voluntarily, but the man holding you—the man by your side through all this—has faith you can do this. Steve thinks you’re strong, and you believe him.

Stalls with food and fabrics line every alley. Bright colors rain down from every surface and coat every corner.

Smiling faces. Animated faces. Two-sided conversations are everywhere. They listen to each other. They’re all choosing how to spend their day, their lives. They aren’t afraid of the words being spoken. It’s wonderful. It’s downright magical compared to your cooped-up existence in the compound.

And then some children bolt across your path.

It startles you. You gasp, so focused on what else there is to see that you truly did not notice them, enhanced senses and all.

A mother steps forward to scold the kids, and Steve’s grip on you tightens.

He starts pulling you away. You don’t understand why.

“I’m ok. It’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” It’s not as if you broke someone’s nose again, and none of these children can suspend themselves from ceilings like Peter Parker can.

“We should go,” Steve replies through a tight jaw.

You glance back over your shoulder and finally get it.

The woman is pregnant, a mother in every sense, round and proud as she should be, and that’s when it dawns on you.

Steve doesn’t think you’re strong.

He assumes the mere sight of children or an expectant woman will shock you—upset you even—and doesn’t care to ask. He keeps leading you away, faster and faster until you’re shut back into the treatment room.

Heaven forbid you be far from your chair. How dare you watch the average life of a human. You don’t belong there.

“Let go of me,” you shriek, ripping your arm from Steve’s grasp. “I said I’m fine.”

“I thought—” he tries.

“I know what you thought, Steve, but I’m not going to freak out seeing a mother!”

“We’re not there yet in the—“

“They are just kids. Playing kids.”

“—we haven’t tested—“

“I am not a prototype weapon, Steve. I know what people look like versus targets.”

He raises his voice then, eyes fiery. “WE DON’T KNOW THAT,” but Steve immediately cowers to correct himself. “Not until this is finished.”

That’s it, isn’t it? He doesn’t actually know if he can trust you. He doesn’t know what the fragile, broken thing in front of him is, and he’s tired of waiting for you to show him. He’s impatient and exhausted, just like you. He doesn’t want to sleep in a muzzle anymore. He wants his own home back. You’re the one prolonging this.

Except you’re not.

“Then let me finish it,” you bite back. “Quit stopping Ayo every time she pushes me. That’s the point.”

“Rosie, you don’t have to—“

“—I DO HAVE TO. I do have to be pushed and in pain and screaming and crying and whatever it takes.”

“Not like that. You don’t need to torture yourself.”

“She has to DIE,” you burst, feeling a fire in your belly that threatens to consume you. “The Soldier has to die, Steve, and if you can’t watch it, then don’t. You don’t have to be here.”

Dejected, his arms go limp and he looks from you to the Dora Milaje waiting patiently by the chair. He looks about to argue until his eyes find your furious face and twisted features again.

“You’re right,” he admits softly. “I can’t.”

Steve leaves through the same door he rushed you through.

He’s waiting at the hut when you finally return, sitting at the foot of the bed with Maple resting against his lap.

He’s sorry.

Steve tells you to take a break and rest. What happens if you push yourself too far and stretch too thin? You don’t look well. Because you are sick. Because you need treatment and that’s what this is. He’s worried. The whole point is for this to be safe.

Maybe he only likes you because you’re fragile and dainty, but you can’t stand to be those things anymore. You don’t want to be weak. This isn’t going to work if he hopes you’ll be the same person without her in your head.

“Do you even want me to get better?”

“Of course,” Steve shifts back, offended.

A bitter taste floods your mouth. “Then stop sabotaging me.”

“You wanted me here,” he bites like a wounded puppy.

A darkness unrelated to the day’s pain follows, something deeper and disturbed. “Then maybe that was her, and she wants you. You want her. You fucked her.”

“You don’t mean that, Rosie. You know that’s not true.”

“Neither of us knows who I am without her, so if you won’t let me go through this to get rid of her, maybe she is who you want.”

“I love you,” he blurts simply, heavily.

“That’s just it. You don’t know me, Steve. Stop trying to control me like they did.”

You couldn’t hurt him more, not even with all the blades and points of your garden tools, yet you relish someone hurting other than you. There’s been so much pain forced on you. It feels good to share though it shouldn’t.

“So I just go,” he muses, leaving you unable to tell whether that was a statement or a question.

“You should be able to make your own choices…as should I.”

“Well, if my being here isn’t helpful…”

While he hesitates, you choose for him. His protection only shelters the Soldier. He should go.

You have to embrace the change coming and let go of all the rest. Right now, that includes Steve Rogers, no matter what that means for the two of you in the long run.

It hurts to hold steady to your choice, but what great burden is that drop of pain in this ocean of misery?

Your beautiful dog comes to your side, giving you strength.

“Maple stays.”

Week six.

Each moment has been a test of your free will. The tears and struggle don’t make you doubt your decision, but they stop you from reaching out.

Does he hate you? Will he be there when you return? Are you welcome in your home? Do you have a home anymore?

Being alone, picking your path forward, knowing you can do anything and go anywhere…you can’t remember the last time you felt this, or if you ever have.

“Avant-guard. Quatre. Larmes. Mer. Vigne. Charmante. Fin. Trente. Négligeable. Enchaîné.”

Spoken back-to-back—no breaks, no hesitation, all the way to the end—and nothing happens.

The emptiness is blissful. You are not banished to a corner of your own mind. The air in your lungs is yours to breathe. Your trembling hands are yours to hold.

You’ve been on the cusp of this moment for the last eight days. It’s here.

Ayo’s announcement that you are free pierces through the ecstatic rush of blood past your ears.

Today is Day One in the life of Autumn Rose Barnes, and you are alone. Free and alone.

There’s no pomp or ceremony. You take the next transport to the States, packing what little is left in your hut and ordering Maple to your side. She hates the flight, but that gives you an excuse to cling to her thick fur for the hours-long trip. You desperately try not to form expectations for seeing Steve.

All you have to show for your behavior is you, only you, and it’s bittersweet.

Are you enough?

You feel so horrible for making him go—though his absence was necessary—and apprehension swirls around your empty stomach.

It’s all a mess. You thought all this was messy because of Hydra, but it’s just…life.

You used to know that. Faintly. Somewhere, way back when, you knew, but you’ve punished yourself for being the cause anyway.

Life is just messy.

Maple thrashes during landing, ready to escape, and you can’t blame her. You feel the same.

It’s time. You’re here.

Bag over your shoulder, knuckles blanched in your death grip on the strap, you step off the ramp with your eyes glued to your feet, and instantly, boots pop into view.

Blue jeans, a black sweater, and a bright smile greet you.

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, sticking out a large hand for you to shake.

It takes you by surprise. He’s joining you, meeting you exactly where you are, and starting over.

You put your hand in his, riled almost to tears at the warmth and comfort of that simple contact.

“Well, that’s funny,” you begin softly. “That’s her last name.”

You tick your head to Maple who steps up on Steve’s shoe to look straight into his adoring gaze. As an afterthought, you add your name.

“What a coincidence—“ he plays along “—that’s my best friend’s last name.” Steve lets your hand slide from his. “Must be fate.”

“Must be,” you whisper back.

He’s not so sold on the act when he squats to pet Maple. She happily licks his hand and face, accepting any and all rubs and butt pats, whining when he addresses her as ‘Maymay’ (as only Steve does).

She barks excitedly when Steve rises, reaching out again.

“May I take your bag, Rosie? Um, if it’s okay to call you that…”

You look down again to hide a quivering lip and hand over the duffel. “I’d like that.”

Bucky is outside the landing pad, beaming with open arms and a cheeky line. “He’s insufferable when you’re not here. Never leave again!” 

You jump to hug him, not caring to continue any game of formality.

You rumple Bucky’s hair while Steve grumbles, “jerk.”

Bucky hugs you, too, pinning you tight to his broad chest. “Punk,” he replies directly into your shoulder then mutters an additional, “I’m proud of you. Welcome back.”

Steve politely walks you to the door of your old private apartment, the one you moved out of once you two got together, the one you returned to after the incident two months ago. It feels as cold and lonely as the holding cells downstairs.

You stare at the threshold, blank, nervous, and resigned. You did prepare for this, but the reality is unbearable.

“Something wrong?”

You listen for a hopeful tone, an invitation in his words, but Steve schools his voice well.

“No, I…I…” You turn to face him, wide eyes exposing every raw bit of your soul. “I’d like to come home.”

“You are home,” he offers slowly, waiting. He’s done assuming. Steve is going to make you say it.

“That room is not my home.” You keep staring, your brain screaming so loudly you think perhaps he can hear.

He is still your home. If he’ll have you, he is the only home that matters.

While you chicken out of saying that, Maple saunters down the hall straight to Steve’s door, pawing at the entry when her parents don’t follow.

“Right,” Steve sighs with a soft smile, “can’t keep my girls waiting. You’re both probably tired.”

You kick yourself, watching ever-patient Steve walk you into his space like you have earned your place here again. He deserves to know, but the words are stuck in your throat, sharp and too impactful for their confines.

You try to open your mouth. You try to push forward.

Steve beats you to the punch.

His door shuts behind you, bag dropped on the floor, Maple off like a shot to her cozy spot on the couch, and suddenly Steve crowds you against the wall.

“Don’t ever make me go again,” he growls low, intense without aggression. “I need you. I want you. This is where I belong, Rosie, please.”

His warm hands find your waist.

Your eyes dart from his to his lips. Heat creeps up your body, a hum, a buzz, anticipation.

This time it’s welcome; it’s exquisite and crumbling the walls around you.

The tension of his movement forward soothes you, pressing your head back, loosening your tongue.

“You are my ho—“

Steve’s lips crash into yours, heavy and insistent.

It’s a blur of limbs and moans all the way to the bed. You’re on a mission, both of you, a mission to prove you are equals in your devotion. You straddle him in the same bed, in the same position as that night, but Steve is wide awake and excited. Now, you are you and ready.

He doesn’t rush or take a backseat. He savors your touch and attention. Even when you pause, there’s a rush of unsaid praise between you. Needy kisses cover hushed apologies. Passionate, intimate connection blooms in the melding of your bodies.

You and Steve, home, yourselves, safe, and happy for the first time ever, a beginning to a whole new life. Both beautiful and built from great strife, you and Steve have helped each other in unexpected ways. You are both better for it. You are both better for each other when you let go of the pasts you think define you.

You can exist in your home, with no muzzle, no earplugs, and completely free. You promise yourself you'll eat and feed him right after some much-needed rest.

Comparatively short and sweet...in the end at least. I know that a lot of times we think of Steve as perfect, and of course, I am guilty of writing him that way at times because it is comforting. For this though, I wanted to highlight how being protective and being supportive are not always the same thing. Steve is so protective of Reader that you can't grow or heal without space, and that is naturally going to be incredibly difficult for Steve Rogers.

I hope you enjoyed this tale, and as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated. Happy New Year, everyone!

[Series Masterlist; Main Masterlist]

[thinkpink212]

What are something you feel people need to learn to truly heal and evolve? I feel like I have been in some hellish loop that keeps bringing me back to the same emotionally taxing ways :(

There’s so much — but I hope some of these can help

☁️ Acknowledge that we as humans are all different, and that’s okay.

☁️ Forgive yourself how you’ve forgiven others or how you wish others would forgive you. And know that the apologies you may be waiting for, may never come. The villain in your story isn’t the villain in their own (and sometimes, even if that’s not true, people do not always care)

☁️ Rebuild trust and connection to yourself. Get to know yourself as a parent learns to know their child. What’s your favorite meal? What makes you sad? What makes you overwhelmingly happy? Where do you wish to go in life ?

☁️ Walk away when things get hard — life is hard but nothing should ever have you breaking parts of yourself in order for everything to fit into the picture.

☁️ Sometimes we cannot walk away, so instead, leave what you can and go to sleep. You’ll have tomorrow to try again

☁️ Make sure to eat enough, stay hydrated and get enough sleep — our bodies are simple machines that will start malfunctioning when somethings low. So stay on top of your needs, and avoid neglecting them!

☁️ Don’t take life too serious. This is more so a ‘enjoy the journey rather then focus on the end’ advice. This will also help you not get frustrated with those who take it too serious or don’t take it serious at all.

☁️ Begin to show gratitude towards yourself — you’ve made it this far, you managed to keep yourself alive and functioning as well as you could (and show gratitude to those who helped you along the way, even those who didn’t stick with you)

☁️ Know that whatever you do, or don’t do, is for you. Regardless of what that is, someone will almost always have an opinion, disagree or think they know better etc. So just do it! Focus on your path and lane and don’t let yourself be distracted from what you want to do — even if that thing already exists.

☁️ Healings a lifetime activity in my opinion, but it gets easier everyday if you allow yourself to be vulnerable and honest with yourself. This doesn’t mean the tears will hurt coming out the same as they have in the past, but when you cry 30-some years from now, it’ll be remembering how far you’ve got, possibly being upset at the times you failed yourself but hopefully, greatfull for the long way you’ve made it.

☁️ Learn to listen and hear people. Sometimes people tell us who they are, or who they want us to believe they are (and please do so)

☁️ Learn that not everybody’s advice is for everybody. Take what you need and leave the rest.

☁️ Learn to be bored and do nothing. Distracting ourselves from existence can lead to damaging habits. It’s okay to be bored and just sit there, and it’s okay to have random thoughts that pop up. Our brains a strange thing, so just let them happen and let them pass by like clouds.

☁️ Unlearn projecting and accept that others will project onto you.

☁️ Take life as it comes and do your best with what you have (and with where you are)

☁️ Forgive people (doesn’t have to be to them) for your own sanity. And if you don’t’ want to, then at least let it go as much as you can. You cannot heal if you’re carrying hurt everywhere you go, too stubborn, hurt or angry to let it go.

☁️ Try to stop being your story. What happened to you isn’t who you are. It was life happening, and now, you may be out of it or working towards it — be who you want to be. Make your own story and live it.

☁️ Some people are stuck in loops because they keep repeating the same mistakes. Acknowledge that you continue to do what you’ve always done, or that you’re trying to heal in the environment that made you need the healing. And sometimes, it’s a third option that is — perhaps your afraid of changing and growing. Sometimes change is scary, let yourself take the unknown path, and trust that it’ll lead to where you wish to be.

☁️ Try and see things on the upside and from a bigger perspective. Not everything has a rhyme or reason, if you don’t want them to. And oppositely, they can. One door closes and others will open so never take one defeat as the end of it all.

☁️ Embrace failure, because once you’ve failed you know what not to do when you try again, or try something new. We learn by doing and you’d never tell a child to give up on walking or speaking after their first failed attempt, would you now?

☁️ Lastly, know that old habits can take long to die. Take your time to unlearn, remind yourself why you want to learn new things/ways, and dedicate time to form new ones — even if it’s just 5 minutes a day. Know yourself enough to set routine (what works for you) and don’t let one missed day stop you for trying again.

Goodluck, you’ll get to where you need and want to be 🥂

[alyjojo]

Advice to Work on Yourself 💳 in May 2023: Aquarius

4 Swords - The Fool - Ace of Wands

Regarding: 5 Cups

You could be feeling sentimental this month, you have regrets, guilty feelings, things that are weighing on you in a negative way. You’ve clearly been hurt before, Frida saying “convalescence lasts a lifetime” and 4 Swords here…these situations may not be related, and there may be several, because this is a very vague reading. You’ve been hurt who knows how many times, so with 9 Wands, you’ve constructed a whole WALL to keep others out. And in doing that, you’ve kept out the good with the bad, everything is out. Which isn’t good either. You’re afraid to cooperate with others, make connections, involve anyone with anything…ever. Spirit is validating your experience, while at the same time telling you to move away from this low vibrational regret/sadness kind of energy. People didn’t work with you, or stick around, you’ve taken hits to your confidence…maybe repeatedly. What I’m seeing is the equivalent of “fuck ‘em”, and needing to move away from this. Don’t feel bad, they aren’t, heal yourself, worry about yourself.

These may be friends, or people you did work well with until you didn’t, because conflict is here too. This is saying give it a rest. Don’t argue, don’t fight, don’t get nasty about anything. Because you don’t want to, you’re not interested in a fight. What’s the point of it anyway? Just “fuck ‘em.” I’m getting it’s not you. But because of this, you’ve kept yourself tied up and not allowed yourself fun, freedom, impulsive action, because of something one or two people did. Maybe ten, idk, but it’s over. Spirit probably doesn’t cuss, but I do and that’s what I see 😆

Your advice is to rush towards a new beginning, impulsively even. The Fool is ruled by Uranus and though it describes Aries energy on the daily, it rules you too. Stop caring, move away from this crap. It’s even saying don’t walk, RUN. Bye. The faster you move away from this heavy emotional ick, the faster you’ll be inspired to try something new, do something new, BE someone new. Grow, change, evolve out of this skin. 7 Cups, you have options, you just can’t see them yet, Ace of Swords just shows this being true, listen, notice, get clear on the potential in front of you. Cut away the funk in literally any direction that’s not this. If it makes you feel icky, leave it. If it makes you feel good, do it. That’s the key to healing yourself.

Animal Oracle: Manatee 🦛

Accept the situation as it is rather than fighting to change it.

There are times to fight for what you believe in and times to lay down your sword and surrender. If you or your family were in danger, it would be quite natural to defend yourself by either fleeing or fighting, whether through actions or words. Extreme situations may even require extreme measures. There are definitely wrongs to make right and situations where the spiritual warrior in you must take the lead. However, it’s not the case here. What will work best for all concerned is for you to surrender and accept things as they are. Yield to overcome. Lay down your sword, not in defeat or self-sacrifice, but from a realization that this isn’t the fight you want or need to engage in. As the saying goes, choose your battles. This is definitely not one to waste your time and energy on. Let go of your righteousness and your ego’s need for control, and find that peace of mind that you so cherish and have available simply by choosing it. The Serenity Prayer may help you greatly.

Artist Oracle: FRIDA KAHLO

- Convalescence lasts a lifetime. You don’t spell painting without pain.

- Art is your most loyal companion.

- Externalize your internal world.

Advice:

- Practice Daily Gratitude

- Make Smiles Contagious

Charms:

Hidden Mermaid 🧜🏽‍♀️ on Frida shows magic inside of you that isn’t seen by anyone else, because you don’t show it. You shut them out. People can’t love you if they can’t see you. And if they don’t, well…you know. Fuck em 😁

Fractal Eye 👁 on The Sun rev is the equivalent of an evil eye, with an array of colors showing many different details or experiences, not just one thing. It’s showing you’re protected, even through pain, and what is sent your way in a negative sense is sent right back where it came from in some other way, karma, you don’t have to worry about it. Release. You don’t need a wall, Spirit is your wall 💯

Frog 🐸 on The Fool is literally “jump”. That’s it. You find something you like, it excites you, you want to do it, don’t overthink it. Just do it. Allow yourself to be surprised when it works, instead of just assuming it won’t.

Opal 💗 on Practice Daily Gratitude is Libra’s birthstone and with it brings a message of balance. Writing your thoughts and feelings helps you to throw out the negative thoughts (and keep them away, once you recognize patterns in your thinking), and be more grateful for the positive things in your life. Everyone has negative days & experiences, but you don’t have to soak in it, feel it, let it out privately & then let it go. Some of you could have that in your chart, or the House where Libra sits could need some extra attention.

Stallion 🐎 on 8 Cups is the sooner the better, don’t walk - run. Leave this behind. Not that you’re in a race, you’re not, it’s just moot. It’s all moot. When you can’t fix it - moot. When other people suck - moot. Why stay there? You could have been having fun yesterday 🎉

[hieranarchy]

Blood medicine every morning, 1 cap.

Vitamin B and C every morning with warm water, 1 tab each.

Exercise (yoga routine or strength training on mat. Target to hit at least minimum 5mins everyday so energy doesn’t go stagnant.)

Meditation. Everyday, as long as you can. No slacking on this one.

Mediation music. Every time you have time before bed.

Sleep by 1130pm max for you to stop panicking that it’s too late and you’re still awake. No more leniency on this. No need to ruminate over the day. No, if it matters your brain will bring it up again.

No more despair, no more tears. Believe in your beliefs, that’s the way to stop the desperate tears. You are actually not allowed to let yourself despair. Train your brain to stop associating sleep with trauma.

No more anger. There’s no point anymore. Anger will dig a deeper trench that will be harder to climb out from. According to previous indications, anger ALWAYS delays sleep or completely robs it, at a time when my energy is still too low.

No overexcitement too. This is also another culprit. You get the world, you lose the world. At one point in time some of either will happen.

No more coffee. No more tea. Screw bubble tea. No more alcohol after 3pm. Strict no. A possible next whole day feeling and looking like utter shit from not sleeping is not worth it at all.

Maintain the (false or not) affirmation that you can sleep. You are a sleeper. You can sleep anytime and anywhere you want. Insomnia is not part of you anymore. It simply is a condition. Conditions are changeable. You have experienced this change before. Repeat this in your head and aloud like a prayer.

No stress and panick if you cannot sleep through the night and know there is work the next day. Hardest thing on this list. But 1130pm to 830am is reserved for rest, whether you sleep or not. But below are the steps to take to recover.

Should you suffer a painful night of staying up, and still choose to show up at work or some outdoor event. Discipline is fucking everything. No stress snacking. No stress about your appearance. If my hair falls all of it I will get a transplant. No dressing in uncomfortable clothes. No agreeing to stay out longer than intended. Stick with your original limits. And most importantly, no wallowing. Because you will bring your mind back to despair. There’s no need to let others know unless there’s a pragmatic and useful reason for it. No despair means less chance of a depressed or angry meltdown. I’m not saying force yourself to achieve as much as you would on a good day, the bare minimum is enough. Just keep your discipline.

Next day soon as you don’t sleep, begin intermittent fasting and no food from 5pm onwards.

If your body really hurts (especially heart) make the choice to stay home take an MC. And no guilt whatsoever.

I need to remind you again that bad days are days you NEED discipline more than ever, but it’s hard to enforce with a foggy brain. So discipline in good days are a must. Basically, you’ll never get out unless discipline.

Lastly, if you believe you have valid grounds to request for extended medical leave or even quit to improve your health because you really see no way that you can heal without work interfering. Do it. For yourself. No one else is going to make this decision for me. No one else is experiencing my pain. Only you know the threshold.

Practice stress management and discipline maintenance through visualisation meditation. Likely you need to continue healing while working and managing all of life’s shit at once. Be fazed by no one and nothing. You don’t need to be a genius at work. You don’t need to fit in with everyone. And if they get a version of you that’s not peak you, that’s that.

One more thing.

GET RID OF TIGHT BRAS. FUCK CROP TOPS UNLESS YOU’RE AT THE BEACH. Breathing well is the first barrier to protecting your energy.

Things to possibly try:

Alkaline water.

Cherry juice + magnesium.

Sleep assessment.

TCM long term treatment. Ask insurance agent.

Sleeping pills seem to lose effect and have side effects so I guess not.

Your body has never stopped fighting for you, don’t give up before it does.

[sanatomis]

₊˚.⋆☾ ── 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.

it’s 3am, and six year old megumi fushiguro just woke up from a nightmare. the thing he wants to do most? seek comfort in your arms.

content. this reader is gn, as the relationship with megumi isn’t developed enough yet for him to call her ‘mom’ but i plan on making future fics in the same timeline—which will then be a fem reader (just a heads up <3).

notes. healing my inner child through raising megumi with satoru? more likely than you might think. . .

It’s the soft shuffle of footsteps that first woke you from your slumber. Even after seven months of them being in your custody, you still haven’t gotten used to hearing footsteps that don’t belong to neither you nor Satoru—certainly not in the middle of the night. It’s probably why you were wide awake as soon as you heard them in front of your bedroom door.

As it stands, those footsteps don’t belong to you. Or Satoru. Or Tsumiki. They’re Megumi’s, and you know that because they’re so very quiet. As if he purposely makes himself small as to not stand out. Light as a feather in order to go unnoticed. Though, the small light in your hallway betrays him. It illuminates his figure, and allows you to see the shadows of his feet from underneath the door.

You glance at the digital clock that’s placed on your nightstand. 3:32am. It’s been ten minutes since the boy arrived at your bedroom door, and nine since you woke up. Will he finally summon the courage to enter, now?

A small frown settles between your brows. You attempt once more to untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s tight grip, to flee from his arms in order to take the little boy in front of your door into your own; it’s all futile, of course. When Satoru sleeps, he sleeps deeply, and he does so with you in his arms or not at all. He holds onto you as if you were a plushie, a teddy bear he could squish against him as much as his heart desires.

It’s endearing, sure, but it does put you in a bit of a pickle at the moment. You sigh, and glance at your friendly, sleeping giant. Satoru seems at peace. Cuddled into you from behind, it seems as if he doesn’t carry a care in the world. You smile, and make a mental correction. It’s very endearing—but still, doesn’t solve your current problem.

Tearing your eyes away from your boyfriend, you throw a worried look towards the door. He’s still there, and still lacking the courage.

“Megumi,” you whisper.

He stops pacing abruptly. It’s clear he heard you, despite the barely audible mumble of his name. And, though he's startled that you caught him, he doesn’t leave.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. There’s an attempt at pouring as much softness and gentleness in your voice as you can, not wanting to you scare him off. “You can come in, the door’s unlocked.”

The door opens very, very slowly. It seems everything Megumi does, he does so without creating too much of a fuss. All his movements are meek, careful—they’re made to not bother anybody. It saddens you a little, the fact that he’s so accustomed to making himself as invisible and easy to manage as possible.

A messy fluff of black hair appears in your line of sight. You suppress an amused smile at the sight. He shyly peeks into your room, one of his hands resting against the side of the door.

“Hey,” you say softly, and your eyes follow him as he quietly walks over to your side of the bed. He stops in front of you, but doesn’t speak. “Are you okay?”

It doesn’t take you long to notice the teary eyes, or the water staining his cheeks. You look at him sadly, and carefully bring a hand up to wipe the liquid off his cheek. He’s trying to be brave, you can see. Though the way his bottom lip shakes, and his eyes fill with tears again, completely breaks your heart.

“What’s wrong, Gumi?”

Megumi is really, really trying to keep himself together—ever the little adult that he is. Though his sniffles are quiet, they’re still there. They’re still present, and he’s unable to hide them. He’s crying. He’s crying, and came to you for comfort.

You shift on the bed, once again attempting to leave Satoru’s hold, and fail just as you have done before. A conflicted sigh leaves you. There’s little you can do to soothe him if you can’t get up. . .but he’s crying. The stoic, brave little kid that’s been residing within your apartment for many months now is crying.

Another tear falls down his cheek, and you make it your mission to catch it. “It’s okay,” you whisper softly, wiping the droplet away. The rustle of the covers beneath your hands is the loudest sound so far, as you push them aside to make place for him. “It’s okay, baby, come here.”

The solution to your problem isn’t one that’s welcomed eagerly. Megumi hesitates to snuggle under the covers with you—no, not with you, but with your menace of a boyfriend. He sniffs again, but doesn’t move.

“Gumi?” You mumble. A part of you fears it’s too much, too soon. It’s been seven months, and he’s difficult to open up. Perhaps cuddling into you is a step too far. However, then you see it; the way his eyes dart between you and Satoru. It answers a lot of your questions. “He’s fast asleep. You don’t need to worry.”

It seems he’s still a little unsure. Megumi gets rid of a lump in his throat, and frowns. “Are you. . .sure?”

“Mhm, he’s out like a light.”

That’s enough for him. Megumi crawls into the bed, and (albeit carefully) settles himself within your arms. He’s so very small—is what you think when he curls up against your chest. Such an adorable little kid, who definitely didn’t deserve the hardships he’s had to endure so far.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask, voice muffled as you rest one of your cheeks on top of his head. “We don’t have to, but I’m here if you’d like to.”

Megumi’s breathing evens out. The shaky breaths and hasty intakes of air settle down, and you feel a sense of relief.

“I had a bad dream,” he confesses. It’s clear he feels a little stupid, reaching for you when he had something as fickle as a bad dream. “It’s—It’s not that important, but. . .”

“Why wouldn’t it be, hm?” You interrupt him, and gently brush a hand through his messy hair. It’s something he appreciates, as his eyes slowly flutter shut while he enjoys the feeling. “If it upsets you, it’s always important, Megumi.”

There’s another sniff. He’s crying again, though it might be for a different reason this time. Your arms hold him gently, and you sigh sadly when his small hands bunch up the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You don’t push him any further. If he wishes to talk about what bothers him, then you’ll be here to receive him. Until then, you’ll wait.

“. . .You won’t leave us, right?”

Though, you hadn’t expected his worries to break your heart. They’re vocalised by a voice so small, so pitifully tiny that it nearly makes you doubt that it was Megumi who said them—Megumi, who’s usually all snark and bite towards your ever loving boyfriend. The mere fact has you squeeze him a little tighter.

“Of course, I won’t,” you assure him.

There are things you want to ask him. Such as, what brought this on? How come you feel this way, now? Is there anything I can do for you? But you don’t. It’s not what he needs right now.

“And—And what if you and him break up,” he mumbles. You realise he must be truly upset, and genuinely worried if he refers to Satoru as ‘him’ rather than some insulting word. “What will happen to me and Tsumiki, then?”

You smile, and kiss the top of his head. “We won’t break up, so, there’s no need to worry about that, baby.”

“But—But what if you do?”

There’s a sincere concern in his eyes. You grab his face and gently hold it in the palm of your hands. “Well,” you say. “I suppose, I’ll just have to take you two with me.”

Megumi’s bottom lip starts to tremble again. He forces it to still, just as he forces the tears in his eyes away by blinking. “Do you promise?” He looks at Satoru, and frowns a little despite his sadness. “You—You can’t leave me here with him, okay?”

It can’t be helped. You laugh, and it’s a little louder than you initially meant for it to be. There’s a hand placed in front of your mouth rather quickly, not your own, no, but Megumi’s. He looks at you with wide eyes, almost in disbelief that you managed to find the humour in this situation. You smile against his hand, and he only (hesitantly) removes it when you open your mouth to speak.

“I promise,” you say. “I won’t leave you or Tsumiki—ever. Not even with Satoru.”

That does the trick, it seems, as the boy settles back into your arms after giving you a swift nod and small mutter of acknowledgement. He hides his face into the crook of your neck, and sighs deeply. It’s filled with a lot of things; relief, sadness, but above all fatigue. It seems that, now that he’s calming down, his lack of sleep is catching up to him.

“Gumi,” you whisper, and start carding your fingers through his hair again. The slow movement soothes him, as his eyes slowly start to close. “Would you like to sleep with us tonight?”

You feel him tense up in your hold. It was to be expected, you think. Despite that, you deem it important for him to make that decision himself. You could easily let him doze off, but you know he will berate himself for it the next morning.

Megumi doesn’t move. “. . .He’ll be annoying about it.”

It’s not difficult to realise that the ‘he’ he speaks of is your darling boyfriend, who, admittedly, would be annoying about it if he were to wake up with Megumi suddenly asleep in your bed. It’s been seven months, and the kid seems to have Satoru’s personality down-pat. His comments would be relentless.

“No, he won’t,” you assure him. Though your boyfriend can be considered childish, he’s also compassionate—and you don’t doubt for a second that he’ll cut down on the teasing when you speak to him about Megumi’s troubles.

The kid moves in your arms. Megumi shuffles around a little to look at you, and doesn’t bat an eye when you gently brush a few hairs out of his face.

“How are you so sure?” He mumbles, the usual grumpiness when speaking of your boyfriend slowly but surely returns. It makes you smile; it’s a sign he’s gradually doing better again.

“Because,” you say, and gently poke his cheeks. His eyes crinkle, and his nose scrunches up a little, but he lets you do as you wish regardless. “I’ll talk to him. He won’t say a word, okay?”

There is little in the world that Megumi trusts less than Satoru’s ability to keep his mouth shut, but—if he were to appoint something that he trusts most, then it would surely be your ability to control your manchild of a boyfriend.

Megumi looks at you. In silence, of course. It’s one of the few things he has never minded. He blinks up at you. Once, twice, and then he goes to rest on your chest again.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I trust you.”

The three small words uttered by the six year old in your arms are enough to squeeze your heart. They meant the world to you, as they did to him. Your hold on him tightens momentarily, filled with too much affection to bear.

That went well, you dare to think. Could’ve gone a lot worse. In his hazy state, Megumi curls into you further—and rests one of his arms over your waist, just underneath Satoru’s. You fight a smile. Yeah, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

EXTRA!

It takes Megumi a little longer to get out of bed the next morning. Not because he’s so much more comfortable in your enormous (and ridiculously soft) king-sized bed—though, that does add to it—but simply because he’s a little nervous.

Both you and Satoru have already gotten up, which means the white-haired man must have seen him sleeping next to the two of you. But, it also means that you must have seen your boyfriend by now, which means you have spoken to him about. . .

He wants to get up. He should get up. You told him you’d speak to Satoru, and Megumi trusts you.

And it appears that his faith in you wasn’t unfounded, as the only thing that greets him when he walks into the kitchen is an overtly aggressive and way too enthusiastic rub over his head. Megumi swats Satoru’s hand away immediately, the regular scowl settling on his lips as the man rattles on and on about the breakfast you two had prepared for them.

Though, as irritated as he might be when finally sitting down at the table with the three of you—that stupid rub over the top of his head doesn’t feel nearly as bad now.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[the-archxr]

kar’taylir

din djarin x female!reader

kar’taylir [kar-tie-leer]

to know, to hold in the heart.

summary: the four times Din Djarin almost says it, and the one time he does. alternatively, the four times you almost say it, and the one time you do.

a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from Pinterest* just imagine that trend on tiktok where people scream and cry in their shower to the bridge of enchanted by taylor swift, except it’s Din doing it. also, did I include a Princess Bride reference? yes, cause I’m trash, but I thought it fit (sidenote this may just be my most favourite thing I’ve ever fucking written??)

warnings: a FUCK ton of angst, major one-sided pining (is it though?), jealousy, broody Din, reader is fucking oblivious, Cobb Vanth being a flirty little shit, eventually a lotta fluff

word count: 6.1K (it's a long one, guys, but I promise its worth it)

🪐

i.

“Stop. Moving.” You spit through gritted teeth as you try to wipe at the bloody mess before you.

Mando flinches beneath the wet rag. “Just-“ he groans as you swipe rather harshly at the wound that traces his entire bicep. “Just use the bacta spray, dank farrik!”

“It’s called cleaning the wound first. Maker, Mando, how you made it this long is kriffing beyond me.” You squeeze out the bloody rag into the bucket placed at your feet before draping it on the side.

The vibroblade that had caused the wound had made a perfect gash—deep, bloody, and very infected.

Usually, you had a weak stomach and weren’t able to tend to wounds, especially of this magnitude. But the more injuries your Mandalorian had acquired, the more you were put in a position to take care of him. And so, here were the two of you, hunched over each other in concentration.

You pull out said bacta spray from the medical kit along with a pair of scissors. Placing your hand along the rip in his shirt, you run your fingers gently around the fraying ends and look at your friend. “I’m going to have to cut the rest of the fabric around the wound so that way the bacta can reach the surrounding areas—“

“No, I—that’s enough—“

“Mando…” you warn lowly, attracting his attention to you. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

He lets go of a shaky breath and allows himself to lean back against the metal wall. You take that as your go ahead and begin to cut the shirt. You know about his Creed, how strictly he follows it and what he allows himself to feel comfortable with. You respect him greatly, and so you make sure to only cut away the parts of the fabric that is needed.

Splaying your hand on the curve of his armor-ridden shoulder (you had somehow managed to convince him to remove it in order for you actually heal him properly) you take the bacta and spray along the jagged edges of the now clean wound. It’s a nasty cut, but far more manageable when it’s not covered in blood and scabs.

He flinched again at the cool contact but quickly settled into you. “You need to even out your breathing. You're gonna make yourself light-headed.” You say nonchalantly, making sure you are focused on getting bacta to every exposed area possible.

He doesn’t respond, but you do hear him pause, then inhale and exhale deeply through his modulator. You’re grateful for the way it calms you down—hands cease shaking, allowing you to start wrapping his arm in bandages. “You gotta keep this on. You can take it off in a couple days, but until then…” you tuck the open end into itself and stand up wiping at your knees and the dirt that accumulated on them from the ship's floor. “Until then don’t do anything to aggravate it.”

He huffs, but you can tell he tries to hide it as a cough when you shoot him a sour look. “I’m serious, Mando. I see that thing come off before it’s supposed to and you’re a dead man. You hear me? I’ll beat your ass so hard even the New Republic officers won’t be able to find you.”

He groans as he sits up slowly. “They already can’t find me.”

His quip elicits a harsh look from you. He raises his non-injured arm up in defense. “Alright, I get it. I won’t take it off.”

You keep the glare on him until you’re sure he got the message, then slowly allow the hint of a smile to breakthrough.

Then, you hear a coo and feel two tiny hands grab at your ankle. You look down with an even bigger smile and pick up the baby. “Hi, little guy!” You sit him in the curve of your inner elbow and bounce around on your heels, waiting for him to burst into a fit of giggles. Although it doesn’t take much for your tiny green child to laugh, he is almost always overjoyed when you bounce him around or spin with him in the air.

“You wanna see your dad?” His mouth falls open in a silent laugh when you reposition him against your chest. “Yeah, he’s alright. A little stupid, but he’s okay.”

You look up to Mando mid-laugh only to see that he’s already looking at you and the kid.

Typically, it’s unnerving when he stares. After all, intimidation is his strong suit. When he wants to be scary, he is, and with a type of ease only he possesses, he parts crowds like the Geyser Sea. But right now, he isn’t like that. It’s…different, somehow.

Instead of the sharp lines of his visor being pointed down, they’re slightly titled upward—an air of softness to the minuscule movements he makes. A strange, yet familiar feeling bubbles in your stomach, but you do what you know best and push it down. You clear your throat before sitting down beside your friend and place the baby in the middle of you two.

“Tell me again why you waited almost two days to treat that?”

He shrugs, head lolling to the side as the kid plays with his gloved fingers. “You’re better at patching me up, I guess.”

You feel your face quirk up. “Well, you’re not wrong. I am an amazing medic.”

He lets out a soft laugh, picking the green child up and sitting him in his lap. “An amazing medic who passed out after seeing a blaster burn for the first time.”

“Oh, c’mon, that was one time. I didn’t have any experience yet!” You lean into him unconsciously as you both play with your adopted child. “Besides…you don’t seem to be complaining. I mean who else is gonna patch you up? Certainly, not him,” a pair of big brown eyes meets yours. “The kids smart, but he’d definitely try eating at least half of what’s in that med kit.”

He laughs harder this time. The sound reverberates off the walls of the Razor Crest and rattles your ribs.

He’s lovely.

The two of you fall into another bout of comfortable silence. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of an old ship and the baby’s soft humming.

“Y/N…?” You turn your head enough so that way your eyes catch his through his helmet. He breathes deeply, chest rising and falling until yours fall into the same rhythm. He takes one particular shaky breath and then… “thank you.”

"Anytime."

ii.

“Y/N, this is Cobb Vanth. A frien—“

“The Marshal,” you say in awe. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The man in question shoots you a friendly smile: wide and toothy. He’s an attractive man, with dark silver hair swept to the one side of his face and bright hazel eyes that lift up at the corners. He softly takes your hand in his, cradling it like you do your child. “All good things I hope.”

You snicker, earning a wink from the stranger. He lets your hand fall at that, but never leaves your side, opting to face Mando and bump shoulders with you.

“Mando,” he muses. “You didn’t tell me how pretty your uh, friend here was. Would’ve liked to freshen up a bit, ya know.”

“No need.” Mando’s voice is low and dark and sends chills down your spine. “We’re just visiting. But we should go, it’s getting dark.” He practically stomps towards the two of you, shoulders squared out and head held up high. You quickly notice how his arms are held to his sides, fists clenched as though he’s restraining himself. It makes you nervous.

What he's restraining himself for? You don’t know. But the sight makes you gulp and want to hide in the safety of your bunk on the ship. Even the child, whose head pokes out of the brown satchel that rests on your hip, cowers back into the safety of the bag at the sight of the angry Mandalorian.

“Now wait just a second.” Cobb places a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder and points to the closest—and quite frankly, the only—cantina in Mos Pelgo. “You two just arrived. Take a break for once Mando, yeah? You’re all work and no play, it’s not healthy. Lemme buy you and the lady a drink.”

Somehow, your Mandalorian bristles even more at that notion, and before anything can escalate, you choose to interject.

“That sounds wonderful, Cobb, thank you.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar beskar helmet snap in your direction. He backs up a bit, adding distance between the three of you, and somehow that one act shows you just how tense the air had gotten.

You watch your friend as he shifts. It’s subtle, hardly noticeable if you’re a stranger—but all too familiar to you. He’s retreating. “You, you want to stay?” His voice is softer than usual and you swear you catch a hint of sadness.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Well, we’re just visiting, right? Might as well get a drink. I could go for some spotchka, and uh, I think you could use a break too.” You try to keep your tone as even as possible as you send Mando a comforting smile. One that you hope he accepts as an olive branch.

Instead, he just stands there for a couple seconds as your pulse pounds. Then, he bows his head. “…As you wish.”

“Great!” Cobb says as he leads the three of you up the steps of the cantina. He walks in ahead, calling to the bartender with a loud laugh.

Mando goes to follow him to the bar until you stop him in the middle of the room. You’re both extremely exposed, but that thought doesn’t concern you right now. As a matter of fact, not much does. The only thing that concerns you is him.

It’s always been him.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The air is thick and heavy but it’s not from the Tatooine heat, rather, the sudden coldness between two friends. You don’t know what to say to him, but you can’t leave it like this. You can’t pretend that something didn’t just happen, regardless of the fact that you don’t know what that something is. But he waits. He patiently stands there, but he never looks at you. You realize you can’t look at him either.

It can’t just be you…

The kid pushes himself further out of the bag to greet his father, probably picking up on the weird silence. That action alone gives you strength. “Are you okay?” You whisper. You meant to sound stern, but your throat is dry and scratched. You chalk it up as a side effect of being surrounded by sand, but you can’t rule out fear either.

“I don’t know what you mean,” is his response.

Your heart drops…maybe it is just you.

He’s far more composed than you: with his hands on his hips and visor trained on the baby gurgling at your hip. You take a quick once-over of him to make sure you’re not hallucinating, but he remains relaxed. There’s still something wrong. Something feels off with his words, and it hurts to analyze. To worry. To hope that everything’s okay when it definitely feels like it isn’t. “Look,” he sighs and goes to reach for your arm in a way he’s done countless times before. But he stops. He stops mid-air, and you wait for something to happen, but it never does. Simply, you watch him retreat for the second time in ten minutes. “You’re right. We need a break and Cobb’s good company. Seems to like you a lot. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

You step closer to him and wish more than anything that you could actually see his eyes. You want to see the colours that flicker in his iris’; the way you imagine they soften at the sight of his son, and how they glow when he laughs. You want to pinpoint the different emotions he feels through eyes alone, but he doesn’t give you that. He just nods politely and walks inside the cantina leaving you and the little green guy to fear the worst.

iii.

He feels stupid.

Like, really kriffing stupid.

Cobb had picked the table furthest from the bar, smack dab in the corner, providing an ample view of the entire cantina. Though there weren’t that many patrons, Din still liked to be in the corner. He was an observer after all. It was where he had the most control because he didn’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up on him. It also allowed him to see everyone in a more subtle way; one where he wasn’t blatantly staring and would likely rile up a drunk who wanted to pick a fight.

He could monitor things and still be able to enjoy what little amount he allowed himself to partake in.

But he feels stupid. Because that’s not the case right now.

He could have a group of raiders walk right up to him and he would never notice. Not when he’s staring at you. It isn’t that this is a rare thing he does because it happens more often than he’d care to admit—when his attention drifts to the one thing, the one person, that somehow constantly invades his mind.

He tells himself that it’s for safety. He’s keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re alright and that no one’s bothering you (although he’s the first one to say anything whenever anyone does). But even he knows that’s a lie.

It’s not uncommon for him to steal subtle (or what he hopes are subtle) glances at you, but it is uncommon for him to be this angry when looking at you.

Usually, he’s at peace when it comes to you. But he wasn’t anticipating Cobb to invite the two of you for a drink. He wasn’t anticipating Cobb to take such a liking to you, nor, to offer to go with you to the bar to get said drinks even though you’re more than capable. But out of all the surprises he’s had today, the one that shakes him the most is you taking such a liking to Cobb.

The two of you are talking wildly to each other as the barkeep prepares your drinks. You’re smiling at him and he’s smiling right back, and you’re doing that thing where when you get excited you talk with your hands.

Din finds it endearing, but right now it’s different. Because he’s just watching. He’s not the one you’re excited about. So, he can’t bring himself to join you two. He knows that he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you look at him like he’s a burden, a buzzkill who only knows how to follow you like a lost pet. But he wants to. Maker does he ever. Because maybe at the end of it all he’d get to keep you. You’d choose him after realizing that he’s always chosen you.

He forces himself to look away at that. Why would you choose someone who you can’t even see return your smile?

He’d never disobey his Creed. It’s a part of him, it’s what he stands for. And yet, he can’t count the number of times he’s second-guessed himself just to show you that he does in fact smile, that he’s alive, that he needs you more than anything. He’s a breathing man with a bleeding heart that wasn’t made for you but can’t live without you. And he hates it.

“Here we go,” Cobb sits down gently on the chair and places the drinks in the middle of the table.

Din keeps his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you take the seat beside him. The kid notices your back and immediately grasps for your attention. Which you give to him every single time because you love him.

Din would give anything to be him.

You sit the child down in your lap and grab at your glass of spotchka when a look of realization hits you. “Oh, we forgot his broth.”

Cobb, in what Din sees as a chance to impress you, is already up before you can ask. “I got it. You sit tight little guy.”

The man saunters off and when he’s out of earshot, you turn to look at him. Din feels himself start to sweat. “So, I know you said everything’s okay, but I call bullshit.”

Din’s eyes widen at the blunt statement. Not that she can see, but he’s very aware of his reactions to her (maybe the fact that she can't see is for the best). “Mando, what’s going on?” She lifts the baby up so that he can see him clearer. “We’re both worried.”

He sighs and shifts in his seat. Quickly, he weighs his options.

He could ignore her, wait until Cobb gets back, and then interrupt their little date. Cobb would get the hint and she’d be back with him and their kid on the Razor Crest. But he realizes that’s selfish of him and she’d be even angrier with him…possibly even hate him, which is the last thing he wants. Ever. So he scraps that thought. He thinks that he could bluff his way out of the situation: tell her his mind is once again on his abandoned covert and that he’s just having an off-day. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if he was convincing enough she’d probably believe him. But then he thinks of something different. He considers, for a very brief moment, what it’d be like if he just told her. He could tell her everything. How she’s all he can think about most days and nights, how he imagines what it’d be like to actually hold her hand without reason, and most importantly, how his biggest fantasy involves him taking off his helmet and kissing her. Actually kissing her like he’s longed to do since the first week of having her stay with them.

She doesn’t long for you, though.

He realizes she’s still looking at him and so he makes his decision. “It’s just an off-day for me, cyar’ika. I’ll be alright. I’m sorry if I worried you and the little one.”

She pauses, her face turned downward in sadness. His heart twists painfully. But soon she smiles. It’s faint and fake and nothing like her usual self, but it’s something.

“Okay.”

Cobb comes back to the table with a small bowl of broth and places it before the kid. The conversation returns to normal and Din is thankful that the noise is just loud enough to drown his thoughts. Even if for a short while.

iv.

“Oh, Mando look at this!”

You show him a large green and blue textile with intricate designs along its edges. It was knitted with care and looked impossibly comfortable, as far as Din could tell. “It’s beautiful.”

You smile widely and lift it up to properly look it over. “It reminds me of him.” You look down to the child that this time Din was now holding. He lifts him out of the bag in order to show him the blanket, which he immediately grabs onto. The baby coos at you, which elicits a giggle and smooth knuckles to run over his cheek. “He likes it,” you say. “We should get it for him. It can be his new blanket.”

“He has lots of blankets, cyar’ika.” He knows you know this. You're both a sucker for the little guy, but at some point Din reasons, he will have to stop spending so many credits on blankets. Though, if it keeps his cyar’ika and his ad’ika happy, he figures it can’t be all that bad.

It seems though you’ve already beat him to that realization. “Yeah, and who gets him all those blankets? Us. ‘Cause, we’re the best parents in this kriffing galaxy.”

His parents. Din preens at your words. “I’ll buy it. You go look around some more, we’re gonna have to leave soon.”

You frown playfully at him but take his advice and skip off to another booth filled with hand-made items.

Din smiles at you beneath his mask then looks down to see his child already looking up at him. The baby, who knows far more than he lets on, looks at him and then looks at you, only to look back at Din. It’s then his turn to follow the kid’s line of sight before it clicks. “No. Not happening,” Din mutters, pulling a couple of credits out of his pocket and passing them to the vendor who gives him the folded blanket.

He tucks the blanket under his arm then walks in your direction. You had moved on to a new vendor, touching anything you could get your hands on. This particular display though seemed to have you preoccupied as you proved to be too distracted to notice him come up beside you. “Find anything you like?”

You don't respond, but Din sees how your eyes were fixated on one particular piece of jewelry. The necklace was strung up on the stand closest to the woman who he assumed made them: a beautiful, long silver chain with a small moonstone attached to it. You admire it, but eventually back away from the display. You take a quick glance at all the pieces one last time before smiling at the lady then looking up to Din.

“No, it’s alright. Let’s go home.” Home. Our home.

He looks at the table and then at you. He’s not really good at the whole surprise thing (in all fairness he’s never had anyone to surprise) but, he thinks, as Cara always tells him ‘there’s a first for everything', he might as well start now.

“You go ahead, cyar’ika. I’ll catch up. I just need to finalize some things with the bounty.” Din passes you the child and the blanket and he pretends he doesn’t notice his pulse quicken when you look at him like he’s the kindest person in the galaxy.

He’s not. But he hopes he’s enough for you.

You touch his shoulder, the same shoulder you healed only weeks ago, then walk away to the loading dock with your child in tow as Din heads back to the market.

v.

You don’t think you will ever get used to hyperspace.

Colours, the kind you imagine even the queen of Naboo is envious of, rush past you in a mosaic of light. Your heart drops to your stomach as you lurch forward into what always seems like another dimension. It’s a visceral experience. It’s addictive.

The Razor Crest is a big ship, but in hyperspace, it’s weightless. And maybe that’s why you love it so much because you can’t get that kind of weightlessness anywhere else.

You’re invigorated by it at all.

Unfortunately, not everyone on the ship is having as good of a time as you are.

Below the cockpit, down the stairs, and to the right is where Din paces back and forth. The child watches from the corner, eyes going back and forth, stopping, then going back and forth again as he tracks his dad's nervous movement.

Din then stops and sits beside the kid with his back against the wall. “I don’t think I’ve ever given a gift before.”

Mandalorians don’t get nervous; they’re not supposed to. They’re supposed to be composed warriors, the soldier everyone relies on. But right now, Din can’t even rely on himself.

It’s really nothing special, simply a necklace. A piece of jewelry that you eyed, but eventually dismiss—

Wait. Did you even want the necklace?

Maybe Din read the situation wrong and you had actually decided you didn’t like it. Maybe you were simply looking at it because it was ugly, like how you study something you don’t understand.

Great. Now he’s going to give you an ugly necklace that you don’t want.

Maybe he’s not as observant as everyone says he is. As he likes to think he is.

“Dank farrik.” Din slams the back of his beskar covered head into the metal wall. This wasn’t exactly how he planned this to go.

In hindsight, he wasn’t exactly sure of how it would play out anyway, but he liked to believe giving you the necklace would lead to you giving him some amount of attention. No matter how little or how much, as long as it came from you he’d do anything for it.

Maybe he’d give it to you and you’d smile in the warm way only you can. The kind of smile that even the most beautiful of moons cry over because they’re nothing compared to you. Maybe you’d touch his face through his helmet and he’d soak into your embrace the way he’s done thousands of times before. Or maybe you’d laugh, take the gift and never think about it again.

Yeah. That sounds more probable.

“I don’t know, buddy… Do you think she’ll like it?” He goes to reach for the necklace in his pocket but it’s not there. And quite frankly neither is his kid.

He’s frantic in his search for the child and the jewelry until his eyes catch him on the ladder.

Since when did he—

Damn it.

He jumps up, as quickly as his body will allow, but the baby’s already at the top with the necklace in hand.

Your little green child coos. Your turn your head to see him shuffling over to you, a huge grin on his face with something stuck in his mouth.

“Ugh,” pushing yourself off the captain's chair, you nab the kid and sit back down with him. “How do you find this stuff, I swear to Maker, kid.”

His teeth clamp harder on the object as you try to pry it out of his mouth until you finally get your fingers around it and pull it out. It’s wet from his saliva and he laughs at you as you wipe it on your shirt in disgust. Lifting him up so he’s above eye level you give him a stern look. “Stop trying to eat everything. Especially when you don’t know where that thing's been.”

Your scolding just makes him giggle harder, forcing you to roll your eyes. You swear you’re going to roll your eyes right out of their sockets one day.

You both then turn your heads to the sound of shoes pounding up the ladder, and then the door opens to the cockpit.

Mando stands there breathing heavily, as his helmet scans the entire room before landing on you two.

“Are you…are you doing okay?”

Even under his helmet, you can tell he’s flustered, and then as quickly as he came up the steps, he focuses on you. “Sorry, I just…he had a thing in his mouth and I didn’t want him to swallow it.”

“Oh yeah trust me, I already fought with him over it.” You laugh while picking up the object you set to the side.

You swear you actually hear Mando’s breath stutter as you finally take a look at the object. At first, you don’t recognize it, concern flooding your mind at the thought of your little baby choking on something as dangerous as this.

But then you realize what it is.

Din’s shifted his weight to his other leg and he can feel his hands flex nervously—compression gloves not enough to stop him from wanting to grab the object right out of your grasp.

But he knows you. He knows you well. And he can see you’ve already figured out what you’re holding.

Your eyes meet his through his helmet. “This is…this is the necklace.” It dangles from your fingertips, and the child swats at it—the jewelry becoming his newfound obsession. “The one from the market I was looking at…”

“Yes.” He cringes at how he sounds. So quick and robotic and awkward, and so very unprepared. He’s never felt this nervous before, and yet he can’t back away. He has to deal with it. “You didn’t buy it, but, I thought maybe you still wanted it. So I got it for you. As…as a gift.”

You look down at the pendant and smile softly, running your thumb over the cool, smooth stone. “If you don’t want it, I can trade it for something else when we land. Something more desirable—“

“What’s that word…?” You both speak at the same time.

“Sorry,” you chuckle out. You’ve caught his attention though, caught him off guard on his needless apology, so you clear your throat. “How do you say beautiful in Mando’a?”

He’s stunned beyond words. Beyond thoughts. And yes, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he knows he probably looks like an idiot—a man who doesn’t even know how to talk to the woman he loves, much less surprise her with something so heartfelt. But the way you look at him, sincerity in your eyes as you await a response, his brain short circuits and he somehow gives you one.

“The word is mesh’la.”

“Mesh’la,” you repeat softly. He feels his knees buckle at your voice speaking in his mother tongue and he curses every deity for putting him in such a foreign situation.

But then you’re putting the necklace on without a second thought. As though it’s routine and the necklace is already part of your being. And then his nervousness melts away. It de-escalates into something different. Something that propels him further, closer to you.

You’re a magnet and he’s the piece of metal flying through the air, willed by a force he cannot control. “Do you…like it?”

“I wouldn’t be putting it on if I didn’t like it, now would I be, Mando?”

“Din.”

“…what?”

He hadn’t even noticed that it slipped out. And he’s surprised his covert haven’t already started to beat down the walls of his ship. A confession of a gift is one thing, but Din telling you his name is just purely reckless. He should stop while he’s ahead, but the dam has been cracking beneath the weight of his feelings for a long time. So it seems that it’s time he gives them a chance.

“My name,” his voice shakes, wavers with each syllable. “My name, cyar’ika, is Din Djarin.”

You stare out, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. But then there’s a calmness that shines through. You look down at the kid, who has been watching the two of you closely for a while now.

He hears his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he’s positive he's going to pass out. “Din…” You repeat the name slowly, unsure of it as you test out the way it feels as it rolls off your tongue. “Din. I like that name. It suits you.”

“I like your name, too.” You laugh loudly. If it were out of context, he would’ve panicked at your laughter, but after realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he finds it easy to laugh right along with you.

You hold the kid in the crook of your elbow as you stand in front of the man with a permanent smile on your face. “And uh, cyar’ika…” Din’s heart drops to his stomach and his blood runs cold. “What does that mean? I figured it meant friend or something like that but…” you’re hesitant to voice your thoughts, worried that maybe you’re overthinking it; anticipating and expecting something only for it not to be there. Wishful thinking. “I’m just curious.”

Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t you be? It was only a matter of time before you were going to ask him. Only a matter of time before you put all the signs together. Before you realized you didn’t want him that way.

Cara once told him he wasn’t subtle. At first, he had no clue what she meant, but he knows now. And he wishes he didn’t.

He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the welling up in the corner of his eyes, but understands that it’s pointless. His time is up.

“Cyar’ika…” his tongue swells up his mouth. He’s never felt this breathless before. “It means sweetheart.”

Even from behind his helmet he feels exposed. Everything is out in the open and nothing he can do, or say, can fix it. And the fact that this is the first time since he met you that he can’t read you? It truly terrifies him.

He tenses up, waiting for the moment in which you say goodbye. When you kiss the forehead of your child, pack up your things, and give your awkward thanks to Din for allowing you to stay with them.

He waits, and waits, and waits. But it never comes. Instead, you slowly bring your hands up to his. He holds his breath, or rather, his breath holds him. Your hands gently glide on his arms until they reach the broad expanse of his shoulders, and then the edges of his helmet.

He hesitates, but you don’t stop there. Eventually, your hands stop on the sides of his helmet, where you assume the sides of his face would be if you were to hold him without his armor. He can’t help but lean into the contact you provide him. Even through the impenetrable beskar, he can still feel the warmth of your hands on his skin, imagines how it would feel to place his skin on yours. It may be temporary, but if this is all he’ll get for the rest of his life, he’d die happy. “What should I call you then?”

He…wasn’t expecting that. Actually, it was the last thing he expected you to say. You take his silence as a good sign to keep going. “Well, if you call me sweetheart…what should I call you?”

“I…” Din almost cries. He’s tired, stressed, and feels like he’s on a tightrope. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes you aren’t running away. You’re staying here. Touching him through his helmet and looking at him the way he’s wanted you to for what feels like forever. You're looking at him the same way he looks at you. “Din. I just want you to call me Din.”

You smile at that. At him. “Din…” he melts underneath you, relishing in the way his name sounds in your voice. And then you're reaching up to him, hands still holding his helmet firmly as you ever-so-gently pull him to meet you. And then…

Then you kiss him. You plant a feather-light kiss to his helmet, one that lingers and permanently takes ownership of his breath. You pull away from him before pressing your foreheads together and Din swears he just died.

The two of you stay like that for…you aren’t too sure how long. It feels like it’s been both seconds and minutes. Although you really aren’t keeping track, the dizzying feeling rattling around in your skull makes your brain feel like mush.

You can feel Din’s breastplates move slowly, letting you know that he’s calmed down, coming down from the shared high of two friends who’ve finally collided. He inhales deeply and his hands rest over yours. Your fingers intertwine on the sides of his helmet, but then he’s lifting up the beskar, and you panic.

“Din, stop.” You don’t realize how breathless you’ve become and you’re shocked that even with the lack of oxygen to your brain, you’re still aware of his creed.

But he cuts you off and presses his forehead to yours again. “It’s okay, just…just close your eyes. Please.” It's almost a whimper, and the sound ruins you (you take mental note of that sound for later). So you close your eyes.

You’re eager to feel him. To touch skin rather than just beskar. You don’t know what he looks like, might not know for a long time, but you’ll know what he'll feel like. And right now that’s the only thing keeping you going.

Your hands feel him first. Smooth and warm and a hint of stubble. You begin to map out his face with your hands, all while he holds you. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with someone…the most intimate you think you’ll ever be. Then, he’s kissing you. It’s firm, yet gentle. Soft, yet hard. It’s everything you both imagined it to be, and more.

It’s so beautiful it hurts. But at least now you two don’t have to deal with the pain on your own.

[sophiria]

could I request a gojo x fem reader pls? where she can't touch people (and people can't touch her too) due to her cursed technique. it's like she has gojo's infinity, but unlike him, she can't turn it off. the technique disappears when she dies and it's literally the only time satoru gets to touch her for the first time ever :(((

Thank you for the request, lovely anon. I hope you enjoy my take on it <3

Kiss me hard before you go

Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader

Warnings and tags: heavy angst with a hopeful ending, character death with a twist, kissing, references to wounds, injuries, violence and death but nothing graphic, references to amnesia

Word count: 1,400

As Gojo held your body tightly to himself, his tears of despair soaked the crown of your head. He was bent over in grief, his hands clutching at your upper body as your back rested against his chest. He had dreamed for so long of holding you between his arms, breaking through the walls of your Infinity, which for you was more of a curse than a blessing. But not like this—never like this, with the fight leaving your body as you slowly succumbed to the wounds provoked by a Special Grade Cursed Tool.

“Baby,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fell over your hair, “Okkotsu Yuta is going to be here soon, okay?”

A faint smile appeared on your lips as tiredness weighed your frame, now barely feeling the pain of your injuries as you focused on the warmth of his embrace. “Satoru…” you whimpered as your breathing was growing shallow and your head hazy, “my Infinity can be breached only when I’m dying. You know that.”

He immediately shook his head at your words. “Don’t—” he choked out as his body trembled, inwardly berating himself for not being able to use the Reverse Cursed Technique, “just don’t. You know that Yuta is gonna save you.”

You weakly squeezed his hands as his fingers intertwined with yours. “At least I can finally feel you, Satoru.”

He gently pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “And you will feel me again,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “once you’re healed, I’m going to find a way for you to control Infinity like my family and I do.”

You slowly close your eyes, allowing yourself to imagine the blissful possibility for a few moments. Then, you took a shaky breath as you tried to push down what you knew would remain just a dream you could never realize in this life. Still, you wanted to indulge him.

“That sounds amazing, Satoru,” you whispered as his lips found your temple, planting a kiss on it, “I’m sure that if there’s one person who can find a solution to my everlasting Infinity, it is you.”

A shaky smile appeared on his lips at your words. “That’s right, baby,” he said, swallowing hard, “anything for you.”

Despite the exhaustion of your body and the sorrow in your mind, you smiled to yourself. You had spent a long time thinking that the affection you felt towards Gojo was unrequited, but then he had confessed his feelings to you just a few days before the mission that doomed your fate. What terrible timing, and yet, subdued bubbles of joy made your now feeble heart flutter as you thought about it.

“I love you,” Gojo said while your vision was blurred with bittersweet tears and a small gasp left your lips, “I love you and I’ll keep loving you.”

You slightly tilted your head, placing your ear over his pounding heart. “I love you too, Satoru,” you breathed, “I always did.”

Gojo grasped your chin, tilting it up. His turquoise eyes were bloodshot, and his hair disheveled as tears doused his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed you, pouring fondness and despair into it as your lips parted and you slowly reciprocated, locking your lips with him.

His eyes welled up with tears once again as your breathing slowed down, and he cupped your cheeks, whimpering into your mouth as you went unresponsive and your kisses stopped. Anguish chewed at his gut while a dull ache filled his heart, and he clung to your body as he wailed, placing his dampened cheek against your cold one.

A hot rage swelled within himself as he thought about who dared lay a hand on you, and he was able to do something he had never done before—unleashing the most destructive of his Extension Techniques, the Hollow Purple, without even moving a finger. 

Purple waves of cosmic power were released outside the warehouse you were in, destroying anything in their path, both devilish curses and innocent bystanders.

Unbeknownst to his Six Eyes, there was someone who had witnessed everything but had chosen not to intervene.

Not yet.

And as Gojo’s destructive force of grief and wrath was devastating the land around your location, the shadow of a Cursed Spirit began to walk among the ruins with the intent of revealing himself to the anguished white-haired sorcerer.

Consumed by the overwhelming emotions, Satoru initially didn’t notice a silhouette coming towards him as he held your body between his arms.

“Human emotions are genuinely horrifying, aren’t they?”

Gojo anchored his tearful, enraged gaze on the source of the voice, and his eyes narrowed. “Sukuna!” he growled, activating his Infinity to shield the both of you, “don’t take another step.”

The King of Curses tilted his head, his inquisitive stare studying your inanimate frame. “Her soul is not gone yet,” he told the white-haired sorcerer, “she’s still with you, floating between life and death.”

Gojo ground his teeth. “Don’t you dare speak about her!” he hissed, “and give the control of that body back to Yuji.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Or what?” he challenged, “will you blast me away like you did with this town, or...” he leaned forward as Satoru tensed, pulling your body even closer to his chest, “...will you listen to me and let me do something to bring her back to you?”

Gojo scowled, clenching his fists. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he snarled.

Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh. “Usually, I would try and annihilate you without a second thought...but today I’m here to help you.”

Gojo clenched his jaw and then shook his head. “Someone like you would never do that without a price.”

The King of Curses hummed in approval. “That’s correct,” he conceded, “but this time, luck would have it that I’m feeling generous. And your sweet sorcerer is too valuable to perish.”

Satoru gave Sukuna an unreadable stare before focusing his attention on your face for a minute. 

“I’m going to bring you back, baby,” he mumbled, his fingers delicately tracing your cheeks, “very soon.”

Gojo stood up with you in his arms and then anchored his cool gaze on the Cursed Spirit inhabiting Yuji’s body. 

“Tell me what to do in order to bring her back to me.”

Sukuna grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I just need to touch her soul and transfer some of my cursed energy into it,” he explained to Gojo, “so that she can come out of the limbo she’s currently in and rejoin the land of the living once more.”

Satoru gave him a slight nod. “If you hurt her or try using a Binding Vow,” he began, his voice as glacial as the deepest winter, “there won’t be anything left of you, Sukuna.”

Sukuna raised his eyebrows. “If I wanted to hurt your sweet sorcerer, I would have done it by now,” he stated flatly. “Besides, I already have one Binding Vow with the brat, and that’s enough for me.”

The Cursed Spirit then took a step forward and closed the distance between your bodies. “I must warn you though—when she comes back, she could be different.”

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “The last time I did this, that person came back without their Cursed Energy.”

Gojo clenched his teeth. He could work with that, as long as you were okay and in his arms. “As long as no harm comes to her, do what you have to do.”

Sukuna quickly grasped your arm, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes. His Cursed Energy began to flow from his body to yours, and your figure shed a glow of purple with red and black hues.

Gojo’s nerves hummed with anticipation as apprehension clouded his features. Then, he heard your breathing and heartbeat picking up, and his heart palpitated with euphoria.

The Strongest Sorcerer held his breath, forgetting about Sukuna being nearby, and he tenderly called out your name as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

You blinked as you heard a voice uttering your name with fondness. You angled your head towards one side as you realized you were in someone’s arms, and your gaze landed on an angelic face.

“Baby,” he gulped and then took a deep breath, “how do you feel?”

You brought your hand to his cheek, and the tip of your fingers traced his features. “I feel good,” you murmured as his eyes lit up, “your face looks familiar to me,“ you trailed off as his eyes widened, “what is your name?“