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em1e · 10 months

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万次郎 // GIVEN THE CHOICE ⠀ ༝ ༝ bonten!mikey ⠀ ༝ ༝ 8.4k words ⠀ ⚠︎ big brother!draken, mentions of violence, character death, manga spoilers, pregnancy, angst, suggestive?, implied fem!reader but no pronouns. ⠀ — you've always liked mikey growing up. how do you tell him years down the line that you've had his kid?

there’s not much to say about being the younger sibling to draken.

even less about his delinquent friends he seemed to follow around like a puppy.

but you could say a lot about his friend mikey. self-proclaimed leader at the age of eleven, you watched from the sidelines as he became the true leader of his silly group toman, saw how it’d develop to something more as you grow older.

and as the years pass, you become more acquainted with those same people he’s always around - namely one baji keisuke, who made it very apparent from the start he wanted to be your friend because ‘only cool guys have a weak best friend’ and apparently no one else in toman was weak.

days turn to weeks turn to years with you in their shadow, but you’ve never seemed to mind.

you enjoy your view from the sidelines.

“you can’t tell anyone.” you warn baji with a finger pointed in his direction, eyes narrowed as if that could somehow make your threat more lethal.

he holds his hands up in mock-defense, taking a step away with his shoulders slouched, “you have my word.”

you look away from him, arms crossing over your chest as you answer.

“sorry?” he tilts his head, leaning forward, “didn’t quite catch that.”

you feel yourself flush, hiding your face to mumble the reply, “mikey.”

there’s a beat of silence for all of five seconds before he starts laughing.

“you have a crush on mikey? of all people?”

you shove him away from you when he leans against you for support, yet still manage to press your hand against his mouth because he’s so fucking loud, “quiet down,” you hiss out, “they’re supposed to be ‘round the corner, will you shut up?!”

“just think it’s funny how you ‘nd your brother have a thing for each of the sano siblings-”

“quiet!”

draken and mikey stumble upon you with a fist full of baji’s hair, the other hand pressed firmly against his mouth while he has his own shoving at your face to keep you away.

and that’s just how most days go - when they aren’t terrorizing the city, they’re bothering you for one reason or another.

until it isn’t.

until kazutora gets released from juvie and baji leaves you in the dust and then dies after. . . it’s a lot to take in, especially for someone so young - so close to someone who suddenly drops it on you that they want nothing to do with you, and then you hear during the aftermath from your brother that he was begging for you to forgive him, for you to take care of mikey, too, because someone has to.

until draken finds you curled in on yourself sobbing because even to the end, baji put other people above himself and it’s so fucking unfair that that’s how he meets his demise.

you stay in your room for a week without moving. it takes draken practically dragging you out of the space to get you into the world again, mikey at his side with a frown.

and maybe it’s from the mutual trauma of losing someone so close to you (despite it being a thousand times worse for mikey, since he was actively there at the scene), but you and mikey grow closer after baji’s death.

you make sure one another eats, that you’ve done your assignments on time, that you’re getting enough sleep, that you’re taking care of yourselves.

it stays like that for a while, you tucked behind mikey and draken like a secret, something no one else can touch or bother with emma at your side.

and then she dies, too.

her death was the breaking point for them, you think.

unexpected and quick and cruel that mikey had to watch her pass, the tensions eating away at them and bursting at the seams from the announcement of her death. when draken came back home with busted knuckles and tear-stained cheeks, it broke you because your big brother was supposed to be the strong one. a piece of you chipped away when he crumbled in your embrace, sobs wrecking through his body while you held him close.

the funeral isn’t any better, tensions still high, and draken steps away at the end when you move to talk to mikey.

you promise to check in on him when you can, pull him into a hug while offering your condolences, and when you separate he doesn’t look at you as he says his thanks.

when you make your way to draken, you will yourself to glance back at mikey and . . . he looks so small, standing beside his grandpa. unfocused on the people that come up, shake his hand with frowns, then leave. as if feeling your stare on him, he looks up to meet your gaze, and with such a small glance, you can see how heavily everything’s weighed down on him. how cruel the world has been to him, and how it remains unrelenting of punches.

he looks away before you do, and draken pulling you close to him by the shoulder to keep you from walking into someone draws your attention away from mikey.

weeks turn to months, passing without a hitch, and you do your best to check in on mikey when you can. some days you visit and his grandpa answers the door, turning you away because mikey’s out and he doesn’t know where he is - most days your texts and calls go unanswered.

ken later informs you toman’s disbanded and he isn’t sure what to do with himself. despite your best efforts, getting in contact with mikey becomes harder and harder, until it becomes an impossible feat altogether.

years pass with no contact - with everyone lives moving forward, with your brother owning his own bike shop and inupi coming to work with him, and you getting an insane job offer for your dream position. it’s crazy amazing for someone your age to see an opportunity like this, and you’re elated beyond belief by the proposition, except . . . it’s on the other side of japan.

you’d have to leave everything you’ve ever known for the chance of a lifetime, and it’s your brother who encourages you to take it.

“who knows if something like this could happen again,” he says with a smile, ruffling your hair in a way that big brothers do, “you’ll always have a home here to come to if things don’t pan out.”

you see everyone you can in the weeks before you leave, even manage to pin down mitsuya for coffee before he leaves for another exciting runway event in italy (you tease how you wish you’d be going there instead - he offers an invite once you’re settled in your new apartment).

the only person you couldn’t pinpoint a location for was . . . mikey.

despite your many calls to the old number you have stored in your phone, searching for him at his old childhood home, even asking draken and the other friends from his old gang - no one knew. you amaze yourself with your own detective skills, though, by some miracle able to find an address - you applaud yourself as you step to the door, double checking the apartment number matches what you have written down before you knock.

there’s a moment where you stand dumbly waiting for someone to open the door, and you think for a second maybe you have the wrong apartment, or maybe he’s not home, or -

there’s a click of the lock sounding, the door creaking open just enough for you to see the darkness inside.

you brighten when mikey peeks his head around the door, leaning against the frame and just . . . staring, expression unreadable.

“hi . . .” you breath out, “’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“that spells trouble.” he says without missing a beat, looking down both ends of the hall before he pushes the door open further. an invitation to enter, one you take gratefully.

“for who?” you can’t help but tease, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you spin to face him closing the door, “me? or you?”

“depends on how this goes.” he shrugs, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

you don't take his words as the threat they are, smile still as bright as when he first pulled open the door, “how have you been? it’s been a while.”

“‘ve been better,” he looks away from you, “definitely been worse.”

“wellll, “ you spin on your heel to get a look at his apartment, reaching for the wall where the lightswitch sits and flipping them on, “what have you been up to? s’nice apartment, even better with the lights on.” you chastise lightly, making yourself at home somewhere you surely could never consider it to be.

when you turn back to face him, he’s already behind you, hand on your wrist, still touching the switch.

“what do you want, (y/n)?” he asks. your gaze softens on him, now able to take in the light bags under his eyes, the way his frame is smaller than you remember.

“to talk,” you answer gingerly, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “to see you and know you’re not dead in a ditch in roppongi.”

“you can clearly see i’m not, s’there more?, ” the words leave his lips bitterly, contrasting how his eyes flutter closed, how he leans into your touch.

“‘m moving pretty far,” you add after a moment of silence, “otherside of japan. just wanted to see you’re okay before i leave.” your thumb rubs gentle circles into his cheek, head tilting when his eyes snap open at the admission.

“what for?” he pries, and the way he asks reminds you of when you were kids; when he’d beg and beg and beg to play with the toy you were already playing with if only for the fact that you were playing with it, how he’d whine and pout until you relented because you couldn’t stand the idea of him being upset with you.

“a job,” you’re completely transparent as you answer, “‘the opportunity of a lifetime’. it felt . . . i dunno, wrong? to not share the good news with you-mph?”

you're silenced by him suddenly pulling you to him, lips pressed to your own with his hands cupping your cheeks, and truth be told it’s everything fourteen-year-old you dreamed of and more. everything you ever wanted in life kissing you in his apartment before you go miles and miles away to start a completely different dream and it hurts.

but you don’t have it in you to push him away, not when he presses you against the wall to deepen the kiss, or when he pulls your clothes off of you with a desperation that leaves you whining and begging, or when he guides you to his bedroom and continues his affection that holds the passion and emotion that’d been buried under fifteen years of dirt. he brings out each skeleton from the closet with every thrust until the both of you are spent, laying naked in each other’s embrace until you fall asleep.

it’s surprising, almost, to wake up the next morning alone in a bed that isn’t yours.

there’s no sign of mikey when you look around the apartment, the only tell of him even staying in the form of a stack of cash with a note in his familiar handwriting left on the kitchen counter.

hope this helps you get started in the new city. - mikey

a number sits in a smaller font under the note, in even smaller writing it says for emergencies, use this number.

it feels weird, taking the money with no way to show your appreciation, so you rip a small corner from the paper and write your thanks out, the promise of visiting him soon when you’re back in town added with a heart at the end of your note.

two days later, and you’re driving to a new city with your entire life packed in suitcases and boxes - a moving truck scheduled to deliver your belongings a day after you get to your apartment.

almost two months pass, and you find you’re settling well; everyone at the company adores you, and the building your apartment’s in sits across from a nice ramen shop that you like to go to every tuesday night after you get paid.

you come down with a stomach bug, one you can’t seem to shake, and after a week of calling out and forcing yourself to work despite being exhausted and crabby and ill, you go to the doctor.

imagine your surprise when he tells you you’re fucking pregnant.

two months, in fact, proven with the sonogram he sets you up with, and you’re calling your brother in hysterics in your car when the appointment is over.

“pregnant?” he repeats over the phone, after taking the first five minutes of the call just trying to calm you down, “by who?”

you’re chewing your lip raw as you answer, “mikey . . .”

there’s a beat of silence, before you’re whispering out, “‘m scared, ken. i-i’m miles from home and-and i just started this job and i don’t even know if i can take care of a baby on my own-”

“you’re gonna keep it?” he asks, tone genuine.

“i . . . yeah, i think so - i-i mean, i want to . . . is that stupid? is that a stupid want for me to have?” your lip wobbles waiting for his answer.

“no, but . . . s’lot of work, (y/n). if it’s something you do want, you know i’ll support you in any way i can, you just gotta tell me how to help.”

“i wan’a come home.” you settle, and the way the words leave your lips remind you of a child, begging a parent for something so small when this is anything but.

“we can do that,” draken promises, “i’ll get a flight and help you pack or get inupi to ride with me. we’ll figure it all out, don’t stress.”

you sniffle, wiping at your face hastily, “kay . . . okay. thank you ken.”

“f’course,” you can hear the smile in his voice over the phone, “s’what big brother’s are for.”

and the next few weeks are filled with moving your life back home, with the help of draken and inupi. the people at your job are nothing but happy at the news for you, despite being sad to see you go - they wish you the best in life, though, and even offer another position to apply if you ever decide to come back to the area. it’s sweet, really.

you move into draken’s house and have a healthy baby boy that looks so much like mikey, you think it might kill you. you name him shin.

he makes you promise to not try to seek out mikey one night, after you’d rocked shin to sleep and put him down in his crib.

“no one knows what he’s been up to,” he argues quietly when your brows furrow at the demand, “and frankly, the few ties i still have with gangs make me worried from what little things they tell me.”

“but those could just be rumors,” you frown, “he deserves to know he has a kid.”

“it’s dangerous, (y/n).” draken settles with the finality of a parent telling their kid they can’t have another cookie, “‘m serious. don’t try to contact him.”

despite the weight the conversation holds, you can’t help but stick your tongue out at him childishly. something he returns, only to narrowly dodge the stuffed animal you throw his way in opposition.

and though the warnings loom in the air, you can’t help but try to let mikey know - calling the number he left countless times, trying to use your rusty detective skills that aided you in finding him almost a year ago, just trying to make him aware that you had his son.

you don’t seek child support, or demand otherworldly things that a parent could only dream of (a rocking chair that massages your back and automatically rocks? you drool at the thought), you just feel it’s something he deserves to know. something he should be given a choice to be a part of.

except he’s known since you moved back.

it was a difficult task, keeping tabs on you when you were so far away, but he knew from the day you settled into draken’s home by word of mouth from koko. it must’ve been a punishment for koko, to check in on all of their friend’s from their pasts, to make sure their lives are going how they want them to and make sure everyone is happy.

mikey couldn’t stomach the photos koko would offer, waving them away and requesting the verbal update instead, and when your son is born, he’s only informed that there’s no father on the birth certificate. your attempts to contact him died in vein, the number he gave you belonging to an old throw away phone he got rid of a week after he left it with you. he didn’t think you’d ever need it.

three years pass, and koko would be damned to say the kid doesn't look like a photocopy of mikey. wild blond hair, all bright eyed and sweet.

you work at a diner now, usually leave shin with draken and inupi for your nightshift and ken takes him home when he’s done at the garage.

it’s cute, the way they interact with him - they let him get in the way of their work, careful so he doesn’t get hurt, but allow his curiosity and grubby hands grab hold of tools and bolts and pieces they need.

you're not overly fond of letting shin have his way with whatever he can pinch between his fingers, since usually whatever he does find ends up in his mouth like a chew toy, but ken and inupi tease you for being too overprotective.

you still live with ken, despite insisting the need to get out of his hair, but he promises it’s okay to take your time since he adores his nephew and doesn’t mind helping, and inupi’s became a good friend by proxy.

it’s rare for you and your brother to argue, especially in front of shin, and truly you’re not sure what sparked the conversation in the first place - all you know is you’re upset.

“inupi, tell my brother it’s unfair for mikey to not know he has a kid.”

“inui, tell my sibling if mikey wanted to be involved, he would be. simple as that.”

“we don’t even know if he knows,” you groan out, leaving inupi to hold up his hands defensively.

“i have no argument in this.” is all he offers.

“but you have some insight, “ you counter, kneeling down when shin tugs on your pants, “you know the story-”

“i’m just sayin’ you’ve tried for three years-” draken starts.

“four.”

“-four years, “ he continues, “and you’ve gotten nothing. i don’t see a need for you to continue if you’ve come up empty handed for so long.”

“because, ken-”

shin’s lip wobbles for a second before he bursts into tears, gripping the front of your shirt until you’re shushing him and pulling you towards him in a hug, “shhh, baby, it’s okay. what’s wrong?”

he continues to cry despite you rocking him, and it takes draken pulling him out of your arms while tickling his sides to make him stop.

“prob’ly didn’t like the arguing.” inupi comments, dodging a wrench you throw his way with a glare.

“we’ll talk about this later,” you sigh out, standing on your toes to squeeze shin’s cheeks, “i love, love, love you.” you emphasize each ‘love’ with a kiss to his chubby cheeks, happy to hear his crying replaced with giggles and incoherent toddler babble.

your shift at work isn’t anything special - you have some regulars that come in at the odd hours of night, and by the end of your shift, you’re the last to leave; finishing out some paperwork the managers can’t be bothered to do despite getting paid far less than them to do it.

you fish your keys from your bag, unlock your car, ready to begin the short drive home but . . . your car won’t start.

of course it doesn’t. it’s an older model, one you were supposed to take to the scrap yard for a slightly newer model last month but couldn’t because shin unexpectedly got sick and you had to fork out some cash to make sure he got better.

you sigh, pop the hood of the vehicle as if maybe some of your brother’s knowledge of mechanics could somehow transfer to you, and call the aforementioned male.

it rings. . . and rings . . and rings. no answer.

you try again.

nothing.

you kick at the front bumper in frustration, running a hand over your face in search of another contact. surely inupi is awake at two in the morning, right?

the call rings out, and you’re really worried it’s going straight to voicemail for a second, but he picks up on seemingly the last buzz, “hello?” he sounds groggy, like you did just wake him up. you don’t have time to dwell on the thought when a group of guys appear from the sidewalk, spotting and attempting to talk to you in one breath.

“car won’t start?” one asks, nudging his friend as they make their way closer to you, “we can help.”

you turn away from them, “hey inui, can you come get me from work? ken didn’t answer and my car won’t start.”

“hey.” the guys are much closer now, one stepping around to the front of the car while the other two stand off to your right, vying for your attention.

“yeah f’course. there other people around you?” there’s some shuffling from inupi’s end, like he’s getting out of bed.

“yeah. um, how long till you can be here?”

“ten? minutes maybe.” you swallow at the answer.

“great, i’ll see you in five.”

you pull the phone from your ear slightly, turning back to face the two guys to your right, “i don’t need any help, i have a friend on the way-”

there’s only a moment between you dismissing their assistance before the guy who was at the front of your car is shoving at your shoulder and pinning you to the side of your car, one hand pressed firmly to your mouth while the other squeezes your wrist until your phone falls from your hand and kicks it away.

you shove a hand at his face, trying to reach into your bag for your taser or pocket knife or a really sharp pencil when the guy moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing hard enough you’re sure it’ll bruise, while tearing your bag from your shoulder and throwing it to sit with your phone.

the smell of alcohol comes off of him in waves when he grins, leaning down to get a good look at you, “we can ‘elp ya,” he offers, “but not for free.”

your nails bite into the skin of his wrist, the need to breath overtaking every other sense desperately while you continue to kick and claw at him.

his grip only relents at the sound of a motorcycle idling in the parking lot, but the pressure of his hand still keeps you in place by the throat, head turning to address who could see fit to interrupt this ‘exchange’. the man on the bike adjusts the mask on his face, tucks his long platinum hair to the side, seeming to ignore the eyes on him.

“diner’s closed,” one of the other guys says, stepping towards the stranger, “and we’re kinda busy here ourselves-”

he doesn’t get the chance to really say what they’re doing when the guy steps off the bike and just swings.

his fist meets the guy's cheek with a harsh thwack while mumbling, “shouldn’t touch shit that doesn’t belong to you.”

the guy holding you up releases his grip completely, leaving you to drop to the ground when your legs buckle under your weight, frozen and left only watching as the two remaining men are taken down easily by your potential savior.

when the three stay unmoving on the ground, he crouches in front of you, adjusting the mask on his face once again while taking in your shaken form.

“you okay?” you don’t trust your voice, so you only nod, “is someone on the way to get you? or d’ya need a ride?”

you nod again, “i-inui’s coming.” you manage to whisper out, unable to catch the way his eyes widen slightly as he stands to his full height.

he begins to walk away, back to his motorcycle that’s still running, but his steps hesitate when you call out, “is that you, koko?”

he doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t address if you’re correct in your assumption, “don’t worry ‘bout all this,” he says instead, “i’ll take care of it.”

and then he’s climbing onto his bike, pulling out of the parking lot less than a minute before inupi’s pulling into it.

you’re still on the ground when he rushes towards you to see if you’re okay, stepping over the unconscious bodies with little regard. you recount what happened, which inupi dismisses since he remained on the phone until he pulled into the parking lot.

“do . . . was it really koko?” he asks, helping you up from the cement and gathering the items that spilled from your bag, offering your now cracked phone to you with a frown.

“i’m not sure . . . i never really knew him like you did, “ you reach into your car to grab the important belongings and shove them in your bag, “it didn’t look like him but . . . it sounded like him. was his eyes, i think.”

inupi looks away at this, “so what do you wanna do? ‘bout these guys?”

you swallow, keeping your stare away from the three on the floor, “he said he'd take care of it and i don’t . . . i just wanna go home.”

“okay,” inui’s hand finds it place at the small of your back, guiding you gently to his bike and helping you on, “i’ll take you home.”

when inupi walks you through the foyer, draken’s in front of you the second the door falls shut.

you can see his worry in the crease of his brow, from the way he grabs your shoulders to give you a once-over and frowning at the way your neck seems to be irritated beyond belief, “are you okay? i-i had to put shin back to bed because he woke up ‘nd i didn’t have my phone on me but when tried calling back but you didn’t answer.”

“‘m okay . . .” you assure, peeling yourself away from him, “gonna go shower . . um, inui can tell you what happened.”

your voice is so small as you speak, ken can only nod and watch you disappear into the hall before he turns to inui, who delves into the story based on what he heard over the phone and what you told him when he arrived.

you scrub your skin raw in the shower, until it almost stings from how harsh you rub. you slip out of the bathroom quietly after, sneak your way into shin’s nursery and sit by his bed for just a second to decompress, rubbing the boys back softly while he sleeps.

the peace is disrupted by ken peeking his head around the door, “c’mon, we gotta talk ‘bout it.”

you almost pout, childlike, “do we have to?”

the look he gives you offers no leeway to argue, so you sigh and press a kiss to shin’s hair before standing, deciding now isn’t the time to start an argument.

inupi’s gone when you come out to the living room, tucking your legs under yourself as you sit on the couch with ken beside you.

you feel like a child they way you explain what happened, unable to look at him as you speak. ken visibly stiffens at the mention of the potential koko coming to your aid, interrupting you mid story to remind you, “you know it doesn’t matter that he helped you, right. you’re not gonna go out lookin’ for him or mikey or whoever else.”

you frown at his words, opening your mouth to argue but he shakes his head before you can, “no, (y/n), ‘m serious. it’s too dangerous.”

you look down, defeated, but nod your head, “okay . . . fine.”

and really, you had full intention to abide by the warning. but . . . your boss called you the next day, said something about the diner being closed for the next few days because of something you couldn’t be bothered to remember and that you’d still be paid for the lost hours.

the details don’t matter, really. you drop shin off with draken as usual, avoid mentioning the fact that you have the day off, and leave with the intent to use the next free hours just . . . looking. for koko or mikey or anyone who might know anything about either of them.

it’s stupid, you think, to search and pry so openly, bouncing from bars and clubs asking anyone who’ll listen, but within three hours, you’ve gathered the following;

mikey runs some big name gang. baton? batten? something.

he has some executives that help run his gang, some of which own a few of the clubs in the shiftier parts of the city – haitani’s? you think they’re called?

the haitani’s are close to koko, who’s close to mikey, and really that’s the only thing you need.

so you continue going from club to club, under the impression that apparently the haitani’s frequent their own clubs just about every night. you hear about a nicer club towards the edge of the city, one they favor to the other’s since the liquor is stronger and the girls are prettier – but these are all things you’ve heard from other people, so who knows how true it really is.

when you make it to the club, you wonder if your sundress is something considered to be ‘underdressed’. surely the juice stain on the front isn’t working in your favor as the bouncer gives you a once-over.

“yer lookin’ for who, now?” he asks, one brow raised with his arms crossed over his chest.

if you had any sense in you, you’d probably be scared of the way he eyes you down, but growing up around idiots who don’t know when to stop messing around has really ruined your fight or flight response.

“the haitani brothers..” you reply, mocking the way he crosses his arms over his chest, “i heard they sometimes come by here, i thought maybe-”

“you thought, huh?” his eyes rake over your form, and your arms shift protectively around yourself instead of mocking him, “well i think you should get outta here ‘fore you get hurt.”

“i just need to know if they’re here-”

he turns away from you with a hand pressed to the earpiece sitting in his ear, looking into the building before he turns to face you again with a squinted glare, “you sure they’re the right one? yeah. yeah. right. i’ll send ‘em up.”

he gestures towards the inside of the building, nodding his head, “straight ahead, up the stairs.”

with those instructions, you head towards the back of the club and find a set of stairs, separated by a velvet rope with another bouncer standing in front of it. as if expecting your arrival, he unhooks the rope from its place and steps aside, gesturing for you to follow the stairs up.

at the top of the stairs sits a closed door and when you push it open, peeking around it to get a look inside, you see a nice couch with two guys perched on them - one with a girl who you can assume is from the club sitting in his lap, while the other sips from the drink in his hand, eyeing you the second you’re past the threshold.

the one with the girl in his lap openly squeezes her ass, grinning at you when you look away quickly. he leans forward, whispering something in her ear, and she stands with a pout, practically glaring at you as she leaves.

the door clicks shut behind her, and you’re left in awkward silence with the thrum of music playing under your feet.

after a moment, the one with a drink in hand tilts his head at you, “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’, askin’ for us by name?”

“‘m lookin’ for koko . . .” you voice is smaller than you remember, making you almost cringe in on yourself at the way they eat it up.

“why’re ya lookin’ for our koko?”

“w-we’re friends.” you stutter out, “i just. . . need to talk to him.”

“where’d all that confidence go?” the one who had the girl in his lap tsks as he stands, “we heard you over his comms, you were practically demanding to talk to us - now you’re a stuttering lil’ mess. what happened between now and then?”

he stops in front of you, head tilted as he looms over you, “maybe you should get to know us first. ‘m ran, that’s rindou. thought we knew ‘bout all the nice things koko keeps hidden away.”

though he isn’t speaking to you for the last part, his eyes don’t leave you while they rake over your face, over your body. he reaches to cup your cheek, almost pouting at the way you flinch away from the contact with a frown.

“i’m just lookin’ for koko.” you settle with, leaning away from him.

ran actually does pout at this, bottom lip jutted out. “you’re tellin’ me we can’t have some fun before he gets here?”

“that’s exactly what they’re sayin’, actually.” someone says from behind you, and you jump when you’re being pulled away from ran by your upper arm. a glance behind you reveals the man you’ve been waiting for - koko, with his hair pulled neatly to the side and a scowl on his face.

ran grins at the sight of him, clapping his hands as if he wasn’t just making you uncomfortable. rindou just clicks his tongue.

“s’a shame you got here so quick. thought we’d have some time to get to know ‘em.”

“as if you’d try.” koko accuses, fingers digging into your skin, “you know he’d be pissed if you did anything.”

“who said anything ‘bout trying anything. just wanna know who’s got our dear boss so worked up all the time.”

instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reply, koko fully faces you with his eyes narrowing to further slits, “you must be crazy to come here, even crazier to ask around for us in the first place.”

“i need to see mikey,” you frown, “was the only way i could think of since it was you that showed up the other day, right?”

you can see the way he clenches his jaw, muscles tight, “doesn’t matter. do you know how dangerous it was for you to ask around for us? mikey isn’t someone you can just see anyways-”

“why can’t they?” rindou, seemingly the only sensible guy in the room, questions, “they wanna talk to ‘im, he’d only be one call away.”

“you know why.” koko snaps, heavy weight of his glare moving from you to the male, “we can’t just-”

ran’s phone rings from his pocket, effectively silencing koko mid sentence, and when he pulls it out, he waves it in front of koko with a sharp-toothed grin, “speak of the devil.”

you open your mouth to ask, maybe even demand the phone from ran as he answers, but a sharp squeeze to your arm from koko leaves you quiet - a silent warning heard loud and clear.

don’t say a word.

ran’s eyes rake over your form as he answers, licking his lips like you could be his next meal, “yeah? he just got here. no, i would never! i’m offended you think i would,” whatever mikey’s saying has him grinning like a schoolgirl, gaze moving from you to koko, “if ya wanted to talk to him, why didn’t you call him. yeah, whatever, whatever, fine.”

he offers the phone to koko, who grimaces at the device.

“wants to talk to you.” ran elaborates, as if the implication wasn’t clear enough.

koko snatches the phone from him with a glare, letting go of your arm to turn away from the two of you, “hello?”

you can barely make out the sound of someone on the other line, lip pulled between your teeth when you see how koko’s face pinches in distaste for whatever mikey could be saying.

“are you sure that’s a good idea. no, that's not what i'm saying at all - okay, fine. yeah, i’ll take ‘em there. sure. bye.”

he hangs up with a scowl, tossing ran back his phone as he turns to reface you, “come on, we’re gonna go somewhere.”

“to mikey?” you ask, hope leaking off your tongue.

he doesn’t reply, opening the door and gesturing for you to exit the room when you don’t immediately begin moving.

you offer a small wave goodbye to ran and rindou, despite the fact that there was no pleasure in meeting them in the first place, and you miss the glare koko sends them once you’re walking down the steps. koko leads you out of the club, guiding you by the upper arm through the sea of people until you’re stepping into the cool night air outside.

though you’re no longer in the middle of the thrum of people, koko’s grasp on your arm doesn’t leave until he’s stopping in front of a sleek black car. a cadillac, maybe? mercedes? you’ve never been good with vehicles.

he opens the door for you, though, and you have enough sense to mumble a small thanks as you climb in.

when he enters through the driver’s door, he pauses for a minute, letting the silence wash over the two of you while gripping the steering wheel.

“it really is stupid of you to come around here, ” he says finally, still looking straight ahead while you move to carefully pull your seatbelt on, “i shouldn’t even take you to him, you know. i should just take you home.”

“you don’t have room to talk about stupid decisions,” you snap in time with the click of the buckle, “inupi and i have mourned the loss of people we care about who are still alive and well, that’s not fair.”

you see the way his jaw clenches, knuckles turning white from how hard he holds the steering wheel.

“we made sacrifices for you-”

“i made sacrifices too,” you frown, thinking about the lost opportunities to raise your son, “and i just want five minutes of talking to mikey. is that too much to ask?”

“you have other people to look out for instead, “ koko clicks his tongue, grip relenting as he looks over to you, “just remember that you asked for this.”

the weight of his words settle heavy in the air as he puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot.

the car ride is silent aside from the soft music that plays from the radio, turned to low volume. koko doesn’t move to break the silence, and you don’t have it in you to disrupt the tension that builds, anxiety creeping under your skin until it pops into goosebumps on the surface when he pulls in front of a large apartment building.

“you’re gonna go to the top floor,” koko explains, not looking over at you, “he should already be there.”

“should?” you parrot, nerves catching up with you.

��if not already then soon.” he clicks the button to unlock the doors for you, and your breath stutters at the sound, fingers dancing around the door handle.

“okay . . . thank you, koko. it’s . . . it is good to see you again. inupi would be happy to know you’re okay.”

you don’t stay long enough to hear the way he inhales sharply, don’t see the way he tenses from the words. koko doesn’t wait for you to enter the building before he drives off, and you don’t look back as you push open the doors.

the lobby is cold, you note dully, and it must be the reason your hairs stand on end when you find your way to the elevators. you wrap your arms around yourself after stepping inside of them, pressing the button to the top floor and willing your heart to not beat out of your chest.

you realize just how much money mikey must have when the doors open to a penthouse - the entire floor being taken up as the apartment. you slowly step inside, sliding off your shoes by elevator and peek around inside the open area, spotting a living room, kitchen, and dining room all in the space. there’s a hall that cuts off towards the right of the room and you wonder if that’s where the bedroom(s?) and bathroom are.

it feels wrong, almost, being here alone. though the room is definitely well furnished (the couch itself looks like it costs more than your broken down car), it feels . . . devoid of life. like maybe it’s only a place for rest - not a home. there’s no comfort of connection anywhere in the building, no vulnerability in personal property. you make your way further into the living room, eyeing the art hanging on the wall as if it could mean something to you.

“i really thought he’d take you home.” you jump at the sound of a voice, whirling around to face whoever could be speaking.

your mouth dries at the sight.

mikey, but surely not your mikey, with his hair cropped short and paler than anything you remember, with bags under his eyes and frame thinner than what could be considered healthy, steps into view from the hall, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

words die on your lips when he stops beside you, leaning back as if really taking in the painting you were eyeballing, head tilting, “heard you wanted to talk to me. must’ve been important if you went through all that trouble just to find me.”

you don’t know what possesses you to take the first swing, to hit at his shoulder and his chest with tears welling in your eyes, but you do.

and by some miracle, he lets you. it probably helps your hits are weak, with no intention to really harm - only needing an outlet for the emotions you’d been harboring for four fucking years.

“why didn’t you call me,” you whisper when you’re finished with your barrage of hits, letting him guide you to the couch and sit you down on it, placing himself on the other end, “i-i wrote to you, i texted, i called, i looked for four years, mikey, and i got nothing in return. do you even know what for?”

when you look at him, his gaze is set straight ahead to the wall across from the two of you, to the flatscreen tv that’s been off since you’d arrived - and who knows how long before that.

“i’ve been busy.” he offers instead of answering, stare unwavering despite the way you frown and sigh out your disappointments.

"too busy to respond? to even acknowledge my existence? what kind of fucking answer is that!?" you’re heated all over again by his lack of concession, at the way his eyes don’t leave the screen of the tv until you’re standing up from the couch with your arms out beside you, then tucking them into yourself and turning away from him, “koko was right, he should’ve just taken me home-”

“why’d you come?” he asks instead, gaze finally moving from the tv to you.

the question makes you pause, dig your nails into your arms as if that could somehow ground you.

“i . . . we have a son.” you say finally, not turning to face him as the words leave your lips.

you’re met with a beat of silence before he says, “i know.”

i know. i know. i know, i know i know i know.

he knew.

“you know?” you repeat, turning to face him, suddenly quieter than before.

“that you had a son,” he clarifies, face unreadable as he continues, “wasn’t sure if he was mine.”

“how?” you press, legs buckling under your weight and leaving you to fall back down to the couch.

“we . . . i’ve had koko do check-ins on everyone, every now and then,” he looks away at the admittance, “to make sure their lives are going well. did you know mitsuya’s a designer now? hakkai’s even modeled a few of his designs, and chifuyu and kazutora own a pet shop together, too” he’s deflecting, you can tell from the way he keeps his stare even and away from your own.

“i do know,” you snap, “because they visit when they can. they want to see their nephew when they’re able to come by.”

the way you bite your words out should sting, should hurt in a way he can’t place, but they don’t. he’s done this to himself, he knows, he’s just reaping what he’s sown.

“why’d you leave?” you whisper out, “w-why’d you just disappear? why didn’t you respond to me? why did it take me getting hurt for you guys to make yourself known?”

he opens his mouth to reply, to say anything, but he doesn’t have an answer that will satisfy you. he knows that, and that is enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

“have you seen him?” you’re still whispering, appalled he couldn’t assume your son was his - as if you didn’t pick the name shin for him. mikey shakes his head and it has you pulling out your phone with shaking hands, shoving it in his face until the lock screen photo of you, your son, and draken glare brightly back at him.

his gaze moves from you to your phone, eyes scanning over the photo before they flit over to your face.

“i didn’t know he was ours.” he defends, looking away, and you push the phone further into his face so he can’t escape it.

“i’m telling you now that he is. “ you’re leaning into his space now, emphasize the need to look at the photo with another shake, and when he looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes trail from your own to your lips, to the bruises that marr your neck from the night prior.

he tips your chin up to get a better look at them, setting you with a look when you offer some resistance, “did those guys do this to you?” you nod, “they won’t touch you again. no one will.”

you frown at the implication, pushing his hand away with the hand not holding your phone, and he grabs that hand by the wrist when he spots the bruises decorating the skin there, taking it in with a still expression.

“i can take care of you guys,” he settles, “make sure you never need or want anything. you won’t have to work at that shitty diner anymore. our kid would have anything he could ever desire.”

his hand comes up to cup your cheek, wipes the stray tear that falls from your eyes, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch.

“i’m not asking that of you,” you explain, closing your eyes and willing any other tears that want to fall away, “you don’t even know his name.” you remind him, opening your eyes and standing when your phone starts to ring. you wipe at your face hastily, looking at the caller id, and only get a glance of the name ken before mikey’s pulling you down into his lap.

you make a noise of disagreement, phone falling from your grasp to the couch beside the two of you from the sudden movement.

“tell me his name.” he says, one hand still holding your wrist while the other keeps you in place by the hip.

he practically demands it, eyes boring into your own as they search for the answer.

“shin,” you reply after a moment, pulling your lip between your teeth, “i named him shin.”

the hand at your hip grips it tighter, fingers digging into the flesh until it almost hurts.

“after?”

“shinichiro, yeah.” you don't know if it’s really necessary to clarify, but you don’t have a second to think about it when he suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips with his own.

you falter for only a second before you’re returning the kiss with fervor, the hand not being held by mikey gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

“i will take care of you guys,” he promises when he pulls away from your lips to press his own to your chin, trailing down to your jaw and settling at the junction of your throat, peppering kisses at the free expanse of skin until it’s decorated pretty with hickies.

his fingers dance under the hem of your dress, pulling you flush against him until your senses are full of nothing but, “can give ‘nother, you guys’ll have everything you could ever want.” he continues, the hand moving under your dress skimming across the tops of your thighs and pressing against your stomach.

you whine, quiet and high in the back of your throat that leaves him grinding against you, hand moving from your stomach to your bare hip to guide you. he’s saying so many things, whispering so many assurances in your ear, and for a second, it’s too much.

too overstimulating and happening too fast, but the way he holds you is so familiar, so comforting and warm and god you’ve missed him so fucking much. your phone buzzes to your right from the couch, and you pull away for a second to see it light up, see your brother’s contact pop up in that short amount of time before he’s forcing your attention back to him with a pinch to your hip, fingers pressing into your cheeks to turn your head back towards him.

“eyes on me,” he demands, “keep your eyes on me.”

#salmon rowe #mikey sano x reader #sano mikey x reader #mikey x reader #sano x reader #mikey sano #sano mikey #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader

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softlyopulent-if · 1 year

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Softly, Opulent is a dark fantasy romance, an interactive fiction not suited for those under 17.

Demo. [Prologue and Chapter One.]

The Queen dies the night you’re born. And your family locks you away.

All of King Adder’s children are a mystery to the common folk, but you—you are nothing but a ghost. A ghost, that spends eighteen years locked away in the deepest part of the palace, so that no eyes may lay upon you.

And those that do—they do not treat you kindly.

And when you are finally of age, at last, you are betrothed to the child of the King of a far away kingdom, to secure an alliance that your father has been seeking for years.

And you are swept away to a place even more foreign than your own land, to be wed to a stranger that looks at you with contempt. To live in a kingdom of citizens that despise you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, fight a war.

Content Warnings: Softly, Opulent contains many upsetting themes, such as: arranged marriage, child abuse, child neglect, assault, death, murder, suicide, sexually suggestive scenes, and more. Viewer discretion is advised, and this story is only appropriate for those 17+.

Customize your main character. (Name, Pronouns, Appearance, Personality.)

Romance one of four characters. (All of which are gender selectable.)

Overcome your past trauma.

Befriend many side characters.

Learn magic, learn how to fight.

Possibly overthrow your father, the tyrant King.

Attend balls, and witness the viper pit that is high society.

Fight an undead army.

The Betrothed, Aleksandar/Aleksandra. (Gender Selectable. She/Her. He/Him.) - They are the heir to the throne of Aslerea and your betrothed. But it’s the last thing they want to be. They seem to hold something against you. They are serious and spend hours upon hours training—they’re preparing for something. Their engagement to you is quite the hinder, but can you make them see it differently? Their duty blinds them, but you can change that.

The Pirate Captain, Rhys/Rhea. (Gender Selectable. She/Her. He/Him.) - They are a mystery. They are a pirate—the very embodiment of freedom and sea, yet they choose to remain in the kingdom of Aslerea more often than not. They stand to gain something by being there, but you don’t know what. There’s something in you that tells you that you can’t trust them, but their smile is so pretty, and their flirtation so constant that you want to. But maybe—just maybe, if you play your cards right—they will treat you as tenderly as their dearest treasure.

The Shadow, Calixta/Calix. (Gender Selectable. She/Her. He/Him.) - They are your betrothed’s younger sibling, and so no one pays quite as much attention to them. Though they seem content in their sibling’s shadow—content with their lack of responsibility—you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. They are as lazy as a bump on a log, and they likely sleep more than anything else—but there’s an interest in their eyes when they look at you. Is it something deep, or just a longing to claim what their sibling has? You could find out.

The Tutor, Mestra/Mestrn. (Gender Selectable. She/Her. He/Him.) - They are assigned as your tutor and tasked with the great undertaking of making you fit to lead. But they are also close with the people in the palace, and help the servants when they can. They know commoners by name and spend nights in the tavern, surrounded by free drinks. And while they are kind, there is something beneath it all that suggests a person that will go far to protect those they care about. Whether it’s because of their kind nature or something else, they have no enemies.

OTHER LINKS.

RO APPERANCES.

RO HEIGHTS.

#interactive if #romance #fantasy #twine game #twine #arranged marriage #softly opulent #SO #interactive fiction #interact if #if #romance if #fantasy if #dating sim #if story #interactive story

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and misses her gun home. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Hunted animals. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Life has been crazy. It still is. But this series is so much fun to write. Please know that your comments and love have kept my days bright. I read all your comments. Your likes and reblogs make me do my happy dance. It makes me happy that you guys are enjoying this series as much as I am. I apologize for the wait. I hope this new chapter makes up for it!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox @fxckmiup

Chapter Eight: You Can't Raise Hell With A Saint

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You watched the station wagon slowly back out of your driveway from your bedroom window. As you watched, you folded and then unfolded the piece of paper in your hand several times. Your father’s departing words echoed in the back of your mind.

“This is vital to maintaining our relationship with our allies. Remember. When the time comes, we must position ourselves on the correct side.”

You waited until the station wagon disappeared from view before your attention shifted onto the snowman across the street. Your father is gone for the weekend. Your assigned homework is already completed and buried in your backpack. You had hoped for two uninterrupted days with your friend. You two had discovered a perfect hill for sledding not too far away. You had hoped you could return to it this weekend with Nat. But before your father had left, he had given you an assignment. One you were not allowed to ignore.

But if you finish it quickly like your homework…

You turned away from the window and got dressed. The house was quiet as you descended the stairs and hunted through the kitchen for breakfast. Your father had given both your brother and sister assignments. You figured your siblings were already out doing them. You found an opened pack of pop-tarts hidden behind the jar of two dead mating frogs. You ate the delicious blueberry pop-tart and washed it down with tap water from the sink. Once breakfast was done, you pulled on your snow boots and put on your heavy winter coat. You unfolded your father’s note once more to reread the words hastily scribbled in fine black ink. Then, you refolded up the note and shoved it into your coat’s pocket.

You left out the back door and pulled on your gloves as the morning winter air scratched at your face. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you headed towards the treeline. The woods behind your house stretched onwards for roughly two miles. It was one of the reasons why your father had chosen to settle here. He could disappear into this patch of quiet woodland and no one but you and your siblings would know.

For a while, the only noise was the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the chirping of birdsong as you left your house behind and walked deep into the woods. The sunlight shone brightly off the surface of the snow and made your eyes water if you stared at it for too long. You felt the wind beginning to pick up and blow against your back as you walked. Your pace did not slow until you reached the base of a tree with a dead hare hanging from a snare.

You knelt down into the cold snow and pulled your hunting knife from your coat pocket. You cut the rope and lifted the dead animal up by the rope’s lead. Its dark lifeless eyes stared at you and you searched for any ounce of pity. When you didn’t find any, you stood up and continued walking. The weight of the hare hanging from the small noose made you feel less alone. You kept walking until you spotted a smooth, round rock. You picked it up and it nearly covered your whole palm.

You tied the end of the rope around the rock as you continued further into the woods. The light of the sun had started to dim when you finally reached a large pond. Your feet carried you to a narrow dock that stretched out over the water. The wooden boards groaned beneath your feet as you came to the end of the dock. You looked down into the dark water. It hadn’t frozen over yet which made your assignment easier. The wind continued to blow at your back as you tossed the dead hare into the water. The lifeless animal hit the cold water with a splash and floated on the pond’s surface for a moment. Then the dark water pulled the dead hare down into its depths. You waited for some kind of response. A sign that your assignment was complete. But nothing happened. So you turned and started the trek home.

Your thoughts returned to your friend as you began following your footprints back the way you came. You would have the whole rest of the day to do whatever you wanted. And tomorrow you wouldn’t have to waste any time with another assignment. Your immediate future was bright and that fueled your quick pace.

But your pace started to slow when you lost sight of your footprints in the snow. The wind that had been blowing must have covered them up. You ignored the first sour taste of fear and kept going. You had planned to just follow your tracks back home, but you could make it back without them. You had only gone in one direction. It wouldn’t be difficult to find your way back home. You shoved your gloved hands into the pockets of your heavy coat as the wind now blew against your face.

The light of the sun continued to fade as you made new tracks in the snow. You were going in the right direction. You had to be. But you spotted new bushes and weird leaning trees that you hadn’t seen before. You felt yourself shivering against the cold as the light faded into the coming dark. You kept walking until you finally leaned against a tree and sank towards the freezing ground. You closed your eyes and tried to curl yourself up as much as you could within the fading warmth of your coat.

You don’t know how you messed up your assignment. You thought you knew your way back. You thought this would be so easy. Your father had dragged you and your siblings out here plenty of times. Yet you’re lost and you don’t know what to do other than sit here and–

“Y/N!”

Nat.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

You miss your little piece of woodland paradise. You had discovered the small cabin during your fourth job. You had been posing as a realtor for your target. The cabin had caught your eye because of its remoteness. It was tucked away along the mountainside and far enough away from all the main roads that all you heard when you stepped outside was birdsong and the wind brushing through the trees. It was the perfect spot to kill your target. The cabin had been left on the market for years and only maintained by a vendor who came out once a season to keep the place from falling apart. You would have no interruptions to deal with. If your target tried to flee, it would be a long run back to a main road. And even if your target got that far, they would need to run from there back to the nearest town. This spot was an open playground. You could kill your target however you wanted. Chase them around if you were feeling energetic. Sever their head with an axe like a lumberjack cutting up wood.

But when you had pulled up to the cabin for the first time, you realized that you couldn’t do any of that here. Sure, you had plenty of space. The cabin was remote. The main road lightly traveled. When you let out a scream to test if anyone would come running, no one did. It wasn’t until you walked through the cabin and into each of the small, cozy rooms that you understood why you couldn’t bring your target here. The cabin felt too much like a home.

The pictures that hung on the walls were snapshots of the owner’s life. Frames full of smiling faces and captured happy moments. You saw the lives of their children begin with innocent, small, round confused faces and stop at handsome young faces decorated in medals and gowns. The furniture bore the nicks and marks of a life used. You could even see the spots of soot left behind in the fireplace where the vendor failed to clean.

You had only ever been in a home like this once before. You had sat down onto the couch in the cabin’s small family room and looked over at the kitchen. You imagined the smell of Nat’s home. You imagined Nat’s mother standing in the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of. You sat there for a long time. It had been the first time in years that you thought about your friend without all the other stories hanging onto the memory. You thought about Nat. You thought about how happy you had been around her. You tried to imagine her as an adult, but you couldn’t. She was dead, and you were no longer the kid she met back in Ohio.

You ended up killing your target during a private tour of a much larger home far away from the cabin you found. By the time you had bought and moved into the cabin, the new owners of the other much larger home had only finished finding all your target’s missing fingers. The cabin had become your home. Your place to unwind after your jobs. You had filled it with everything you knew that belonged in a home. You loved the feeling of walking through the front door after a long job and just breathing in the smell of your home.

Your bunk is nothing like your cabin. You are buried beneath all the important floors. Your room has no windows. Your room has four white walls, harsh overhead lights, and a white tiled floor. The brightness of the room often gives you a headache which is why your favorite time to be in your bunk is when you are sleeping. All the lights are off and you can listen to the hum of the air conditioner. The best part is that you don’t have to wear that stupid suit when you are in here. You are even allowed to speak, however the only person you ever talk to is Rumlow.

You miss your cabin so much.

The lights in your room come on when the door opens. The twin sized mattress you lay on offers the bare minimum of comfort, yet you don’t bother to sit up. Instead, as you wake and hear familiar footsteps, you drape your arm over your eyes. It successfully blocks out the harsh light, but does nothing to stop the approaching footsteps.

“The bosses up top were impressed with your Bardstown mission,” Rumlow says.

You can’t fight back the small laugh that works its way past your curling lips. With your arm draped over your eyes you can see Sikora’s bent neck clearly. You can still hear each crunch as his body collided down each step. “I killed one person and they weren’t even my target.”

“Which worked out in your favor,” Rumlow says as his approaching footsteps stop. “You played your part. The mission was a success, and no one will look deeper than that.”

You lift your arm away from your eyes and let it flop down to your side. The harsh lights already make your eyes water, but you focus on Rumlow who stands beside your bunk looking down at you. “Do you find your work fulfilling?” Instead of answering you, he turns and steps away from your bunk. You sit up. “Satisfaction is very important to me.”

Rumlow causally makes his way over to a small table. He picks up the half finished bottle of bourbon Nat gave you before leaving Bardstown. You couldn’t drink it then. Removing your helmet around her would go against everything Rumlow has been drilling into your head. But you had ripped your helmet off the moment you returned to your bunk. You had brought the bottle to your lips, and you had drunk so much while thinking of her.

“What are you asking for?” he asks.

“Let me work,” you reply. “Without the suit and the rules. Tell me who the bosses want dead, give me back my gun, and let me kill them.”

Rumlow sets the bottle down. “That’s not how this works.”

You roll your eyes and flop back down onto your bunk.

“I also don’t have your gun,” he adds.

You close your eyes and swallow back the urge to yell. You hate this role so much. If you were impressing these bosses so much, why wouldn’t they let you show them how good you really were? What was the point of all the secrets if most of SHIELD was really HYDRA anyways? Or at least, most of the important people. Or whatever Rumlow had told you during those first few days.

“The bosses were also pleased with how you handled Romanoff,” Rumlow says.

Your eyes open and you stare up at the bland white ceiling. You fight back the smile you know is coming when you think back to the best day of your life. You hope you end up on another mission like that. Just the two of you. The one little new piece of your life that made tolerating this role just a bit more manageable.

“How do you feel?” Rumlow asks.

Like you want to pour over the office directory until you find her office. You’d race up there and sneak in when she isn’t around. You’d sit in the comfortable office chair that you hope she has up there. You’d take your helmet off and wait. And when she finally enters you’d spin around in her chair for a proper dramatic entrance.

You turn your head to look at Rumlow. “Depressed. My favorite gun is lost.”

Rumlow holds your stare. You know what he’s looking for. Perhaps if he could read minds then he would have found it. Instead, you hide all your fantasies and memories behind your little lie. It’s easy. You do the same trick your father always did. String together a story from bits and pieces of truth and mold it into what you need. You know it worked when Rumlow finally breaks your little staring contest. You don’t move when he turns away from you. You don’t want to give away your victory.

“You have training with Rollins in twenty,” Rumlow says before he leaves.

You wait until the door to your room shuts behind him before you get up. You move towards the table and grab the half empty bottle of bourbon. You bring it to your lips and take a sip. The smooth amber liquid washes across your tongue and burns down your throat. You think of when she handed you this bottle. You remember the way her hands briefly brushed across your gloved ones.

You set the bottle down and change while your mind lingers in that memory. Rollins is already waiting for you when you arrive at one of the training rooms a few floors up. Bright sunlight pours through the windows that run along the far side of the training room. You feel uncomfortably hot underneath your suit, and you already miss the cool kiss of the air conditioning that hums in your bunk. When you see Rollins in the training room, your interior visor screen lights up with data you already knew. Except for the healing ribs. That part is new.

Rollins leads you over to a bunch of blue mats. The hand to hand combat drills still feel weird. You know what you are supposed to do. You had learned back when Rumlow first shoved you into this stupid suit that going for kill strikes was not in compliance. You had to work your way up to kill strikes to make everything more believable.

“You’re not an assassin anymore. You’re a SHIELD agent.”

Which wasn’t even the truth. You found that this dance they forced you to do felt awkward. Your movements felt sloppy as you fought not to go for the opening that would put your target down permanently. And when a kill strike was considered acceptable, it always came far too late. It never felt right. These lessons pressed up against the memories of your training back in Ohio, and it often left you feeling more frustrated than anything else.

Your training with Rollins is quickly following the same trend as all the others. Your punches feel sluggish and off. Every time Rollins dodges your hit or counters, you know exactly what you should have done instead. Your frustration grows as you hold back. Your thoughts scream at you in the roar of your father’s voice. You want to give in. Why trade blows when it can easily be only you hitting your target? But you’ve already tried giving in. You had managed to bloody your knuckles a bit before Rumlow had started talking to you about compliance. Everything had stopped despite your urge to keep going. Then you were back at the beginning as if your outburst hadn’t happened.

Rollins dodges one of your punches and delivers a blow to your torso that pushes you back a step. He doesn’t advance. He stands there and waits as you swallow back all the foul words that usually tumble out of your mouth whenever something hurts. It’s hard not to say anything. Especially when he stands there looking bored. But you aren’t eager for them to start fucking with your mind again, so you keep quiet. The sound of your heavy breaths fills up your helmet as you return to your spot in front of Rollins. You duck under his right arm as it swings out. Your fist slams into his healing ribs and the noise he makes is exactly what you needed to hear. His cry is short-lived as he quickly masks it with a grunt. He retreats from you, and you let him. You watch as his breaths become more labored as his hands press against the very spot you hit. You don’t know if you just broke one of his healing ribs. It hadn’t been your intention, but you certainly didn’t pull that punch.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

Her voice steals your attention. She stands by the door dressed in a dark gray sweatshirt and black joggers. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her head tilts slightly as her question is first met with silence. Well, more like your silence and Rollins’ heavy breaths. You could shatter this stretch of quiet in a heartbeat, and you want to. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you bury the urge. Your eyes greedily take in the sight of your friend. You are grateful for your stupid helmet as your eyes run down the length of her legs and stop at the black sneakers that cover her feet.

“I thought you were heading back up to New York with Rogers,” Rollins finally says.

“Eventually,” she replies with a slight shrug and walks further into the training room. “But I have some stuff I need to take care of first.” She uncrosses her arms as she casually approaches the mats. “You should head back before anyone from medical catches you here.”

“I’m a bit busy training the quiet one,” Rollins says.

You should have tried to break his ribs. He’d be too busy dealing with that pain to put a premature end to this wonderful moment.

“I can take over,” she offers.

Your helmet conceals the wide smile that cuts across your face. You don’t know what you have done to deserve so much alone time with your friend, but you will happily do whatever it takes to keep ending up in these wonderful moments. You don’t hear Rollins leave, and when you look over at the man, you can tell that he is unsure if he should leave. The questions he cannot voice are written plainly across his face and your smile falters. Is he…is he not going to leave? Is he really going to ruin this for you? You want to tell him that his concerns are unnecessary. If you were going to spill the beans, you would have done it the moment you and Nat were alone on the quinjet. Or sometime in Bardstown. Not in some fancy building secretly full of HYDRA agents ready to put you down with just a couple of random words.

“Don’t worry,” her voice pulls your attention back to her. Despite the fact that she is addressing Rollins, her focus is on you. You spot the beginnings of a smirk that stirs up something inside you. Something exciting and warm. “I won’t break her.”

You hear Rollins sigh and you feel the buzz of your excitement grow.

“If you do, you’re the one having that conversation with Rumlow,” Rollins replies. “Not me.” Rollins gives you one last warning look before leaving. You watch the man’s retreating form and feel at ease when you see his hand come up to gingerly touch the spot where you hit him.

When you look back over at Nat, you find her pulling her dark gray sweatshirt over her head. The uncomfortable heat that sticks to your skin beneath your suit returns as you feel your hands begin to sweat inside your gloves. You ignore the information that attempts to clog up your visor. Your focus is first on the black sleeveless shirt she wears. The hem of the shirt gets caught briefly on her sweatshirt and lifts to reveal the barest hint of a firm ab. You blink when the shirt falls back down.

Nat sets her sweatshirt aside and steps onto the mats. “Are they always that serious around you?”

You nod, but you are not thinking about Rollins, or Rumlow, or how painfully serious both tend to be at all times. You are too consumed by the realization that you have never seen this much of your friend before. No. That wasn’t it. You can recall several old memories of warm summer days and cool lake water. But you hadn’t felt like this back then. You are staring at her lean biceps and you just want to touch her.

She steps forward. “Your missions with them must be fun.” She shifts into a fighting stance and raises her fists. “Let’s see what you can do.”

You raise your fists and shift your stance. Your smirk at your friend’s earlier sarcasm falls away as your visor’s screen identifies multiple places to strike first. You know what you want to do, but that option isn’t listed anywhere on the screen. If it wasn’t for Nat standing in front of you, you would have quickly returned to your sour, frustrated mood. But instead, you wait for her to strike first. A few moments pass and all you two do is slowly circle the mats. You realize that she’s waiting for you to strike first. A hint of your concealed smile returns. You happily oblige.

Your fist swings towards her, and you feel her arm quickly block your strike. Your focus is on her face, and you can tell that she barely had to think about her reaction. You continue to move in a slow circle and she does the same. You fall back into the training that Rumlow has been drilling into you since they freed you from that chair. You move in and strike. You frown slightly as she blocks or dodges every one of your strikes. It makes you feel like she’s in your mind. That she knew what you planned to do the exact same time you did. You retreat back a step when your fifth punch doesn’t land.

You wait for her to move in with her attack, but it doesn’t come. You know she can’t see your face, but it feels like she can when she offers a small shrug and that small smile creeps back in.

“I’m guessing that was your warm-up?”

You know it’s bait, but you take it anyway. You move in with another series of attacks. Every single one of your punches feels just as sluggish as before. The rhythm feels off. You feel like each attack is wrong. Your strikes aren’t landing and just as you are about to sink into the seething grip of your frustration, you see Nat’s fist coming towards you. Your hand catches her wrist before her fist can make contact with your helmet.

You watch as her brow arches in a silent question. You ignore the data that races across your visor’s screen and focus on the weight of her wrist in your hand. The familiarity of it lures out pieces of warmer memories. The touch of her hand taking yours. How her touch would melt the rigid cold left after early summer mornings with your father. You abandon the awkward dance you have been following. You can hear whispers of your father’s voice in the back of your mind as you take a breath and move.

Her wrist slips free before you can pull her towards you. She goes on the offensive and the attacks you block send you back a few steps. You spy her foot moving to hook behind yours and you maneuver away from that pitfall only to feel her fist connect with your side. The pain is barely there. You two are sparring. But it lights a very familiar fire inside of you.

You press forward with an onslaught of strikes that feel more natural. She continues to block most of them until you manage to slip past her defenses and successfully hook your foot behind hers. As you sweep her foot out from underneath her, her hands come up to latch onto the fabric of your stupid suit. She lets her falling body pull you down, and you both land on your side. Your one hand reaches to dislodge the grip she has on your suit while your other instinctively reaches out towards her neck. You feel her legs wrap around your waist and in one quick movement, you are on your back. Her hand stops yours from reaching her throat and pins it against the mat. She quickly pins your other hand to the mat, and you stare up at her as your heavy breaths fog up your interior visor.

She doesn’t let go of your hands as she looks down at you. You know all she can see is her own reflection staring back at her, and you want her to pull the stupid helmet off your head. You wouldn’t be breaking the rules if she exposed this game. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans down just an inch or two closer and asks, “How do you feel about opera?”

You shrug.

Her smile returns as she finally lets go of your hands. She gets up and you instantly miss her warm weight on top of you. You sit up as she returns to where she left her sweatshirt. She digs into her sweatshirt’s pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it towards you. You catch it. You can feel another burst of excitement rush through you as you stare at the phone in your hand.

“That’s yours,” Nat says as she pulls her sweatshirt back on. “I thought it might be easier for us to communicate. I already loaded my number into your phone.”

You have her phone number. You don’t move from your spot on the mats as your fingers wrap tenderly around the phone. Direct access to your friend without needing to go through anyone else or jump through any additional hoops. It feels like you’re back in Ohio. All you need to do is cross the street, and she’s there waiting for you.

“I’ll be in contact soon,” she says as she moves towards the door. “Don’t put Rollins back in medical while I’m away.”

You watch her leave. You wait until she’s gone before you lean backwards onto the mat and let out a quiet, short laugh.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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within-your-eyes-if · 9 months

Text

Within Your Eyes Intro Post

DEMO [Last Updated Jan. 24th, 2024]

You are a Warden, a monster hunter who has come to the Kingdom of Auris which has become the forefront runner in it’s acceptance of magic and supernatural alike within the West Highlands. But when strange happenstances occur, you are called upon not just because of skill, but also because of your condition. A condition you’ve lied about for last 12 years.

Unearth the secrets that magic holds as a new form is discovered.

Befriend or romance those who attempt to worm through the cracks of the mask you wear. Or will you fight to keep them at arms length?

Regardless of where your journey takes you, your feathered friend will be at your side. As he always has been.

This story will be 18+ for the following reasons:

Explicit and erotic intimate scenes

Death, including of a child

Violence, blood and gore

Thoughts of suicide

Mentions of suicide

Self harm

Explicit language

Mental trauma

Horror elements

Feelings of being watched

NOTE: Your character will be pretending to have a disability (blindness), not because of a disorder but out of self preservation.

This list may be updated.

You are running away from your past. As you take a this new job, you're forced to confront it. What vices do you use to cope? Will you learn to rely on others or will your raven be your only source of comfort? Will you feel guilty for your lies? Yours will be a journey of self-forgiveness, or maybe you'll only fall deeper into despair.

Play as a man, woman, or non-binary. Gay, straight, or bi.

Plenty of customization options from physical appearance to clothes.

Φ Admos de Le Wren ─ Male | Draconian | Second-Born

Admos, the Dragon Lord of Auris, ascended to the throne following a devastating conflict with his father, bypassing his older brother's claim. This decision deepened the rift among his siblings. As he enters his fifth year as sovereign, Admos grapples with guilt and uncertainty about his role in the family's discord. Will you help him find clarity or fuel his doubts?

Φ Lyth/Lyari de Le Wren ─ Gender Selectable | Draconian | Tenth-Born

Ly took on the role of Viceroy/Vicereine in Auris and became their brother Admos's Right Hand, playing a vital part in the kingdom's recovery after a conflict with their father. However, an incident they triggered over a year and a half ago almost led to another war, casting doubt on their suitability for their position and their aid to their brother. Will you help Ly grapple with their past actions and uncertainties about their role as Viceroy/Vicereine, or will their internal conflicts remain unresolved?

Φ Leese/Lea van Laere ─ Gender Selectable | Human | Vampire

Born into nobility, Lee's life as the child of prominent figures in Lenia took an unexpected turn when they were turned into a vampire. Forced to leave their home, Lee now wrestles with their new identity, desperately seeking meaning in their existence and if it's worth maintaining.

Is Lee a monster consumed by instinct, or can you help them reclaim their humanity?

Φ Xiang Xiaowen/Xiaodan ─ Gender Selectable | Human

Xiao, an ambassador dispatched to Auris to aid the Dragon Lord in Council matters, fought hard to secure their role. Serving as an unofficial advisor, they frequently share insights to assist Admos. Yet their unwavering dedication to obtaining this position hints at a deeper motivation. Perhaps they will reveal it to you.

Φ Gabriel Duarte ─ Gender Selectable | Human

Assigned to you as an assistant of sorts, the recently knighted guard is searching for their place within the Order. Perhaps their new mission will set them on a path for glory, or sink them beneath the turmoils it takes to obtain.

Φ Hestia ─ She/They | Elf? | Witch

Even the most kind have their secrets.

Φ ???

Poly Routes: Lyth/Lyari and Gabriel | Leese/Lea and Gabriel | Xiaowen/Xiaodan and Hestia

Love Triangle: Admos and ???

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FAQ

Romance Information Post

Ko-Fi

Tumblr Asks are disabled for the time being.

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WYE will always be free with chapters released once they are finished.

This is a planned trilogy.

Thank you for reading and for your support! ♥

#interactive fiction #within your eyes if #text based game #text based adventure #twine game #twine wip #twine interactive fiction #twine if #twine story #cyoa #interactive game #interactive novel #twine games

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lains-reality · 9 months

Note

hi :) i hope you’re having a wonderful day

you’re literally the only blogger i trust when it comes to non-duality, and your advice has been the one i’ve been most easily able to apply/understand. I hope this doesn’t come off as a vent, but it probably will just because this question is so complicated and problem riddled, and tbh idek if you’re actually going to respond, but yea. it’s like star wars you’re my obi wan kenobi! my last hope lol

basically i’ve put my life on hold and procrastinated everything i’ve needed to do. (TW: death?? health problems/sa?) I went through a really bad year, last year. the human character i identify with (non-dualistic terms, bc ik this character isn’t me?) was sa’d in the beginning of the year. really traumatic. i dropped out of school, i couldn’t go out of the house because i feared for my life. i became super paranoid. i reported it and filed charges, but the justice system is fucked so.

anyways, after because the amount of stress i was experiencing, i became very ill. my biological father wished death on me, and i believed it at the time, because my sibling wished for me to get raped, and then it happened. i can see now, how my belief may or may not have been the cause of what happened. i then got cancer. the doctors couldn’t figure it out for months, and even ridiculed me- saying how i relied on google.

i finally went to a specialist who was immediately concerned, and then confirmed my suspicions. i was sort of friends with a blogger on here who got into the void and manifested their dream life. they went into the void for me and affirmed that i no longer had cancer, and that i could tap/wake up in the void. the next day, the huge lump/tumor on my neck was gone. all of my ailments- trouble breathing, patchy and rough skin ceased. i literally told my mother what happened which made her start believing in the power of “manifestation”.

because of the paranoia, and then cancer- i didn’t go to school my last 2 years of school. i switched to online, but never felt the need to complete my classes because i knew i would get into the void. i’ve gotten into the void, both by waking up/tapping into it but i haven’t been able to change my awareness, or “manifest” bc i was just mumbo jumbing words or poetry. i didn’t apply to university, because i thought i’d enter the void before then and revise my school grades + make it so i got into the university of my choice.

now, i have a week left before i have to finish my classes- which i have 7 of them, and so many assignments. i have to move out in the middle of august because i lied to my parents and said i got into university, because i thought i would’ve already changed things with the void by now. my life was fucked, then i fucked my life. after discovering non-duality i gained hope that i would be able to turn things around by now, yet i haven’t. i don’t know what i’m doing wrong, because i was able to show myself the truth of reality (as lester levinson said).

i am really stressing because now everything is falling down on itself. i try to forget my problems, and don’t give them life by letting go, yet it’s so hard when teachers are bombarding me with messages how i have to finish the classes, or how i have to move out soon. i know this is probably ego driven, but i feel as if i can’t see a way through because of how attached i am to this. my health has also been abnormal, which makes me fear that the cancer has returned. what should i do?? im kinda freaking out.

anyways, i am so sorry if this came across trauma dumping/venting. i am just at a point where i do not even know where to begin to conceptualize this into understanding. this took a lot of courage to type, as im a bit afraid still- that people who hurt me from last year will see this (even though i know they won’t, but still). i totally understand if you wish not to post this or answer it, as it is very long and limiting. thank you though! i hope you have a wonderful week:)

this was quite difficult to answer as i've never been through so much turmoil all at once. i hope this answer helps and you'll continue taking care of yourself! (i'm sorry i linked way too much lol just don't read it all at once!)

firstly i want you to rest.

you've been through a lot and you've also been putting off a lot to get into the void. stopping life for manifestation is common it seems, its not healthy either. so much pressure is coming from time. you put all your expectations on a method, and i'm gonna guess that you also put so much onto your mind to get you into the void.

practically: your biological father sounds abusive and so does your sibling, i would be more careful around him. idk if your not around him anymore, it sounds like it? but you need to plan accordingly for your lie. are you gonna tell your parents or ?

theres a massive chance you'll just go crazy trying to figure out all these moving parts, so i suggest do what you can and leave the rest. do the minimum to keep you safe, then figure out the rest as it comes. do whatever you need to do, just remember to not take on too much at once.

ask for breaks on work at school for medical reasons, maybe think about jobs, etc. you see how much more could come into the picture? but this is all the body-mind can do. its easy to treat it as god, but its not god.

"but i feel as if i can’t see a way through"

You fail to do the works of God, because you take the body to be God. - Ada B. [4dbarbie]

take a look at these meditations:

butter meditation

peace meditation

surrender meditation

un-identification exercise

crying meditation

i'd like you pick one of these exercises:

feel all the shit. feel bad. just do it. let all the bad feelings out. put on sad music and fucking cry. cry it all out.

let yourself rest, with no problems. if a thought or feeling comes in just let it, because its not a problem remember? :) just put on some calming music or visualise a calming place. and let yourself have some time with nothing. no conditions. no perfection. no obligations. no 'have to' 'should' 'must'. let that go for this time

feel as if you've died. feel as if you've been completely forgiven, feel as if there was a powerful white light that washed you away of all the crap. really feel as if the divine came down, hugged you and said 'i love you and forgive you'. its all over. finally its all done. you can rest. (i suggest kickstarting this with imagery or music, its hard to generate feeling such grace on you own. i saw a jesus holding a baby lamb picture that made me burst out in tears and realised that all i wanted was just to be, no obligations. i imagined waking up in a heaven, in a gaint flowerfield. do what you want)

one time i did the 1st and 3rd exercises (i made it up on the spot) and it was worth it. the next few days felt much better. its like an exercise in rebirth. let yourself be reborn.

some days you'll just do one or all 3. pick what ever feels right in what ever order. but i suggest that 'feel as if you've died' or 'no problems' comes last! the whole point is to let the painful emotion pass through and settle in a neutral or grateful place.

"after discovering non-duality i gained hope that i would be able to turn things around by now"

here's the problem, you went into a philosophy intending to manifest. yes,, (1) you can do that (2) its okay, AS LONG AS YOU DONT MISS THE POINT. the point being that there is no person! the character is a character, not you. manifestation is just another concept, you can use it as long as you understand that its not real. thats why i shared the BOOKS, you need to READ.

"i try to forget my problems, and don’t give them life by letting go"

don't force yourself to forget (don't say you're not forcing it, otherwise you never would of wrote "TRY"). just let them be. deal with it when it comes up. the mind'll want to make a bazillion plans and stress. if you can make plans without spiriling, then do it. if you can't, don't. there will probably be some things you need to plan and thats okay. but everything else, leave it.

you haven't actually let it go, you're here in my inbox. you do not need to force letting it go. you naturally let it go by realising who you are in relation to it all. if you think you're the body-mind then its impossible to let go, because its your life and it involves you and if you let it go to shit, you might die!! - says the mind. but if you're Self, then this is not you. all those stories mean nothing compared to Infinity, Absolute Perfection and Love!

the Self is who you truly are. Self is still underneath it all, it is all. its imagining itself being a human. the character is the wave, YOU are the ocean. ultimately this is about realising all the identities, images and roles that "you've" taken on and used as reference are not you. how can a story be you? how can the past be you? are you the past? are you currently living in the past? you can be if you keep bringing it into the now.

when you stop using the past as a reference point, how much more posibilities come up now?

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it can't access infinite intelligence. that's why it'll try to project into the future, and make plans. but it doesn't truly know. all it does is give suggestions based off the past. it is a combination of identity based off feelings, thoughts and memories that is collected and turned into a habit.

the past, memories, feelings, thoughts, identifies, roles etc all pass through you. they all come up like waves and then leave on THEIR OWN. if you hold onto these (which the character wants to do, it thinks thats all it is) it'll be painful when they are threatened in some way. a simple remark of "oh you look xxx" can be so painful for some characters because they based their whole life on a singular identity that WILL go.

Most of you can't change because you are so desperate TO change... but there is nothing to want to change. Things just are. Don't work with changing self, just realize who self actually is. [4dbarbie]

this is not a forcing thing, its just a rememberance. its done out of love, passion, a desire to just be free! with no ties to whatever identity! its takes courage, not convincing or denial.

Disbelieving you are Vanessa and denial are not the same thing. Denial is when you deny reality to something you're already giving reality to. Disbelieving was meant as an experiment, you never thought yourselves to be anything but this body, what will happen if you did? What are changes in your psyche, do you feel more confident, do you feel like you could take on the world? Don't you love Vanessa now that you know that she always was a choice? Even if she wasn't the greatest, what's so wrong with her? She is just somebody, she just lives a life. Things are only so serious when you're identified with her, you get scared, you get hurt, you feel stuck. But when you know that she can't hinder you? That she was never you? Don't you just want to laugh and hug her? [4dbarbie]

are you sure you're reading books and posts? a lot of this is already answered. your case is just more to deal with, but the point is still the same: you are not the body and mind, see what would happen if you questioned them.

just KEEP IT SIMPLE!

i'd like to leave you with this.

Once a young woman came to Hafiz and said, “What is the sign of someone knowing God?” And Hafiz became very quiet and stood in silence for nearly a minute. Lovingly looking deep into the young woman's eyes, he then softly spoke: “My dear, they have dropped the knife. The person who knows God has dropped the cruel knife so often used upon their tender self and others.” [source]

some extra resources

eft - health fear

eft - afraid to feel

we cannot practice letting go

heart of an emotion

i want to wake up with everything

hafiz - love's victory (PLEASE WATCH IT)

trust yourself

"You think you're doing it all for nothing, that's why you don't do it. But is freedom from pain really nothing? At least you are, for once in your life, sighing from relief from all this never-ending sense of doing."

health anon

apply

"All the process requires is letting go of thinking you are Vanessa."

behaviour

letting thoughts and emotions pass

challenge yourself

stories

everything brings you back to your Self

you've been through a lot and i'm glad you still are full of love! otherwise you never would've tried in the first place to change anything. use that love, take any anger and turn it into love for freedom! for Self! i know you can do it!!

also: the feeling of bad health coming back is a sign to me. you've put so much on hold: your healing from the sa, the healing from your family, the lying, LIFE in general. you can't keep doing that. turn inwards. the fear won't consume you.

#lainsmail

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fishwithtitz · 7 months

Text

Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)

Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst

aO3 link

Part One: What Goes Up...

Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home.

You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries.

It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.

The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens.

Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’.

It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction.

Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to.

You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening.

Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.

However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment.

Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead.

Despite his request, you stayed stationary.

You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath.

“Do you need a hug?”

Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him.

Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied.

It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.

Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon.

The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal.

Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done.

Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants.

Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work.

“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile.

“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark.

“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”

His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”

“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”

It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected.

Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat.

To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion.

If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were.

He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him.

“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly.

Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.

But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles.

By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry. But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.

You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”

And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely.

It was the beginning of the downfall.

🜏🜏🜏

A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo.

As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”

Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught.

That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back.

And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir).

This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room.

Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.

From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary.

“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”

And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week.

As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft).

Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal.

One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself

making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange.

Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom.

You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success.

“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”

With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own.

His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed.

“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.”

You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you.

“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.

“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”

The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”

Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”

Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”

Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”

“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”

At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”

At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”

You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”

At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”

The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you.

What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone.

Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this.

Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy.

As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right.

His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.

“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”

That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.

He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform.

Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin.

He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples.

Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment.

Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing.

When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion.

From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side.

“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”

He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead.

“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt.

Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption.

Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement.

“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”

Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding.

The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey.

He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins.

You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below.

Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.

Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak.

“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts.

You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.

He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”

You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin.

“You’re always worth it.”

🜏🜏🜏

Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute.

You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.

Only tears.

Tag list: @copiasghoulfriend @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool

Image Credit(s): Pinterest

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fluffer5 · 1 year

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How Protective Terrans Are

So... I might've dropped a few trauma bomb in my previous entries... but we won't further open those particular can of worms *smiles brightly while throwing the proverbial can at the traum-- ehem, garbage disposal*.

Anyways, this is my 5th entry to Humans Are Space Orcs! For today's human documentary, we're going to talk about what adult Terrans can and will do to you if you touch their young, family, close friends, pets, or special mementos given to them by a special someone (which doesn't have to be from a dead anybody or a romantic somebody). We all know people wouldn't hesitate to throw hands just to keep their people or stuff safe.

So, let's refer to my list, cuz it's easier to do lol. Again, I've used movies, series, podcasts, and a writer's angst-filled mind to type this. Should I warn the rest of you for further reading? I guess I should (I was so used to reading things without the warning that I'm sometimes confused of the TW tag on some stuff lol).

TW: Gore, violence, theoretical bodily harm even though I censored most of it, death, stabby people, bullying, the insanity train.

Kill the threat. Bit of an extreme one for the first thing to pop in my head, yes? But it is true. Wars were waged for lesser things. See this news article for one example: "Mom fatally shot home intruder to defend kids, she says". This one was published on August 18, 2022. In 2012, cuz I'm too lazy to search recent ones, there's another news articles featuring the same thing but focuses on a mother shooting an intruder to protect her 3-month-old baby. In 2015, an 11-year-old boy also shot an intruder trying to defend his 4-year-old sister from possible harm. I could go on and on about this but in countries where guns are not accessible, the next possible thing to use in defense would've been something sturdy and blunt or something extremely sharp. Actually, if we were in a time wherein tribes or kingdoms exist instead of cities, I can surely say that killing their young would definitely put you and your family in said people's sh*t list.

Fight the threat. Whether is be physically punching them on the face of the place where the sun doesn't shine, nobody cares as long as the deed of letting them know their place is done. Exhibit A that a lot of us know would be bullies ganging up on a younger sibling in school. We know that younger sibling are the proverbial pain in the *ss of older siblings. It's a love-hate relationship between them. But it's also an unsaid rule that only the older siblings can threaten or push around younger siblings. Anyone else touching them aside from the close family ties should be prepared to taste someone's fist. Or feet. Or the pavement. You get the gist of it. Though as long as the child in question can take care of the bullying on their own (which I did in my experience) then the parents or older sibling would gladly back off until the time they notice that things are going too far. Though, sadly, some kids prefer not to talk about their problems which leads to behavioral issues in the future, sorta trying to get attention from their elders but in a negative way.

Threaten the threat. I see this as the tamer version of protection actually lol. I don't know about other countries but in my country, the smart kids in school can threaten your life as a student. We have the usual bling-bling kids with the money and huzzah but they don't last long in the face of being a social pariah at school. They can throw money all they want but the smart kids wouldn't be threatened at all cuz they hold the key to higher GPA. Even the teachers complain about them nerds but action speaks loud and their compilation of evidence speaks louder lol. You'd be lucky if the nerd assigned to you has the patience of a saint cuz if not... well, I've had to stop fights from breaking out from simple arguments. Not just in school though. If you've got connection in higher places then that could also be a way to threaten someone (it does happen in real life so it isn't far-fetched). Though it is more effective to threaten the threat if you're in the same place as them. Another thing would be holding blackmail on said person (though that only works if they're not an immediate threat). If you have enough social influence, well, you can destroy their entire life without touching them even once.

Torture the threat. A friend says I'm too kind for ending their lives easily. Well, watching too many action and horror films prepared me for this part lol. I don't know which one would be done but interrogators have done the worst to get information from their victim. Too gory for this though and I don't know how many kids or emotional teens are in here so I have to censor a ton of the juicy details. Let's say it would be a bit similar to Saw, Jigsaw, and war interrogations. Chemicals, acids, peeled skin, salt, knives, and hammers might also be in place. Just know that it would be a bloody, unforgiving event that would take place in that particular room with that unfortunate victim.

Play the long game. Another said killing them quickly was... well... too quick XD. This one centers heavily on having money and patience. Know who the threat is, where they live, who they interact with, and what makes them tick. For this to work, you need to give up who you were before and settle on anonymity. This is... a bit more drastic than torture but works well if you have too much hate in your chest or the deed done was something you can never forgive. It's more on watching them physically suffer with their injury or doing the threatening on their family (gets messy very fast), but since this threat had amassed A LOT of enemies, they won't exactly know who did the evil deed on them. Shoot them on their legs, feet, and shoulder. Their spine if you're a good shot and know where to hit. Places that aren't close to their vital organs but would render them disabled. You'll let them live, but it will be a life of pain and agony.

Talk to the threat. The most peaceful type and probably the most boring out of this chaotic list > v <. This should be the first thing we do and not escalate to violence if some of us can help it. Again, your patience and wit will be tested here. If your threat is minor (like another child), then talking to their guardian would help with keeping the problem from going through a rollercoaster ride. Sometimes that doesn't work and the problem turns into an adult fight.

In summary, you have 2 kinds of Terrans. One would shoot before asking; the other would talk before shooting. Which is why you should never step on this particular deathworld if you were thinking about making Terran slaves or using our young in experimentation. We haven't given chase on aliens yet. Don't make yourselves the first intergalactic specie the Terrans would obliterate.

Meanwhile in a fast approaching spacecraft...

This alien reading this How To Deal With Terrans manual : Why did we want to go to this deathworld again?

Another alien turning yellow from anxiety : To befriend them and learn about the resident Terrans?

Yet another alien wilting as they feel faint from the information : Oh, thank the stars we won't be terrorizing them.

The alien commander whose frills are flaring in alarm as they read through the unredacted version of the manual : They will torture and skin us for taking their young and their pets?!

This particular scientist whose skins are changing colors in excitement : See? I told you their famous quote of "If predator not friend, why friend shape?" also applies to them!

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akystaracer22 · 1 month

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Free the Bird from its Gilded Cage

Synopsis: Lucifer would tell anyone who asked his greatest regret was letting humanity eat the apple. Better than admitting what he really regretted.

Notes

Golly gee good thing affairs didn’t exist back then huh!

In which Lucifer’s tism hurts his best friend, the fic.

I think I can tag this as Edenpoly considering the conversation between Lucifer and Lilith.

I give my greatest thanks to my good friend Hat who uttered the phrase “I raise a glass to the friend you could have been and drink to the monster you became” (Or something of the sort) which has not left my brain 2 years later.

No shade on other people’s depictions of the ancient archangels. I love good archangels as much as you guys but… this is very much bashing.

I’m so sorry Michael. And Azrael, and every single angel who’s characters I butcher in this AU. It’s not you guys I swear.

God on the other hand fuck you I’m not sorry.

I have been told by many people irl that I have religious trauma. I didn’t think I did but fuck it we ball.

I am so sorry this came out late but I had two assignments and I'm moving houses, I'll try not to have a repeat.

Word count: 1957

Fic under cut!

Lucifer felt Lilith before he saw her, the first woman’s aura screaming frustration and hurt louder than the tears in her eyes.

She was sitting under an aspen tree with her legs tucked to her chest.

Lucifer didn’t need to guess why she was upset; it could really only be one thing these days.

“Adam did something again, didn’t he.”

Lilith huffed and lifted her head to meet Lucifer’s gaze, “We fought, again. He still doesn’t get it.”

Lucifer sighed and sat down next to the first woman, not for the first time the little voice in his head bemoaned Adams chronic inability to listen to anyone other than God. It was really starting to cause problems in Eden.

“He’ll regret it.”

“He always does, but he still does it.”

Lucifer nodded, “He needs to learn that God isn’t right about everything,” His siblings would murder him if they knew he was spreading this kind of blasphemy, “But I do agree, it’s a little irritating.”

“It is!” Lucifer jerked as Lilith stood up abruptly and began to pace, “He’s great most of the time don’t get me wrong, but he’s just increasingly growing more and more insufferable! It’s like every time he gets better he just goes straight back to being worse!”

“Truly the trials and tribulations of the first humans.”

“I just wish he would listen to me! Not some stuck up self-important know it all who thinks I’m worthless.”

Lucifer wisely held back the instinctive defence of the Creator, “Especially when you are so much more than that.”

Lilith seemed to finally run out of steam, falling back into Lucifer’s arms and holding him tightly, “I hate this… I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t… I hate the man God wants him to be.”

“I hate that man too,” Lucifer admitted, “I hate how he hurts everyone.”

Because it wasn’t just Lilith that was left hurting. Lucifer hated how he was losing track of the near silent breakdowns of Adam’s.

God created humanity different from the grand design, and every day Lucifer loathed that fact more and more.

“He’s going to win, that man.”

“Neither of us will let him.”

“He’ll let himself,” Lilith hissed right by his ear, the sound sending a shiver down Lucifer’s spine, by the choirs that felt good “Adams an idiot.”

“Yep!” Call Lucifer blasphemous, but he was so tempted to-

Lilith opened her mouth to say something, and Lucifer listened to the little voice in his head once again.

He caught her mouth with his own swiftly before pulling back, face flushing as he realised what he just did.

That was something only Adam and Lilith was supposed to do with each other.

Lilith blinked, taking time to process before giving her response, “Do that again.”

Lucifer didn’t need to be told twice.

The bark of the aspen tree was lit up by Lucifer’s wings as he pressed his lips to Lilith’s again.

And again.

Lucifer had never felt so good. He could see why Lilith and Adam like doing this. This felt so good.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

It was hours until Lucifer disentangled himself from Lilith, still not having quite recovered from the experience. Sadly, he could feel the mental tug attached to his halo signifying his siblings wanting an audience with him. The last thing he wanted was to have them come down and see him with Lilith.

The moment he returned to heaven however, he had the distinct feeling that he might have messed up regardless.

Michael was pacing and muttering angrily under his breath, sharp sounds grating Lucifer’s awareness. When the archangel saw Lucifer, his wings physically bristled as he lunged forward and grabbed the Morningstar by the robe.

“You are so very fortunate that God was already growing tired of Lilith’s rebellion!”

“What?”

“Michael,” Lucifer turned to see Azrael landing nearby, “I highly doubt Lucifer knows what he has done, as impulsive as he is.”

“What? What happened,” Lucifer demanded, mantling his wings to make himself look larger as he stared down the other archangels.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what!”

“God decided to give the first man a new wife,” Michaels words cut through Lucifer’s anger and left only shock, “Made from his rib.”

“… what?”

“Yes, I had to tear it out myself,” Michael huffed, Lucifer noticed the dried red still dusting the angels gloves, “Adam tried to flee.”

“…”

“What Michael means,” Azreal shot the other a look, “Is that Adam didn’t take the information well, and saw it fit to attempt avoiding the situation entirely.”

“He was awake?!” Lucifer screeched “By the choir what is wrong with you two?!”

“It was the Creator’s wishes, none of us knew it would bring pain,” Azrael sighed, “However, it would encourage not repeating the situation…”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Michael scoffed, “The Creator ensured Adam wouldn’t remember.”

“It would taint him.”

“It would motivate him.”

“What?”

“Our Creator has decided to take a more… hands on approach in ensuring the situation does not repeat itself,” Azrael looked uncomfortable, “Xe employed the use of divine power to keep Adam and Eve from straying from the grand design.”

Lucifer took a step back.

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Lucifer couldn’t hear over the roar of nothing in his ears.

No.

Nononononono.

Lucifer ran.

He broke into a sprint before diving back down to Earth, landing on the soft grass of Eden he looked around desperately.

“Adam!”

“Yes?”

Lucifer turned around as Adam’s figure came into view from behind a tree, “Adam-”

His eyes were gold.

Lucifer stumbled back as he took in the first man’s appearance, Adam’s eyes were no longer the colour of earth. The familiar dark brown orbs that bore the gold of honey and of leaves in the sun were gone. In their place was the brilliant gold of divinity, of heaven, the same gold of the-

The chain attached to his wrist.

Lucifer lunged forward and grabbed his friends arm, pulling him forward and running a hand along the softly glowing cuff on Adams wrist.

It was definitely the Creator’s doing.

“Adam what have they done to you.”

“Ah, apologies, but have we met before?”

Lucifer’s golden ichor froze as he looked back up to meet that accursed golden gaze, “What?”

“It is just that… you seem familiar with me, but I do not recall ever having met you. I apologize.”

Lucifer stepped back from the first man, “What.”

“Were you present for my creation? That day was such a blur I hardly recall all those present.”

“Adam- Adam look at me,” Lucifer grabbed Adam by the shoulder, staring desperately into those too gold, too inhuman, too holy eyes “Adam. You are my best friend. You remember me don’t you?”

Adam’s eyes flickered for a moment, that familiar beautiful earth brown peeking through for a moment before being swamped by heavenly gold.

“You are an angel; how could I ever be friends with someone of a higher status such as you?”

Lucifer wanted to cry.

The Creator truly was cruel.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Lucifer couldn’t do this.

Lucifer shoved Adam away and ran like a coward, stumbling through the bushes and past trees as he ran away from the puppet wearing his best friends face.

He didn’t even talk like Adam.

The Creator just stripped his best friend of everything that made him… him.

Lucifer collapsed under a willow tree as he sobbed into his arms.

He didn’t move for a long time after that.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Lilith found him in the dim of night, her eyes sharp and he teeth bared in a rueful grimace even as she took him into his arms.

“We’re not letting them get away with this. Not this time.”

A hot flame of righteous anger sparked in Lucifer’s heart as he held onto Lilith. She was right, this crossed a line.

Lucifer wanted to rush in, to steal Adam away and find a way to break that chain.

Lilith told him to wait, to watch and observe as she would.

“Right now, heaven does not know about our rebellion, if we move too quickly we will both be destroyed.”

She was right, of course she was. Lucifer hated it though.

They had to watch Adam go through the motions of what his life used to be. The way he would no longer wander the garden without reason.

He wouldn’t play with the animals anymore or sit and relax under the sun.

Lucifer almost broke the trunk of a tree when he saw Adam tear out a plant Gabriel considered ‘too imperfect for the garden’ even though Lucifer knew that it was Adams favourite flower.

That flame of anger grew every time that damned shackle glowed and chained Adams will.

It took a little time to figure out, but if there was one thing Lucifer was sure would free Adam and Eve, it was the apples of knowledge.

They had to.

Lucifer and Lilith also watched Eve through everything. She seemed meek through the control of the Creator, but in the few moments the attention of heaven faded and the gold in her eyes let a little bit of reddish brown through, they got to know her.

She was gentle and sweet to the animals but there was a steel in her spine.

She was vibrant and wild as she chased the cheetah’s around the garden or buried her head in a grizzly bears side.

Lucifer grew to love her in a way. As little of her as he could see. But she was the one the Creator paid less attention to, and why would xe? She is supposed to be subservient to Adam.

Lucifer shifted into the form of a snake and curled through the branches of the tree of knowledge as she came into view.

Showtime.

“Eve my dear, may I borrow your attention for but a moment?” Lucifer sing-songed, drawing the girls eye as she stopped at the base of the tree.

“What is it you require of me, snake?” Eve asked, Lucifer watched intently as the telltale hint of red brown filtered into her gaze, this was the shot he needed.

“The fruit of this tree, could you tell me how it tastes to you?”

The woman flinched back as if struck, and Lucifer’s eyes narrowed at her response.

“I couldn’t, God said-”

“And have you not wondered why xe demands such things of you? Have you not questioned why xe forbade this?” Lucifer hissed, snapping off an apple and letting it fall to the ground at Eve’s feet, “I know, and that is why I ask this of you.”

Eve’s will fought with Heaven for a moment as she picked up the apple, but she was not gone yet, “God said that if I ate the fruit, I would die.”

“And the Creator lies to you,” blasphemy dripped off of Lucifers tongue as he all but snarled at Eve, the white-hot flame of fury envenoming his words, “To eat the apple is not to die, but to be freed. To have your eyes opened to the truth around you.”

Eve held the apple in her hands, the reddish brown in her eyes traitorously present.

“How do you know I won’t die?”

“Because my dear, I have had my eyes opened long ago. To open them is a freedom the Creator keeps from you on purpose,” Lucifer hissed, “You will not die, of that I can promise.”

Eve bit into the apple, and the chains snapped under the weight of knowledge granted.

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yanderes-galore · 4 months

Note

Can I request yandere Michael Afton with Henry daughter that was protected by platknic yandere lefty?

Sure! Lefty is Charlotte in this, so Lefty is referred to as (She/her).

Yandere! Michael Afton with Henry's Daughter! Darling protected by Lefty

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic (Michael)/Platonic (Lefty) - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Overprotective behavior, Rivalry implied, Violence, Jealousy, Violence, She/Her Lefty, Trauma/Trauma bonding, Michael is a corpse, Death, Attempted murder, Forced companionship.

Alright, you were the sister of Charlotte.

You, Charlotte, and Henry were originally an okay family.

However, William ruined your life.

William killed your sister and your father became obsessed with revenge.

So, honestly, you and Michael already have similarities.

Dead siblings… horrible dads… life ruined by William…

You'd get along.

You probably both met due to Henry, too.

Henry assigned you to help Michael with luring the animatronics into one place to end this.

Which, of course, allows you to meet Michael.

It's weird and slightly nauseating for you though due to Michael's… state.

He's a corpse that tries to hide that fact with too much cologne, makeup, and a strange bear mask.

The way he talks is raspy, too.

This is where the story takes place.

You work with Michael and you soon lure Lefty/The Puppet into your Pizzeria.

You no doubt know what Michael is even when he tries to hide it.

Despite this you still strike up conversation about your past and how the job is going.

Michael probably begins to have a soft spot towards you due to your shared trauma.

You're more closely linked than you think, y'know?

This makes Michael begin to see you not just as a coworker… but a friend, maybe even more.

Although he probably tries to hide such feelings due to what he's become.

So while you “bond” with Michael through your shared past and the job, there's someone lurking in the darkness.

Lefty, who in this concept is indeed possessed compared to my other ones, remembers you.

To be more specific, Charlotte remembers you as her sister.

She still hates Michael… but not you.

She remembers you in a good light.

You and her father were no doubt devastated about her death.

I also think Charlotte has missed you since she's died.

What she doesn't enjoy is the fact Michael is with you.

Charlotte, who I will now call Lefty, associates Michael with William.

She wants him dead.

Even more so with him so close to you.

The sight of Michael trying to bond with you more than her, or the possibility that you can get hurt, sends her into a rage.

So while Lefty tries to kill Michael, she is actively doing it to try and protect you

She doesn't want you falling prey to a similar fate to her.

She still cares for you too much for that.

I can see the dynamic of this being Michael trying to protect you from Lefty, with Lefty trying to protect you from Michael.

It's like a game of tug o'war between you.

Michael assumes since Lefty is after him, Lefty will kill you too.

Meanwhile Lefty thinks Michael will hurt you like William did to her.

You have a hard time trusting either of them.

Michael seems to have a strange fascination with you due to shared trauma while Lefty keeps trying to isolate you.

You're caught in the middle.

They both probably mean well, but you don't trust it.

You also might not know Lefty's true identity.

Which only concerns you more when the black bear keeps trying to get close to you.

The rivalry between the two only makes this whole job harder.

During the day you work with Michael to gain money.

During the night you end up tracking Lefty.

Lefty would probably tell you her identity once she has a chance, which shocks you.

Yet Michael wouldn't take it well for a few reasons.

One, Lefty may be your sister but she's still trying to kill him.

Two, Michael wants all of your attention on him.

The fighting no doubt continues right up until Henry's plan hits its end.

Michael keeps trying to keep you in the office with him while Lefty/Charlotte is trying to coax you to stay with her.

Lefty knows of the dangers in this pizzeria.

Michael does too.

So, it's just a decision of who will protect you each night.

Does your choice even matter in the end?

You'll probably all burn by the end of this.

#yandere fnaf #yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere michael afton #yandere lefty #yandere fnaf pizzeria simulator #yandere fnaf 6

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pez-and-quiet · 6 months

Text

@longlivetheemperor hi first things first, please don’t talk to my girlfriend like that,

The queer community has no representation in Star Wars, there are no open queer relationships, no trans or genderqueer characters. When we aren’t represented we are going to look for clues of a possible one. Wolfwren is that possibility, it gives so many queer people, (including myself) hope that we can see ourselves in our favourite media.

AND using THAT word is disgusting, barbaric and inhumane. It is extremely triggering to so many people on this platform and the fact you are just throwing it around baffles me. You obviously have no regard for anyone trauma.

Where Shin and Sabine stand in the show is rivals, they are fighting for opposite causes which pits them against each other. Yes Shin attempted to kill Sabine BUT that was because Sabine was trying to stop Shin from completing her assignment. disobeying an order could’ve gotten Shin herself killed.

Ezra and Sabine are sibling coded characters, even when Ezra had a crush on Sabine it was written as a one sided one. Sabine has always rejected Ezra, she sees him as a little brother and by the end of rebels they have that sibling dynamic.

One of the main tropes in Rebels is found family and that’s what the ghost crew is, mom and dad Hera and Kanan, Oldest child Zeb, middle child Sabine and youngest child Ezra. And if you wanted to be funny about it Chopper as the family dog. My point is the entire Ghost crew has been family coded from the beginning!

Also blocking my girlfriend isn’t going to do much, your just scared to hear what we have to say

#wolfwren #sabine wren #shin hati #natasha liu bordizzo #ivanna sakhno #ahsoka #Star Wars #standing up for the right thing #dont mess with my girlfriend

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jahayla-parker · 11 months

Note

hi! I was wondering if you could do Kaz with a tour her sister or something where he doesn’t want her to get hurt but she thinks that he thinks that she’s weak? (That sounded so confusing sorry) if you can’t it’s fine though. Don’t forget to drink water! And maybe take a little walk?

-🍁

Worrier and Warrior : Platonic/Sibling Kaz Brekker x Sister!Reader

Part 1

Desc: Kaz’s little sister is the latest victim of Kaz’s lack of communication and transparency. This results in actions that cause even more tension between them. Will Kaz ever get over his toxic habits and be truthful with his sister or will it be too late?

Warnings: SoC type content and applicable warnings, including mentions of trauma, violence, sickness, injuries, death, etc.

Part Two Can Be Found Here

Both parts can be found here

Y/n groaned to herself as she sat in the chair across from Kaz’s desk. She’d had enough of his behavior lately. He’d been excluding her from heists and even refused to let her work nights at the Crow’s Club. Y/n knew her brother well enough to know there had to be a reason for his behavior. Kaz never did anything without thinking it through.

Kaz limped into the room exuding his annoyance, having had to follow his sister into his office. He did not want to talk. Much less talk about this matter. He had his reasons behind his behaviors and he didn’t feel he needed to explain them to her.

Yet, she’d snapped at her brother moments ago. She hasn’t intended on doing so, but she couldn’t help it. She felt excluded and unwanted thanks to Kaz’s actions. So, when he gave out shift assignments and once again left her off of it, she snapped and called him out on it. Kaz ordered her to head to his office, hence why they were both sitting in the dusty room in the attic.

Y/n stared silently at her brother as he sat down across from her. Kaz copied her and silently shook his head as his eyes glowered at her. Neither sibling spoke for awhile. It was only when y/n huffed and stood up to leave that Kaz elected to speak.

“You have nothing to say?” Kaz remarked, raising his right eyebrow at her.

Turning back to him, she glared, “you’re the one who ordered me to your office”.

“Because you raised your voice at me before my crew” Kaz argued, shifting his jaw.

Y/n laughed sarcastically, “I raised my voice before your crew?”

Kaz steepled his hands as he stared at her silently.

“First, you’re not my parent Kaz! You’re my older brother, but you’re not in charge of me” y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kaz flinched faintly at the mention of their family. Y/n noticed and thought about apologizing. But, she knew that would only make him more mad. Besides, his immediate return to his dismissive body language removed any guilt she felt.

“Second, I am part of your crew! Yet, you treat me like I’m different” y/n pointed out, stepping closer to him.

Kaz tilted his head slightly to the left, “you are different”.

“Why? Because I’m your sister?” She groaned, throwing her head back.

“Younger sister” he corrected stoically.

She squinted at him as she returned to her seat before him, “so?”

“So you need to trust me. I am better equipped to handle these matters” he said confidently, an egotistical glimmer in his eyes. It made y/n want to reach across the table and punch it out.

“Just because you’re older? I can handle myself Kaz. Just last week I handled Guiblan and his crew by myself” y/n pointedly reminded him.

Kaz scoffed, leaning back in his seat dismissively. “Last week as in when you were stabbed during what should’ve been a simple task?” He remarked.

Y/n sank in her seat. She was suddenly weighed down with self-doubt and embarrassment. These weren’t often feelings that her brother made her feel. However, for that exact reason it felt extra heavy.

“Is that what this is about? That’s why I’m no longer assigned tasks or shifts?” She questioned quietly.

Her mind raced as she waited for his reply. It wasn’t like she tried to get hurt last week. Saints, she fought off numerous large men by herself even though no one else was supposed to even be there. She even still successfully completed her task. Yet, that wasn’t enough for him?

Kaz stayed silent. Instead of responding, he looked away from her. His eyes were now staring sharply at one of the cracks in his wall.

Y/n stood up to leave. “For the record, I was out numbered. Besides, there weren’t supposed to be any guards in the first place”.

“Not everything goes according to plan all the time” Kaz acknowledged with a small dismissive shrug.

Y/n bit her lip as her head lowered slightly at his comment. “I’m aware of that, but-“

“But, you weren’t able to handle it without getting injured” Kaz said, his eyes snapping back towards her. He quickly realized he almost revealed the real reason behind keeping y/n from being involved in any Crow or Dreg business. As such, he puffed his chest and added, “and then Nina had to waste her energy taking care of it and couldn’t work her next shift.”

Y/n balked, her already pale skin losing color. “Wasted her energy? Fuck you Kaz. I never asked for her to take care of my injury-“ y/n defended.

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped, slamming his gloved hands on table as he rose from his seat. “I take care of my Crows. This whole business doesn’t work without my investments operating at full capacity” Kaz reminded her.

She stated at Kaz silently for a second. Did he really just call his own sister an investment to his business? He was mad because she was utilizing too many resources? Resources she never asked for?

Y/n wasn’t sure what to say. But it didn’t matter. Because just as she opened her mouth to speak, Kaz interrupted.

“You were decommissioned for days and took Nina down with you. I cannot have that” he said, much more calmly this time. However, there was still a burning anger to his eyes.

“The others get hurt too Kaz, why am I the one needing to apologize for it?” Y/n questioned. She was hoping there was something she was missing. After all, if she were only an investment like the others, why was she being targeted by him?

Kaz once again broke eye contact. His gaze drifted to his cluttered desk this time. “I needed more from you” He said simply.

Y/n squinted, “tell me what you want and I’ll do it”. She didn’t understand what was happening. If her brother needed something from her, he would always just tell her. Why did that change?

“You cannot do it” Kaz stated emotionlessly.

Was that what it was? He was mad not just because she was utilizing too many resources. But because she was utilizing too many resources while not contributing enough in exchange?

Even more than that, he didn’t think she could? Kaz wasn’t an idiot. So was she truly that weak and incompetent? Y/n hadn’t thought so, but maybe she was wrong. “Ka-“ She began, hoping to clear the air.

“Y/n, listen to me. I know what I can and cannot assign you” He said dismissively, shaking his head in frustration.

She stared at the side of his face as he actively ignored her. There was suddenly this defeated heaviness settling into her chest. She took a deep breath before reluctantly asking one of the pressing questions in her mind. “So I’m done with it all?” Y/n questioned.

“If there are tasks I think you can handle, then I will inform you of such. Until then, drop this attitude” Kaz ordered.

She shook her head. The action mostly for herself over her disbelief; after all, he still wasn’t looking at her. “What do you expect me to do in meantime?” Y/n sighed.

Kaz groaned as he ran a leather glove covered hand through his tousled hair. “I don’t care. Read. Have a music session with Wylan. Saints, maybe have Inej or Jesper train you to handle fights.” He remarked, eyes flickering up to her frame.

Kaz watched as she visibly sank. Y/n shrunk in both posture and confidence right before his eyes. And then she was gone. It was all his fault; he knew that.

He even felt a morsel of guilt and regret over it. But that diminished when he recalled seeing his younger sister bleeding from a stab wound. Y/n had gotten the injury because of him. But that wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t.

Kaz couldn’t let it happen again. He wasn’t sure if he could survive that. Sure, y/n had healed fine. But, it very easily could’ve ended in her death instead. That was something Kaz would do whatever necessary to prevent.

He’d lost his older brother Jordie. He couldn’t lose his younger sister as well. He loved and cherished her too much. Kaz and y/n had always been close.

They were both little when Jordie passed. All three siblings had gotten sick; but only two survived. His brother’s death tore apart almost every aspect of Kaz’s life. All the way down to his morals and life’s motivation. Yet, he didn’t let it tear his relationship with his little sister away.

Kaz had fought to keep himself and y/n alive ever since that day. Y/n had always looked up to Kaz. And while his behaviors changed drastically after Jordie’s death, hers didn’t. She continued to look up to Kaz and tried to be like him. That infuriated Kaz at first, until he realized it was the one thing that would truly keep her safe.

Yet, when she was stabbed last week, that notion evaporated. Kaz knew who was responsible. And he knew why they did it. He’d pissed off the wrong person.

Well, to Kaz there was no such thing. But when it came to getting his sister involved, that was different. She wasn’t supposed to be connected to or impacted by his actions. Yet, that night he’d sent her off on an errand only for her to come back bleeding because of him.

Kaz knew his words tonight made y/n think he saw her as weak. He also knew she took everything he said to her or thought of her to heart. He hated being the reason she now believed she wasn’t strong enough.

But, he told himself it was best this way. She’d likely not push as hard when he refused to let her attend heists or deny her shifts at the club. Both of which he needed to do to keep her safe. To keep her alive. To keep the last piece of himself afloat and alive.

“Kaz, that makes no sense” y/n argued.

It had only taken a few hours for y/n to decide she was going to prove Kaz wrong. Last night she’d elected to show him she wasn’t weak. That she was capable of contributing and keeping up with the others.

Therefore, when she overheard the plans for the crows to meet with Evrin Golding, a wealthy merchant, she tried to convince Kaz to let her join them. Much to Kaz’s dismay. However, he abruptly shut that down with a vague excuse as to why she couldn’t go.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you” Kaz sighed, grabbing his hat from the coat rack by his door.

Y/n huffed and glares at him. He was being so difficult. How could she prove herself if he wouldn’t let her go? “Yes, you do. Because I deserve to go. Plus you could use an extra set of eyes” she smirked.

Kaz rolled his eyes, “you’re not going.”

“That’s irrational and you know it” y/n argued weakly.

Her brother merely surged as he put his hat on, “clearly it runs in the family”.

She groaned and walked until she was blocking the door with her body, “Kaz,-“.

“You’re not going. I don’t want or need you there. End of discussion” Kaz spat.

Y/n frowned and stepped aside. She hadn’t expected herself to cave so quickly. Especially when she had the upper hand by blocking the door. Yet, Kaz’s words stung more than she’d expected.

It had only been a few moments of sulking in her self loathing before she ventured outside. Y/n knew where the meeting was to take place. So while Kaz may not have allowed her to go with, he couldn’t stop her from following after them. Sure it was somewhat childish, but it was the option she was left with if she didn’t want to just accept Kaz’s analysis of her.

Y/n quietly lowered herself to the ground beside Inej. They laid on their bellies atop an old abandoned building just outside of the Barrel. Inej of course had heard y/n coming, but the others hadn’t. As such, y/n allowed herself to get comfortable on the rooftop before watching the scene below.

“I tried to get him to let you come” Inej whispered as the wind whipped past them. It was just loud enough for y/n to hear before the wind carried the sound behind them; away from the others below.

Y/n smiled to herself as she whispered a grateful thank you to her friend. She was pleased to know at least Inej didn’t find her too weak to take part in tonight’s activities. However, it seemed even Inej couldn’t convince y/n’s older brother of her strength.

Y/n and Inej made hushed small talk as they watched from a distance. It was mostly about their latest events in their lives outside of the tasks they did for Kaz. Y/n knew Inej was trying to keep her mind off the fact y/n’s brother thought she was too weak to be here. It helped some; it always helped to talk with Inej.

However, a small disagreement between her brother and their contact easily caught her attention. Y/n and Inej immediately silenced in order to listen closer. They shared a knowing look as Kaz’s attitude only worsened the situation.

Y/n smirked to herself when she realized she could help Kaz. She knew she’d be able to not only help him get out unharmed, but also still complete the task at hand. Kaz was great at reading people. So he had to know how his behavior was worsening the situation.

But Y/n knew when it came to Pekka, Kaz’s vision blurred. This man Kaz was trying to get intel from was part of Pekka’s crew and could be yanking his chain.

Of course y/n hated Pekka with her entirety as well. But, she was able to separate his crew from him. They hadn’t been there. It didn’t mean she liked them, but rather could tolerate them just long enough to handle the task without her emotions taking over. Part of it had to do with her dissociating from her emotions and traumas; but it worked. At least for matters like this. Matters in which her remaining older brother’s fury blinded him and endangered his life. She wouldn’t lose another brother, and certainly not at the hands of Pekka again. So she’d mastered over the years how to not let Pekka or his crew impact her the way it did Kaz. It wasn’t healthy for her as she had to dismiss her traumatic experiences. But, it kept Kaz from taking it too far and getting killed in his search for revenge.

“Excuse me, I have to go make a scene." Y/n whispered to Inej. She slowly rose from the ground and walked to the far end of the building. It would be best if she acted like she stumbled upon the two of them. Kaz wouldn’t believe it for a second, but the Dime Lion easily would if she did it right.

“Y/n, I wouldn’t cross Kaz. His sister or not, no one crosses him” Inej warned, looking over her shoulder at y/n. She sighed when she saw the determined look in y/n’s eyes. It was the same look Kaz got when he was set firmly on a decision he’d made.

“Well, what can I say? I'm a badass." She winked as she jumped down from the back of the building. Y/n quickly made her way around the building to join the scene she’d witnessed from above. She noticed the way the Dime Lion grinned at her as his eyes scanned her body.

She also noticed how livid her brother was. Of course she did, he was practically steaming. Anyone could see how Kaz’s eyes bore into her as he watched her approach. But, she ignored his unspoken order to leave.

“Hi, I’m y/n” y/n greeted, smiling innocently as she stood before their contact.

Kaz remained by her side, his hand tight on the crows head of his cane. If he hadn’t wanted to kill the Dime Lion earlier, he certainly did now. He despised y/n ignoring him and following him out here. But he could have killed the man before him for falling for y/N’s faux innocent play. Especially when the man kept checking her out.

“Well hello there beautiful, I’m Dan-“ the contact began, extending his hand towards y/n.

Kaz cut him off by swinging his cane down between them and shook his head. “Your name does not matter. Nor do her looks. We are here for one thing-“ Kaz barked.

“What my brother means to say,” y/n forced a giggle, “is that I could really use some help from you”.

This was one of the ways y/n and her brother Kaz differed greatly. Kaz refused to show weakness, even if it was fake. Y/n however, didn’t mind pretending. She knew better than to show her true weakness(es). But she was willing to utilize faux ones.

After all, y/n knew she men -especially those in Ketterdam- saw women as far weaker. While y/n knew she could easily take most of these men by herself, she saw their ignorance as a tool. It made it a lot easier to get someone off guard if they let their own guard down due to thinking she was merely a weak girl.

However, she was now wondering if that’s why Kaz saw her the same way. Did he fall for her pretend innocence and ignorance? How could he have? Did he still see her as the little girl she was before they lost Jordie?

She had to push these thoughts aside and refocus on the current moment. Y/n forced on a tender smile as she waited for the man to respond.

He seemed to be intelligent enough to not fall for it immediately. However, as he looked back over at y/n’s ‘shy’ body language, he caved. “Of course darling, I was just telling your brother that I’d love to help. Especially for a damsel like yourself” the man smiled, pretending he hadn’t been arguing with Kaz moments ago.

Kaz’s grip on his cane tightened dangerously. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he snapped off the crows head at the top of the cane. It was all Kaz could do to get himself to silently go along with y/n’s fake storyline. It was all he could do to control his brotherly protectiveness. It was all Kaz could do to not kill the man where he stood.

To say Kaz was pissed would be a grave understatement. Yet, no one could truly find the right word to describe his current state. He stood rigid, his sharp eyes burning holes in y/n’s. The tension in the air palpable.

Kaz had ignored her the entire return to the slat. He refused to go off on her in the streets where others could see or hear. He didn’t need anyone knowing how much she mattered to him. How much her actions and safety swayed him.

As such, he kicked everyone out of the slat as they returned. Well, everyone but his crows. He’d ordered them out but didn’t have enough focus or concern to force them to leave. They already knew how Kaz was with his sister anyways.

This meant the crows all stood silently as they watched in anxious anticipation. While Inej had been the only one to have seen what happened, it wasn’t hard to piece it together. The crows knew stubbornness ran in the Brekker family. So they knew it was only a matter of time before y/n pissed Kaz off by disobeying his latest orders for her.

Kaz tried to control his anger towards his sister. He could feel the raging fury alive and consuming inside of him. But he didn’t want to be mad at her much less act out against her (especially if it was only due to said emotions). Yet, as the scene replayed in his mind, he felt panic merge with his anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Kaz spat, stalking closer to where she sat.

Jesper’s eyes widened as he watched his friends nervously. “Kaz, man, maybe-“ he awkwardly interjected. His goal was to calm Kaz down before he said something he’d regret. But his interruption only resulted in him getting chewed out as well.

The crows froze in their places as they listened to the loud bickering between y/n and Kaz. They weren’t sure what to have expected. The siblings disagreed from time to time, but this was something very different. To make matters worse, both of them were stubborn and angry. That wasn’t a good mix in anyone, but much less in a Brekker.

“I told you I cannot rely on you” Kaz stated, adding another insult to the mix he’d already thrown her way tonight. He refused to look at her as he said it. But, he kept his head high and voice loud and authoritative nonetheless.

Y/n shook her head at him as she took a deep breath. It wasn’t that this comment was worse than the others. But she’d had enough. Y/n may have acted out of an attempt to prove herself, but she also did it to protect him. Yet, he still shouted insults at her.

She once again found herself feeling ashamed and weak. Y/n might have no problem pretending to be these things to get people to do what she wanted. But that didn’t mean she wanted people to actually believe them. Much less her fellow crows. Much less her brother. And much less herself.

Y/n quietly stood and turned to head to bed before her emotions could show. She heard Kaz ordering her to stay where she was. But, what was one more disappointment from her?

Y/n had barely made it to her room before she broke down. She locked her door and slid down the thin wood until her butt hit the floor. Maybe Kaz was right. Maybe she was too weak to handle this. After all, here she was, practically sobbing over an argument with her brother.

Kaz entered her room later that night. By then, she’d composed herself and removed any signs of her heartbreak. Which was good because he’d only come to lecture her further.

Y/n spaced off early on into his latest speech about how she had let him down. She didn’t care to hear it anymore. It hurt and she was furious that Kaz was the one hurting her.

As Kaz went to continue venting his annoyance, he noticed she seemed distant. Furrowing his brows, he asked "Are you even listening to me?"

Y/n let her eyes return to focus, and shook her head. “No, but you don’t want me to be” she admitted, clicking her tongue.

Kaz growled quietly, “Hmm and why is that?”

"I will break your nose if you keep talking about how weak I am. I’ve heard it enough” she explained, looking away from his intense stare.

Kaz saw the pain flickering in her eyes despite her response. He sighed and took a long deep breath before speaking. His tone was much less harsh as he told her, “I did not say you are weak”.

Y/N’s eyes snapped back to him, annoyance overtaking her pain. “Not directly, but you still did” she argued.

“What do you want from me? To coddle you and your feelings?” Kaz retorted. Guilt hit him instantly but he held his ground. He would ignore his guilt if it meant keping y/n safe.

“Why are you treating me like I’m your enemy and not a friend?” Y/n whispered, her voice soft again.

“You’re not my friend y/n” Kaz groaned. He hated the way her face fell even more at his words. But, this was what needed to be done.

“You’re right, I’m your sister. That’s worse” she acknowledged, her voice cracking.

Kaz wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to make her feel worse. But, he also couldn’t apologize. So, he leaned against her desk silently.

“Get out” y/n ordered meekly.

While Kaz debated ignoring her, he decided against it. He could see how defeated his sister was. So, while he wouldn’t act on his guilt and apologize, he could at least offer her some space. Kaz glanced back at her one more time before leaving her room.

“Aren’t you in a cheery mood” Jesper teased sarcastically as y/n rolled her eyes yet again when Kaz was speaking.

“I have a right to be angry." Y/n retorted, shaking her head.

“Could you be any more annoying?” Kaz asked as he stopped reading off his list of today’s assignments.

Y/n glared across the room at him, “Excuse me?”

Kaz rolled his eyes back at her. “You heard me y/n” he stated calmly. “You’re making us go in circles. We’ve been over this. You’re not taking part in any of the Crows’ or Dregs’ tasks unless I say so” Kaz reminded her. “So stop interrupting the meeting with your infuriatingly annoying emotions” he ordered.

“Kaz,” Inej sighed, shaking her head at him as she gave him a knowing look.

Jesper bravely jumped in again as Kaz glared at Inej. “Y/n has been training with Inej and I, daily. She’s great” Jesper informed him. He watched as y/n nodded in acknowledgment of the training sessions they’d had the last few weeks.

Y/n noticed how Kaz froze and seemed to be pondering Jesper’s remark. “Told you, I’m not weak” she huffed, sending him a glare.

“Y/n, I-“ Kaz sighed, shaking his head.

“Just let me come, I can keep up” y/n pleaded, sitting up straight thanks to Jesper’s compliment.

Kaz took a deep breath. “No” he responded defiantly.

“But Kaz,-“ y/n argued, leaning forward in her seat.

“No” was all he responded with again as he shook his head.

“Come on, you know I am not too weak for this life. Admit I’m right” y/n said. Part of her was teasing in hopes he’d loosen up some. But the other part of her wanted him to say she wasn’t weak. She was still struggling with her own belief on the topic and needed him to clarify it for her.

“I will do not such thing” Kaz said.

Y/n chose to ignore the clenching of her chest and lungs at his refusal. Instead, she reminded herself that he never liked to give others compliments. But there was one thing he hated more. As such, she pressed her luck by responding, “Fine, then admit you’re wrong”.

“No” he groaned, dismissing her with that one word sentiment again.

Y/n threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Quit acting like this you stupid wet sock” she sighed. Y/n could hear the quiet laughter of the crows over the unusual insult. But she knew Kaz would pick up on it.

Y/n hated wet socks and Kaz knew that. She’d hated them ever since she was old enough to say so. It was her final straw when the orphaned siblings had found themselves out on the streets of Ketterdam. She couldn’t handle the feeling on her feet and the cold nights only made it worse. In fact, she had verbally blamed the wet socks for the three of them having caught the illness that took Jordie from them.

So, while it seemed like a humorously random insult to the Crows, Kaz was actually impacted by it. He knew it hadn’t been her intention to bring his mind back to that night. Much less to insult him by calling him the one thing she blamed for what happened. Kaz knew she’d never do that, even if she were furious with him.

But, that didn’t mean he was able to keep it from impacting him or his response. He glared across his desk at her before walking to the door. “You’re staying here! It's better for everyone!” Kaz shouted as he angrily walked out.

Y/n once again elected to ignore Kaz. She was determined to prove him wrong. Y/n was also determined to prove to herself she could handle it. As a result, she was once again on a sketchy rooftop with Inej.

The girls silently watched the scene below. In which Kaz was pretending to bargain with the merchant. The plan was for Nina to pickpocket the merchant while Kaz and Jesper had him distracted.

It all seemed to be going according to plan at first. However, that quickly changed when one of the merchant’s men noticed and let out a calling sound. Suddenly, twelve armed men appeared, surrounding Kaz and Jesper.

The sharpshooter had drawn his pistols but was waiting on a sign from Kaz to pull the trigger. However, Kaz calmly shifted his gaze up to the rooftop instead. Y/n flattened herself out even further, hiding behind the ledge of the roof. Inej gave her a soft giggle as she rose to join Kaz.

Once Kaz saw Inej caught his signal, he finally gave Jesper his. Within seconds the trade meeting erupted into a battle. Y/n wanted to go down and help, but she still feared that Kaz might be right. If he was and she went down there, she’d only make it worse.

So she remained steady on the rooftop. Her eyes danced over the chaos, checking everyone’s safety. That was when she saw her brother had been knocked down. Kaz was struggling to return to his feet when a gun was placed against the back of his head.

Y/n didn’t hesitate any longer. She flung her quiver over her shoulder, grabbing a single arrow before setting the quiver beside her. As she loaded the arrow into her bow, she took a deep breath and stared intently at her target.

Kaz looked up from the ground and over to where the arrow had come from. His eyes narrowed as he saw his sister on the roof. Despite his orders to stay at the Slat. Kaz shook his head as his relief quickly changed into anger.

“Nice shot” Jesper grinned, slinging his arm over y/n’s shoulder after she’d made her way down to them.

“Y/n,” Nina smiled, “glad you could join us!”

Y/n smiled back and shrugged, “Well, it’s more like I crashed the party, since I wasn’t invited, but-“.

”You weren't invited because no one wanted you to come." Kaz spat, staring her down.

“I just saved your life Kaz-“ y/n argued, waving her arm around to the now-dead bodies on the street.

Kaz shook his head and gritted his teeth. “You just risked my life and everyone else’s” he replied.

“Excuse me? He’s dead, he was going to kill you. I handled it” y/n pointed out in disbelief. She’d literally taken someone’s life to keep him safe and he was still mad?

Kaz remained angry. “You weren’t to be here. You risked everyone’s safety by throwing the plan off” he rebutted. He knew it wasn’t entirely true and that it might sound like a stretch even to his Crows. But he hoped y/n would focus on his need to be in charge of the plans at all times.

“Having a gun pointed to your head while knocked on the ground was part of the plan?!” Y/n snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Y/n” Kaz warned, his voice clipped.

She shook her head, “No, if you don’t want me throwing off the plan then just include me to start with”.

“How many times must I tell you no?” Kaz groaned, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Until it makes sense!” She retorted, smirking at him confidently.

Kaz moved his hand back down and laid it over his other on top of his cane. “It does make sense! You were not included because I did not want you here. You are more of a risk than you are helpful.” He told her, eyes staring at her abdomen as he spoke.

“So you killed the man, good for you, who cares? “ Kaz asked rhetorically. He regretted that remark as he knew killing someone wasn’t something y/n took lightly. But, Kaz nonetheless continued to berate her for risking herself. “If you were here from the start, it would’ve been worse. You’re a weakness and liability. When will you comprehend that?” Kaz huffed.

“Is that truly how little you think of me?" Y/n asked, her voice weak and shallow.

Kaz felt himself wanting to give in and confess the reality behind his anger. To express that he didn’t see her as weak, but still worried about her being taken from him. But, he wouldn’t let himself. He merely nodded even though it weren’t one hundred percent true.

“Fine. I comprehend that” y/n stated emotionlessly as she turned around and left.

Kaz sighed in relief that the conversation was over. He had the feeling this time he finally got through to her. Her dejected response and giving up on the argument suggested such.

Kaz had assumed y/n went back to The Crow’s Club or the Slat when she left the scene earlier that night. As such, when he arrived, he sent Inej to check on her state. He knew his Crows were all judging him for having said the things he did to her. But, he only asked Inej to check on her because he wanted to know she had made it back safely, not because he was going to apologize.

Kaz was sitting in his office, resting his head in his hands. He was nursing a headache and his leg was brutally assaulting him with pain. Yet, his mind couldn’t stop thinking about how to keep y/n from trying to dismiss his orders again. He couldn’t face losing her. But what levels would he go to if it meant hurting her along the way?

Before he’d had time to analyze that question, Inej entered his room. He glanced up from his hands and squinted at her. She seemed concerned which set him on high alert. “Well?” Kaz asked impatiently.

“She’s not here” Inej whispered, wincing as he watched fear flash through his eyes.

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Kaz asked sharply.

“She’s not here Kaz, it’s straightforward” Inej remarked, “she must have headed elsewhere”.

Kaz stiffly breathed in and out through his flared nostrils. “Go” he ordered. “Find her” Kaz clarified, closing his eyes.

Inej falteted. She wasn’t sure bothering y/n was the best solution. Inej also doubted Kaz would respond well to y/n when she got back from wherever she’d gone off to. “Kaz-“ she drawled.

“Find her and bring her ho-“ Kaz coughed. “-back here” he corrected, eyes still squeezed shut.

Inej silently nodded and left to track down her friend.

Part Two Here

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avengerscompound · 5 months

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The Interview - Chapter 1

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist

Rating: E

Warnings: On the series; smut, family trauma, bad workplaces On this chapter; sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 3109

Summary: Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America. Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

A/N: IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THE REMAINDER OF THIS SERIES, EITHER ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST OR SEND ME A MESSAGE

Chapter 1

It was the dream life. An apartment on the upper west side of New York, located in a beautiful old brownstone. A career in journalism. Getting to interview an actual Avenger. When Melody Danes boiled down her life to its bones, it was exactly how she had planned it out.

Of course, that did ignore some pretty glaring oversights. Like how she actually had two jobs. The journalist position was an underpaid internship that barely covered food let alone rent and bills. Or that the internship was with the Daily Bugle, one of the most despicable publications in the world, with the worst boss she had ever worked for. Or how she lived with her cousin in a one-bedroom apartment, because neither of them could afford anything bigger in the city - even with Bobbi working three jobs. Something that left Melody relegated to a bed that was walled off from the rest of the living room with bamboo screens, while Bobbi got the bedroom because she paid the bigger portion of the rent. Or the fact that the apartment itself was a shit hole that had unreliable plumbing, heat, and super to fix anything.

Still, she didn’t like to complain. She was in New York, the city she’d dreamed about living in her whole life. Plus, there were worse roommates than Bobbi. Melody and Bobbi had grown up in the same small town in Oregon. They weren’t technically even cousins, but rather the children of best friends who had been born a few months apart. The two ‘cousins’ had grown up together being subjected to years and years of taunting about when the two would get married, and constant mentions of Bobbi being Melody’s boyfriend despite the fact Melody had always seen Bobbi more as a sibling than a potential romantic partner.

Of course, back then Bobbi had been known as Roberto. Interestingly, as soon as she’d transitioned, all jokes about Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez had stopped immediately because suddenly, it wasn't only Melody and Bobbi being made to feel uncomfortable but their parents as well.

The two had remained close throughout everything and had made the promise that they would support each other to get their dreams realized. Melody’s dream of being a journalist or author, and Bobbi’s of acting. Yes, there were occasional disagreements that popped up stemming from sharing such a small space, but through it all they’d held on to that support.

That was why, when Melody had come home freaking out about the fact she was going to interview the Captain America - and not just for a short piece, but an in-depth personality profile over a week, Bobbi was the first one to congratulate her. She then brought all her friends from her job at the dinner theatre to help find her something to wear.

It was why she was now headed down East 45th in heels that were a little too big and a pantsuit that was a little flashier than she would have liked, looking for the Comfort Diner.

Despite being a little wobbly on her feet, she felt good. Nervous. Excited. But good. The pantsuit did make her look professional, and her friends had done her hair so her black curls were pinned back in an almost 1920s-style wave that was folded over in a loop at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was immaculate and her copper complexion gave off an almost glow in the light. More importantly, this interview was her golden ticket. It wasn’t even supposed to be Melody that got this interview. The person who was originally assigned to it had written one too many scathing think pieces about the Avengers. She’d been told neither Captain Rogers nor any of the other Avengers were willing to talk to her anymore. A quick scramble through the other reporters had only brought back people who were either in the middle of assignments or were equally loathed by the Avengers and so they had handed it to the intern with the most promise. Melody Danes.

As she made her way down the street, her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. It was just a brief catch, but given her shoes were the wrong size it caused her to stumble forward directly into a huge wall of muscle.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the wall said as it steadied her with large hands.

She was about to answer that ‘she was until some stranger called her ma’am’ when she looked up into the clear blue eyes of Captain America, and the words caught in her throat.

He was somehow even more attractive in person. He had a broad chest and muscular arms that seemed to be testing the tensile strength of his shirt as he supported her.

That was not what drew her attention most. His face held her captivated. His skin was flawless, his pores so small they almost looked airbrushed out, and his complexion was the color of peaches and cream. He had a square jaw and a straight, narrow nose that both exuded masculinity. Yet, his high cheekbones, full lips, and long dark eyelashes were all beautifully feminine. All this paired with the pale blue of his eyes and for a moment she was lost for words.

“I’m fine,” she said when her brain finally kicked into place again. “Embarrassed mostly. I’m actually going to meet you for lunch.”

“You’re the one from the Bugle?” Steve asked, his tone giving away his surprise.

“That’s right,” she said, straightening herself out. She offered him her hand. “I’m Melody Dane from DB. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Steve replied, shaking her hand. “I guess you just weren’t what I expected.”

The two began making their way to the diner together, both still staring at each other.

“What were you expecting?” she asked.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. A trilby with a press pass sticking out of it?”

She started laughing. “I’ll wear one next time. Though I do have my press pass here if you’d like me to stick it in my hair or something.”

Steve’s laughter joined her and he shook his head. “That’s okay. You can keep it in your purse.”

They entered the cute little 50s-style diner and took one of the booths up the back. The greeter set them up with menus and left to get their drinks while they decided what they wanted. She set up her recorder and notepad on the table.

“So, I’m not sure what it is you were after,” Steve said as his eyes flicked over the menu. “The Bugle is always just investigative reporting, and if I’m honest, they don’t do a great job investigating.”

She laughed. “You’re telling me,” she said. “It’s barely above a tabloid magazine. It runs on sensationalism. But with the way that the internet is affecting print media, they’re trying to branch out into different things. This is technically a profile piece for a yet-to-be-named magazine. They want a story about the man behind the shield. I’ll come talk to you a few times over the next week. We’re going to do a little tour of Brooklyn so you can tell me how it’s changed. Other than that, whatever access you’re willing to give me, the better I can craft the article. I’m not here to make you look bad. We just want a piece that shows the world that there’s more to you than a flag.”

“How does that fit in with Jameson’s whole superhero menace thing he does? I mean, this was going to be conducted by Norah Winters, right? She’s not exactly our biggest fan either?” Steve asked.

“I’m not Norah Winters,” Melody said. “Norah Winters couldn’t even get you to agree to sit down with her. I’m hoping that the fact they chose me after running through just about everyone else in the paper, might allow for some room to grow trust.”

Steve nodded and poured himself a glass of water. “Okay. Well, I’m here. I guess we’ll see how we go.”

“My first question is; why did you want me to meet you here? You were asleep for the 1950s, so it can’t be a nostalgia thing,” she asked.

“Honestly? I’ve never actually been here before,” Steve said. “I just wanted somewhere that wasn’t intruding on my space, that was relaxed enough that I didn’t feel like I was on display.”

“Do you often feel on display?” she asked.

“All the time,” he said. “Since the day I was given the serum. It’s part of the job. There are people out there who are okay just saving the day and slinking back into the shadows, but what I do - or at least what I hope I’m doing - is giving people someone to rally behind. It means that I draw attention to myself and I have to make sure that what I believe in is stated clearly or people use me as a symbol of oppression. It means that I need to teach with actions, not words.”

The waitress came over with the drinks and Melody and Steve placed their orders. She opted for the soup and sandwich, while Steve went for the steak.

When she was alone again, she took a sip of her coffee and watched Steve toy with his cup. The white branded mug looked tiny in his hands. “Does that get hard?” she asked. “Being on all the time. I mean no one is perfect.”

He nodded. “But I hope what I do helps in some way. Not just the obvious ones where I save lives because of an alien attack. But maybe if people see that I am standing up for people, they might do it too. I mean - I wasn't always this-” he gestured vaguely to himself. “I was this tiny guy with a huge list of medical conditions….”

“I did read that list,” she said. She’d done her research coming into this. She’d known Steve Rogers had been marked 4F several times and that the list of his medical conditions was as long as her arm. “People always seem to always focus on the asthma, but some of those conditions are debilitating.”

Steve nodded. “I was a perpetual letdown for my father. All he wanted was a good strong son who could follow in his footsteps, but what he got was a sick kid they didn’t expect would make it to adulthood,” he explained. “The ulcers paired with the anemia were the worst. I had to eat a pound of raw liver a day but I was constantly throwing up or having heartburn. You're right, there were a lot of conditions but those two were the worst. It’s given me a weird relationship with food now.”

She was surprised by how open he was. She’d expected him to be a little more closed off this early on and yet, he was freely sharing details about the trouble he had growing up. “What do you mean by that?”

The waiter chose that moment to bring over their meals. Steve looked down at the steak in front of him. “Well, take this,” he said. “Steak is fine. But is it what I wanted? I’m not even sure. I chose it because it looked like it was the best combination of protein and carbohydrates to get me through until dinner. The serum has made it so I burn through calories so fast, so if I eat something like pancakes or pie, I end up having a crash an hour or so later. And I can’t have that because it means I have to eat again. And for a guy who grew up through the great depression with medical conditions that made it so that he had to eat pounds of raw meat that I’d just end up throwing up - well I can’t take constantly eating throughout the day.”

Her heart broke for him and she had to resist the urge to reach over the table and take his hand. “So what you’re saying is, you really wished you’d ordered pancakes?”

He gave a little side nod. “Kinda, yeah,” he said. “But even acknowledging that out loud - I will still just eat this steak. But I’ll feel uncomfortable eating in front of you because you’re a stranger, even though I need it to get through the rest of the day.”

She nodded in understanding. The burden of trauma was a hard thing to shake. Even if you were a superhero. “That really does suck. I do understand it though. It’s hard to retrain yourself. In fact, if you figure out how to do it, let me know.”

He smiled at her and began to cut his steak. She took a moment to take a bite from her sandwich. It was surprisingly good for something from a diner and she couldn’t help the soft hum that escaped her lips. “I don’t want you to have to dwell too much on your illnesses if you don’t want to - but I do have one more specific question about it. Is it true they used to treat asthma with cigarettes back then?”

Steve laughed. “They used to treat lots of things with cigarettes,” he said. “The asthma ones weren’t usually tobacco cigarettes mind you. Not that they were necessarily better than tobacco ones. If memory serves me arsenic and belladonna were some key ingredients used. They also told my mom to give them to me for the scoliosis and heart palpitations. But they played havoc on my stomach. They also told me I should drink a lot of coffee.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You ever wonder what the things we all accept as true now will be looked at as being completely crazy in the future?”

Steve thought for a moment and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself. “Circumcision.”

She nearly choked on her soup, which made Steve laugh and lean over, patting her on the back. “I’m sorry. It was the first thing that popped into my head. I mean - that wasn’t even something people did much out of religious reasons back in my day.”

“You’re totally right. They brought it in in the fifties to stop men masturbating, but I wasn’t expecting Captain America to bring up circumcision,” she said, still laughing.

“I’m so sorry,’ Steve said again. “God - I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s fine,” she giggled. “Seriously. Oh man…”

Steve ran his hand down his face. “I will say this though,” he said. “Even after all this time with the serum, I still feel like I’m that guy. I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed bubblegum. I still remember every time I got beaten by some bully trying to keep me down and I still remember getting up, because my mom always said you keep getting up or they win. I still go into every battle remembering that and holding it with me, because I know what it’s like to have someone try and use their strength to keep me down and I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that.”

She nodded and wrote the quote ‘I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed up bubblegum’ into her notebook. “What did it feel like when you changed?”

“It was really sudden. I went into this thing that was like a metal coffin and pumped full of these drugs while they irradiated me. The process was excruciatingly painful. I started changing right away. It felt like I was being stretched out in all directions. Then it stopped and the pain stopped with it. And not just the pain of the change. All my pain. My stomach didn’t hurt. My chest didn’t hurt. I didn’t have pain in my back. When I took a breath it went in easily and filled my lungs. And then on top of the very noticeable lack of pain, I had other things, like my heart didn’t feel like it was racing for a change. I could see colors properly. I don’t even think I could describe what that was like. And all of it mixed together …” he trailed off and shook his head. “I apologize, I’m going to be crass again and I hope that you might do me the favor by paraphrasing this, so I don’t sound like some kind of pervert, but it was like that feeling you have when you orgasm, only magnified by a hundred.”

“Wow,” she said and took a large bite from his sandwich. She chewed it thoughtfully as she tried to imagine how extreme that would feel. “That’s something.”

He nodded. “It’s a shame that they lost the formula. I mean - I know having a bunch of rogue super-soldiers out in the world isn’t necessarily a good thing, but if there was a way you could cure disease as easily as that still out in the world, imagine how far we would have come by now?”

She nodded. “It would have been an impressive piece of medical science. And it would be a very different world where no one had to worry about illness.”

They both sat quietly in thought for a moment as they ate. “So,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “I said before, we wanted to get to know the man behind the shield, and I’m certainly hoping I get to know the real Steve Rogers doing this, but do you think there’s a difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America?”

“Of course,” Steve answered quickly. “I think that’s true for everyone, right? I’m sure you sitting there interviewing me isn’t the same person you are when you’re home with your family or out with your friends. Knowing the publication you work for, I’m sure it’s not even the same person you are in the office. We put different aspects of ourselves forward all the time. If you’re asking where the divide between Steve Rogers and Captain America is - I’m not sure. I’ve put so much of myself into this for so long… I don’t know who I am without it. I know I’d always want to stand up and fight for what I believe in. I know I’d always want to stand up for the little guys. But aside from that… I couldn’t say.”

She frowned a little. “I guess I can see how that could happen,” she said. Though the admission made her realize something, article or no article, she wanted to find out who Steve Rogers was for his sake as much as how drawn to him she already was.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #ofc #smut #the interview

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