#but trust me that i will find a way to write him into something in the future

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[whiteferraristurns]

𝒲𝒜ℛ𝒩ℐ𝒩𝒢𝒮! Smut, pet names, She/her pronouns.

🐻ྀིྀི - i personally think this sucks this is my first time writing smut so please bear with me. I made this so long ago so i’m sorry if it’s actual ass

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬ღ

Chris had never ordered an uber so fast. You had texted him saying that you were finally ready to let him have you.. All of you. You two had been together for almost two years now and you had never gone past heated makeout sessions or some light touches. You were so nervous he wouldn’t like what he saw even though you knew that he worshiped you and he always reminded you of that. He was always so patient with you. He wanted you to be ready and he waited until you were. 

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow through your window as you waited for Chris to arrive. you glanced at the clock for the third time in five minutes, anticipation bubbling up in your chest. He had texted you a few minutes ago, saying he was almost there. You couldn’t wait. You were finally ready to give that last part to him. It was a scary thing to think about but you trusted him with your life.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Your heart skipped. You sighed running a hand through your hair before rushing to open the door, your face lighting up as you saw him standing there, his signature grin already on display. “Hey, pretty girl,” Chris greeted, leaning in to give you a quick, soft kiss on the cheek. He looked comfortable and laid-back, wearing his favorite hoodie and a backwards hat that kept his unruly hair in check. You loved that about him—how he always looked so effortlessly good.

“Hey handsome.” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in. "You made it, I thought you’d get lost or something." Chris chuckled, slipping his shoes off. “Oh, please. I could find my way here with my eyes closed at this point.” you smiled and closed the door behind you. You walked up to your room. You sat on the bed looking up at him with your big eyes and innocent looking features. Chris had always loved how pretty and innocent you looked. He was ecstatic that he was the one going to take your virginity. You were the purest not really understanding the jokes he’d thrown around, or how to really do anything.

Part of Chris wanted to bury himself deep inside you as soon as possible and the other part wanted to savor every moment. Your chest rose and fell with every breath. Nervousness bubbling in your chest. “Do you know what it means when we do this baby..?” Chris mumbled. You shook your head. “Words.” he rubbed a hand down your arm. His eyes took in every detail of you and imprinted it into his mind. Your skin glowing beneath the dim lights. “No..”

“It means you won't be the only virgin in our group anymore.” He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip smirking at his own joke. You rolled your eyes and pushed his hand causing him to chuckle.  “Lay back f’me..” you nodded and moved your head onto the comfort of your pillows. Chris kissed your cheek. 

He grabbed the hem of our shirt looking at you in approval. You nodded once again. He pulled your shirt up over your head. The light orange bralette that sat perfectly on your chest displayed everything. His face lit up. “When did you get this?” he asked, his fingers ran over the lace.. “Yesterday.. I thought you’d like it..” you sheepishly smiled. “No, I don't like it.” your face dropped. “I love it ma.” Your face filled with obvious relief. “I’m just messing’ with you.” 

he chuckled, running a hand down the side of your body leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Lift your hips for me love.” you did exactly as he said. He pulled your shorts down. “Matching panties too? You tease.” you smiled. He kissed your stomach. “Okay once again.. Are you one hundred percent you want to do this?” You nodded. “Yes chris. I’m one hundred and 10 percent.” He smiled up at you and ran a finger over your clothed clit. A gasp left your lips. 

He spread your thighs open more.  A soft whimper left your lips. “Chris don’t tease..” He frowned. “That’s the best though.” You shook your head lightly. He slowly pulled the panties down your legs. He almost drooled at the set of your dripping wet folds. “You are so wet fuck.” 

He cursed. You suddenly got self conscious. You went to close your thighs before Chris stopped you and pushed your thighs open again. “Baby that’s a good thing.. You're gorgeous.” you bit your lip. He leaned down and kitten licked your clit. Causing you to whine. He maintained eye contact. He flattened his tongue against your clit, alternating between long, slow licks and slowly but surely fastening his flicks. He was so fucking hungry for you, for your taste, for the innocence shattering beneath him at this very moment. “Oh fuck- chris,” You gasped, placing your hands in his hair. “I need—oh God.” you threw your head back when he shoved his tongue into your dripping hole. 

His hands dug into the fluffy flesh of your thighs.“You taste so fucking good.” He mumbled against you. The unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in your stomach. “Chris i-”  you gasped he pulled away slightly rubbing his finger over your sensitive bud. “Just let go Ma.” he breathed, leaning back down and continuing his pace. He sucked and licked and till you started to shake under him. Your thighs closed around his head, he quickly pushed them back open. You bucked your hips against his face. 

 Chris pulled away with a big smirk on his face. He licked his lips. “You did so good f’me”  you looked at him with a blushed out face he leaned up and kissed you shoving his tongue into your mouth. You could taste yourself on his tongue. He pulled away and dropped his head into your neck sucking dark marks into your skin. He trailed down your neck onto the cleavage of your tits. 

He continued to suck dark marks. He pulled the bralette off you and dropped his head instantly sucking onto your perky nipples. You moaned softly as he kneaded your left one. He switched and gave some attention to your other one. You ran a hand through his hair. He pulled off with a small “plop” which caused you to flush. He smirked up at you. “Your so pretty baby.”

He stood up pulling his shirt off and then his sweatpants. An obvious wet spot was forming from his boxers. He discarded his boxers quickly after. Your eyes darted down, you couldn't help it. You had always imagined something like this but it scared you. “baby..” He chuckled. 

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He rolled on a condom and got up back on top of you hovering over you. “I wish I could say this isn't gonna hurt but if it becomes too much you tell me okay sweetheart?” He reassured you. “Okay.. I trust you..” He nodded and rubbed his throbbing head against you. You whined. He slowly pushed into you. You grabbed his bicep. 

He wasn't even half way in and it hurt. It hurt so bad you almost called it then but Chris kissed your cheek. He completely stopped his movements and looked at you with scared eyes.  “You can continue..” you mumbled. He nodded and pushed more in. He hissed at how tight you squeezed him. Once he was fully in you you looked up at him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m gonna move okay..?” He asked. 

You shook your head, eyes glossy. He soothed your hair out slowly moving out and then back in. The pain slowly turning into pleasure. “You can go faster.” He bit back a smirk and picked his pace up. Everytime thrusted into you the more that feeling bubbled back into your stomach.

 “Fuck mamas your taking me so good.” He grabbed your hips. “Chris!” you screamed as he pushed himself deeper into your gummy walls. He repeatedly hit your G- spot. Yours and his orgasm ripped through you both. Your moans and his groans mixed together as you both came undone on each other. 

As he pulled out you whimpered at the loss of contact. You felt so full with him in you. He disappeared into the bathroom. You sighed with a huge smile on your face. He came back out with a warmed washcloth cleaning you up. His face seemed so focused on making sure you were clean.

He brushed the sweaty pieces of hair off your face. “Arms up.” You lifted your arms up as he slipped his shirt over your body then slipped your underwear up your legs and over your hips. You two slipped under your covers as you laid on his chest listening to his soft heartbeat. “Was it just how you imagined..?” he mumbled, rubbing small patterns into your hip. “Even better. Thank you, handsome.” You mumbled back. He smiled like a kid in a candy store and pulled you closer. “I love you pretty girl.” you hummed back and drifted off into sleep in the comfort of your boyfriend's arms.

🐻ྀིྀི shatter me reference? (Iykyk..) ALSO PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOU GUYS FEEL ABOUT THIS😓

TAGS ʚ♡ɞ @sturniqloo @strnilolover @themotherofmattschildren @chrislilcumslvt @il0vecatzzz @aymeesblog @heartz4matt @mattsfavginger @ncm9696 @starfuckoff @chrissturnioloslvt @n0tnovaa @ghostlyplug

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

The Erasing of Ed’s Personhood (again).

Some interpretations of Stede and Izzy during the Rhys and Con Q&A at SFROP didn’t sit well with me.

There’s sexual frisson between Stede and Izzy in the candle scene

What canon shows: That Stede flatters Izzy into mentoring him in a similar way Ed uses flattery in 104 when telling Izzy he could be the Captain of the Revenge. It’s knowing your audience and what motivates them. But this isn’t flirting on Stede’s part. It’s emotionally intelligent leadership.

This alleged sexual frisson takes place immediately after Stede has found Ed, the love of his life, whom he has been desperately trying to find for months. For whom he has willingly given everything up. Stede cannot see another man for Ed. Stede’s whole love and sexual awakening is built around Ed. He’s Ed-emotional, Ed-sexual.

And we’re meant to believe the moment Stede is out of Ed’s presence - Ed, who has massive trust issues - that there’s a mutual homoerotic moment between Stede and Izzy, because Izzy has his shirt off and Stede says some dubiously flattering things? It’s reductive towards Ed and mocking of his character. It’s actually an incredibly cruel interpretation. It isn’t the show. It. just. isn’t. the. show.

Izzy is a good mentor to Stede

What canon shows: Stede ‘being the captain’ by asking Izzy to mentor him. Stede is putting into practice ‘keep your friends close and enemies closer’ by trying to give Izzy a role. The devil makes work for idle Izzy Hands, so keep him busy. But punching someone in the stomach, yelling at them, and telling them they have such a total lack of skills you don’t know how they’re still alive… when they rescued your sorry ass two nights previous!…does not a mentor make. And Stede doesn’t learn anything useful really. I mean at least he learned something that saved his life with Ed even if it was through flirting. The fact Stede also seems to enjoy some of Izzy’s approval doesn’t make Izzy a good mentor either. It makes Stede someone who is still wrestling with his identity, and reconciling differing aspects of his masculinity. Stede’s parental trauma causes him to attach too much significance to it.

That Stede and Izzy caused Ed’s decline and have equal responsibility for fixing the man they both love (this one boiled my piss).

What canon shows: Ed is devastated by Stede not turning up at the dock. Ed then processes some of this in a reasonably healthy way — curling up under blankets, eating marmalade, writing doggerel, talking to a friend, crying, showing pain publicly, exploring shared feelings, making a plan to feel better through art (singing), and tidying up his room. Ed is attempting to put into practice Stede’s philosophy: beauty, aestheticism, art as therapy, open emotions, talking it through.

We can’t know what would’ve happened next because the narrative doesn’t bend that way, but without Izzy’s intervention, what Ed doesn’t do is fall into the Kraken spiral. Ed is pretty much forced to a shuddering emotional halt, mid-catharsis - that in itself causes further trauma. Many therapists will tell you that stopping emotional work suddenly can be worse than never beginning at all. On top of that suppression, Ed now fears harm might be done to him should he appear weak. To say Stede and Izzy are equally responsible for Ed’s Kraken spiral is just not true.

Second, Ed isn’t an object to be fixed. Ed isn’t something to be moulded or unfolded. Ed isn’t the exotic plaything of two white men. Ed isn’t a toy or cipher or prize to be won between a bourgeois hero and some proletariat antagonist. Ed really just needs to be left the fuck alone so he can develop some self-actualisation. Let him try his innkeeper dream and fail. Let him see the world doesn’t end when he does. I truly believe Stede is the only individual who can give Ed the room and psychological safety to explore a range of human emotion and identities, as well as providing that soft place to fall when Ed inevitably needs it. And it isn’t even that Ed needs to fix himself. He just needs to be allowed to breathe and be and exist in all his human messiness, judgment-free, fear-free.

That Stede’s crying as Izzy dies shows how much he has grown to care about Izzy, that there is mutual respect, and Stede is left devastated.

What canon shows: That Stede CRIES! He cries all of the time. And I have championed this over and over. He cries in 13/18 episodes. He makes it safe for others to cry. Crying is Stede’s superpower. It helps him process emotions healthily. Stede, I believe, is crying when Izzy dies for the following reasons:

Because he’s Stede

Because he’s the Captain and he didn’t get everyone out alive (doesn’t matter the great Israel Hands can’t check a pocket for weapons).

Because Ed is devastated, and Stede loves Ed

Because Stede isn’t a colossal prick. He says ‘poor bugger’ towards Chauncey moments after escaping execution. Stede’s an empath. Stede understands the pity of it all. Stede can see the intrinsic value in most people, even Izzy. That doesn’t tell me anything about Izzy, but everything about Stede. And it doesn’t make Izzy special to Stede. It makes humans special to Stede.

Why these misinterpretations upset me so much is what it does to the validity of Ed’s characterisation. The idea there’s a sexual ‘knowing’ behind Ed’s back between the two white guys which they choose not to act upon because they decide to work together to objectify and ‘fix Ed’ instead. The idea that Izzy is a better mentor and influence than Ed. The objectification of Ed as a thing to be fixed then won. The appropriation of Ed’s emotional confusion over Izzy’s death being overlaid onto Stede also. Because Ed can’t have his own unique character arc in anything it seems. I just want Ed’s characterisation and personhood to stop being erased.

I’m still sleep-deprived so I hope this makes sense. It’s taken me a while to process.

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

Hi!

I have a request for FellSwap Gold bros, UnderSwap bros, and Underfell Bros x SUPER shy reader!!

Reader having really bad social anxiety, has a hard time speaking up and is just super quiet, and just generally nervous all the time due to past trauma.

How do you think the skeletons would act towards an S/O being so shy??

Featuring: Sky, Honey, Red, Edge, Wine and Coffee.

Masterlist

Sky

You remind him of his brother a bit.. not completely since you two have a lot of differences yet it's probably the shy personality.

He has no problem with you being shy! He just wished you'd talk more when you two go out.. oh wait yeah you're socially anxious.

Sky does his best to keep you relaxed, he hates seeing people he loves nervous or anxious, he just hopes the methods he uses with his brother work with you too..

If you ever want to talk about your traumas with him, he'll feel honored, people only do this kind of thing when they trust each other, and to know you trust him enough to talk about traumatic things that have affected you in the past.. it makes him feel like he's one of the most important persons to you.

Please tell him if anything is bothering you, he doesn't want to see you uncomfortable nor panicked.

Honey

"Welcome to the club sweetheart.."

Honey also has a hard type speaking up, more with strangers than with people he's friends with, and his anxiety doesn't help much.

So, why not help each other out?

He's not the best, yet he's always there to listen to you if you'd like, and he'd be very happy if you'd hear him too.

At the end of the day, the books he writes are a distraction- an escape from reality he found to both make money and to do something he enjoys, so maybe you can find something to distract you too?

Your shyness doesn't bother him, if anything it's something he knows is a part of you, and he's always by your side when he can.

Red

Oh well, guess you two aren't really leaving the house..

Red doesn't really like leaving his house, so if he isn't working he's most definitely chilling on the couch.

He's not the best at giving advice, damn, the last time he gave someone advice that person tried to poison him, yet he'll be happy to listen to you if you're ever comfortable enough to do it.

Your shyness and quietness doesn't bother him in the least, it feels kinda good to just.. rant to you about work while cuddling y'know?

"Ya may not even realize, yet cha' make me the happiest skeleton in all earth sweetheart."

Edge

He's the literal opposite of you.

Edge has a talk with you, asking if you would like to have some therapy sessions, and if you agree he's already paying for it.

Tries to convince you to leave the house when he's not working and the weather is good, he doesn't force you but he'd be happy when you successfully socialize with someone, even just a little bit.

Stands up for you, no matter the situation. He's pretty famous because of his cooking you know? Who's gonna turn him down huh? One word and a security guard will take that person away.

He isn't someone to give advice about trauma, if anything he'd much rather hear you trauma-dump, that way he can find the best way to try and help.

Wine

His brother's just like you. He already knows what to do.

Won't force you to leave the house if you don't want to, yet he'll "reward" you with small things when you do, buying ice cream, plushies you want, books or video games if you like them.. you get the deal.

Something he noticed was wherever you go, his brother follows, guess Coffee finally found someone like him huh?

If someone even dares to be slightly rude towards you, Wine makes sure that person won't ever bother you again.

Anything you tell him, he'll give advice, no matter what it is.

Coffee

He's EXACTLY like you.

Coffee has a really bad social anxiety and has a hard time feeling comfortable to talk, so he mostly communicates by notes!

May influence you to do the same as him...

Doesn't bother him that you're quiet, quite the opposite actually, after hearing Rus and Cash ramble for HOURS on the swap papyruses reunion, he couldn't beg more for some silent cuddles with his loved one.

If you ever want to talk about your traumas with him, he's going to listen, even if he doesn't give the best advice.

[xxkissesforchanniexx]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader (zombie apocalypse au) Word count: 1.2k Warnings: none

A/N: im trying to get back into writing so we're starting off small... real small but it's ok im almost done with some bigger works i want to get posted by the end of the week so... we'll see enjoy :)

Prev | Next

Chapter 5

Seonghwa hit the ground. Hard. His ears were ringing. His body ached. He sat up slowly, eyes drawn to the blaze that illuminated his face and engulfed the building he'd just been in. An explosion..

It was an explosion.

An explosion. Just an explosion.

Then he heard the screams followed by a sound horror movies could only dream of recreating. The sound of tearing flesh and cracking bones.

Seonghwa turned to the sound.

it was on her, a young woman, no older than he was, her phone had fallen to the ground as she dialed 112..

The operator's voice came out muffled.

And that thing on her, bit her throat and tore the flesh from her neck.

Too stunned to speak or move he backed up slowly. More screams.

And one ran right past him lunging for a teacher who was calling the police. He scrambled to his feet.. and ran. Ran until he realized looking at one of those things biting people... it was his biology teacher. She turned to him and trilled softly before shrieking and making a mad dash for him.

Seonghwa didn't have time to scream before a man with big eyes and small lips swung a baseball bat at whatever had become of his teacher.

It fell to the ground writhing head backwards. Still making a weak attempt to crawl for the young men.

The man grabbed Seonghwa and wrenched him to his feet, shoving a headless gold club into his hands. "Don't breathe in the smoke! RUN!"

Seonghwa stared at the zombies roaming through the woods. Was it the explosion...

"Hwa.."

He looked over his shoulder at you, "Hey."

"You thinking of something.."

"No." Seonghwa shook his head before raising a brow at you. "What did you tell Chan?"

"As much as he needed to know.." you sighed.

"Which is?"

You looked at him. "Not the whole truth-"

"Y/n!"

"Do you want him to think we're murderers?" You whisper shouted. "We're already on the rocks with him Hwa! One mess up and he could kick us out or worse."

"It's not that different..."

"What?"

"You're a human being! You made mistakes but you'll live! He's not Hongjoong. He's not going to kill you for looking at him the wrong way." the man hissed angrily.

Jisung perked up from the bushes so suddenly Seonghwa pointed his rifle at him.

"Woah!" The chubby cheeked man put his hands up. "IT'S ME! CALM DOWN!"

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, and lowered his gun. "what?"

"I found a boar. We can head back now.."

You nodded.

As you began walking back to the base, Jisung turned his head looking at a tree.

"What is it?" You asked, leaning back to look at what he was staring so intently at.

There was a mark in the bark of the tree. A very deliberate mark. Carved in the shape of a compass looking object.

"it's nothing!" Jisung smiled at you. "Something I made a while back."

Seonghwa glanced at you. He's lying.. his expression screamed.

"It's nice." You said, patting Jisung on the shoulder before glancing at the taller man, your eyes shouting Trust him! back.

You returned to the base to find Hyunjin running away from Minho as the latter chased him with a fork.

"Y/N!" Hyunjin hid behind you, peeking around you as Minho tried to find a way around you to stab him.

"CALM DOWN!" You tried to calm the older man but he sprinted around you, sending Hyunjin squealing like a little girl as he ran away from you and down the hall.

You pursed your lips. "Wh-"

"Hyunjin called him dumb." Seungmin said simply.

You snorted.

Jisung ran after Minho and Seonghwa shook his head before sitting at the table looking at what Changbin was working on.

"ENOUGH!" You heard Chan bellow, they'd woken him up it'd seemed.

Both Minho, Jisung, and Hyunjin tore through the hall running for their lives as a very angry, very sleepy Chan stood at the entrance to the hall, slipper in hand.

You tilted your head at him.

He looked at you and lowered the slipper. "You guys catch anything..?"

Yeosang bit his lip. "You know we can't be out right now Wooyoung."

"When else would we talk about it? San breathes down my neck all day. Hongjoong and Eunbi are keeping you close like a dog in the evening." Wooyoung put his head in his hands and rubbed his face.

Yeosang looked at his hands. "I thought they were dead... I thought-"

"You thought wrong!" Wooyoung snapped. "Think about it. Would Y/n just really jump into a river moving that fast without a plan?!"

"He was going to kill them!"

Wooyoung bit his lip and looked at Yeosang. "They saved our lives multiple times. Why want them dead..."

"You know Hongjoong-"

"But what about the others. Mingi. San!"

Silence.

"You know you're the only person who can make San see reason."

"We need to send them a message... That Eunbi might know where they are. And that they need to run before Hongjoong gets to them."

"He would never hurt Y/n."

"But he might kill Seonghwa." Wooyoung looked at the hallway.

"How will we reach her?"

"The plane... they want it.. We'll be there."

"Be where?" a soft voice said.

Both men jumped.

"Eunbi!" Yeosang grabbed his chest.

"Why are you so scared?" She tilted her head. "Discussing something you shouldn't? Past curfew?"

Wooyoung resisted the urge to swallow in fear. "No... just talking about.. Y/n. We'll be there at the plane." He glanced at Yeosang.\

"To help Hongjoong catch her and that traitor...." the other man added.

"I see.." She smiled.

Both men directed their gaze to the ground to avoid staring at the scarring on her face.

"Get to bed. I won't tell Hongjoongie of your... meeting."

Wooyoung nodded as she turned away. "G'night Eunbi.."

"Goodnight boys."

Thhe two men looked at each other before walking to their separate rooms.

"You can't be serious." Chan brushed his fingers over the compass mark and looked at Minho, Jisung, and Changbin.

"it's fresh." Jisung said shaking his head.

"She's looking for us." Minho bit his lip and glanced at Changbin.

"Let her come then." The muscular man said in almost a growl.

"Changbin.." Chan looked at his friend. "Next time she's not gonna miss. It's not worth the risk."

"How do you know she doesn't want to apologize...?" Jisung started. "And join us again..."

"You think she'll be happy to see Y/n and just want to join us with another girl?" Chan growled.

Jisung looked down.

"She can take this." Minho pulled out his knife and stabbed the carved compass, slashing it across the face. "We got the damn message."

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© 2024 xxkissesforchanniexx. DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK .ᐟ

[m4rv3l-girl]

I've Recently stumbled across your page and I am already in love with your writing! The way you capture the story and the characters amazes me! I've never done this before but I have a request if you have time to make it come alive✨️

Reader is Tony starks daughter and is dating bucky, her dad didn't agree and right before reader had a solo Misson, she argued with Tony about bucky and they left on bad terms, bucky said goodbye and waved off reader on thier Mission. It was only supposed to be a 3 day mission and then home again but reader goes missing, kidnapped by hydra or something and they keep her captive and torture her for information on thier winter solider and Tony and bucky work together despite thier differences to find you. After bucky did some digging he found an old hydra base and seen there was some recent activity and figured that was thier best shot, once they got to you, you was unresponsive and bucky carried you back to the quinjet, and Tony broke down apologising and praying for you to come back. You spend a few days in medbay with bucky and Tony by your side and when you awaken, Tony tells you he approves of bucky and couldn't be happier that you're with him because he loves and cares about you as much as he does🥹

Crossfire

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Kidnapping. Torture. Injury. Blood.

Y/N paced across the polished floors of the Avengers Compound, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and nerves.

The mission briefing echoed faintly in her memory—a quick in-and-out reconnaissance, a simple data retrieval from an abandoned HYDRA facility. Three days, tops. But the tension in the air between her and her father made it feel like she was walking into a battlezone before even stepping foot on the Quinjet.

"You’re distracted," Tony Stark said sharply, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. His tone carried the weight of the argument they had been having for the last twenty minutes. "And you know what happens when you're distracted out there? You make mistakes. Mistakes that could get you killed."

Y/N halted mid-stride, her shoulders squaring as she turned to face him. "I'm not distracted, Dad. I'm focused. You just don’t like the fact that I’m with Bucky."

Tony threw his hands up, his voice rising. "You’re damn right I don’t like it! The guy has a kill list longer than the history of Stark Industries. I’m supposed to be okay with my daughter dating a former HYDRA assassin?"

"Former," Y/N snapped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "He’s not that person anymore, and you know it. You’ve worked with him, fought alongside him. He’s saved lives—your life."

Tony’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. "That doesn’t erase what he’s done, Y/N. You’re too close to see the danger—"

"Danger?" she cut him off, incredulous. "You’re one to talk about danger, Dad. I grew up watching you suit up and put your life on the line every other day. And guess what? You weren’t perfect either. Bucky has done everything to make amends, and I love him. Why can’t you just accept that?"

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Tony’s face softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But he quickly buried it under a defensive mask. "I’m not trying to stop you from living your life, Y/N. I’m trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what? From being happy?" Her voice cracked, a mix of anger and despair laced in her words. "I thought you’d understand by now that I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to trust me."

Tony opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway, his blue eyes flickering between Y/N and Tony, tension etched into every line of his face.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked, his voice measured but tinged with concern.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Peachy."

Tony shot Bucky a withering glare. "Great. Just in time for the part where I get ignored because you’re here."

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Y/N, his hand brushing hers. "You ready to go, Doll?"

Y/N nodded, her anger with her father momentarily eclipsed by the comfort Bucky’s presence brought her. She grabbed her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"You’re still not listening to me," Tony said, his voice strained as she moved toward the door.

Y/N paused, glancing back at him. "I heard you, Dad. But I’m still going."

The words hung heavy in the air, a finality that neither of them wanted but neither could avoid. Tony’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping as though he’d already lost.

Bucky followed her out into the hangar, his metal arm brushing against her shoulder. "You good?" he asked quietly once they were out of earshot.

Y/N exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Not really, but I will be. He’ll come around eventually. He has to."

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together. "I’m sorry. I know this is hard."

Y/N stopped walking and turned to face him. "It’s not your fault, Bucky. He’ll see what I see in you someday." Her voice softened, her hand reaching up to rest against his chest. "And when he does, he’ll realize you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me."

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small, grateful smile, but his eyes still held a trace of sadness. "I’ll wait as long as it takes, Doll."

The Quinjet engines roared to life behind them, signaling her departure. Bucky walked her the rest of the way in silence, his hand never leaving hers. At the base of the ramp, he stopped, his grip tightening just slightly.

"Come back to me," he murmured, his voice low and earnest.

"I always do," she replied, forcing a brave smile.

Bucky hesitated, then leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to make her heart ache. He stepped back as the ramp began to close, his eyes locked on hers until the Quinjet doors sealed shut.

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself as the jet lifted off. The mission awaited, and she had no idea it would be the hardest battle she’d ever face.

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The Quinjet’s descent was smooth, its engines humming softly as it hovered over the outskirts of the abandoned HYDRA facility. Y/N sat strapped into her seat, her mind focused on the mission at hand. It was just a data retrieval—no direct confrontation expected, no heavy lifting. Simple. Yet she couldn’t shake the lingering weight of her argument with Tony, his voice still echoing in her head.

"You make mistakes when you’re distracted."

Shaking off the thought, Y/N tightened the straps of her tactical vest and tapped the comms in her ear. "Quinjet’s holding steady. I’m heading in now," she said, her voice calm and collected.

"Copy that," Natasha’s voice came through the comms. "We’ll be on standby if anything goes sideways. Keep your comm open."

"Always do," Y/N replied, grabbing her pack and stepping off the ramp.

The facility was quiet, overgrown with weeds and moss, the metallic structure dulled by time and abandonment. The surrounding trees swayed slightly in the wind, their shadows stretching ominously over the building’s rusted exterior. It looked like any other defunct HYDRA site—empty, unassuming, and forgotten. But Y/N knew better. HYDRA rarely left things without a reason.

She approached the entrance, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. Her fingers brushed over the keypad by the door. It was broken, wires spilling out like spilled guts. It took only a few moments of tinkering before the door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.

"First door’s open," Y/N reported, stepping inside.

"Good. Be careful," Natasha replied.

The air inside was stale and cold, carrying the metallic tang of disuse. Y/N moved cautiously, her steps light but deliberate. The map of the facility played out in her mind as she advanced toward the central server room. It wasn’t far—just down a few turns and one floor below.

The first few corridors were uneventful, lined with old HYDRA propaganda and broken equipment. She paused briefly to inspect her surroundings, ensuring she wasn’t leaving tracks or triggering any dormant security systems.

"How’s it looking?" Natasha asked over comms.

"Quiet," Y/N replied. "Almost too quiet. I’m at the main staircase now, heading down to the server room."

Descending the steps, Y/N felt a chill creep up her spine. It wasn’t fear—not yet—but the kind of awareness that came from knowing she wasn’t truly alone. She tightened her grip on her weapon, her other hand brushing over her utility belt.

The server room door came into view, heavy and fortified with an old HYDRA insignia etched into its surface. It was locked, of course, but Y/N was prepared. Pulling a small device from her belt, she attached it to the door’s lock. The device beeped softly, hacking into the outdated system.

"Almost in," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone on the comms.

The lock clicked open with a satisfying hiss. Y/N pushed the door ajar and slipped inside, her eyes scanning the room quickly. Rows of servers stood like silent sentinels, their lights flickering faintly. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of the machinery.

"Made it to the server room. Starting the data download now," she reported, setting her pack down.

"Copy. Keep your eyes peeled," Natasha warned.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got this," Y/N replied, inserting a small drive into one of the servers.

The drive blinked to life, and data began to flow onto its storage. Y/N kept her weapon close, her gaze flickering between the server and the door. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness—the hum of the servers, the soft beep of the download, the distant groan of the building’s aging infrastructure.

"Download at 30%," she said after a few minutes.

The process was uneventful, just as she’d hoped. At 70%, she allowed herself a small smile. This was exactly what she needed—a straightforward mission, no complications, no distractions. It would give her time to clear her head, to figure out how to talk to Tony when she got back.

The drive beeped again, signaling completion. Y/N pulled it free, tucking it securely into her belt pouch.

"Data’s secure. Heading back to the Quinjet," she said, rising to her feet.

"Good work," Natasha said. "Keep an eye out—something feels off about this one."

Y/N didn’t argue. She felt it too, that unsettling itch at the back of her mind. Her senses sharpened as she made her way back to the staircase, her steps even quieter now. The corridors seemed darker than before, the shadows longer and more sinister.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—the faintest shuffle of movement behind her. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned, her weapon raised.

The staircase was empty, but the air felt heavier.

"Nat, I think I’ve got company," Y/N whispered into the comms.

"Do you see anything?" Natasha asked, her tone instantly alert.

"Not yet," Y/N replied, backing up the stairs.

She was almost at the top when a sharp noise echoed through the corridor—a clang of metal against metal. Y/N whirled around just as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Before she could react, a figure lunged at her from the side, slamming her against the wall.

Her weapon clattered to the ground as she struggled against the assailant, a HYDRA agent clad in tactical gear. She managed to drive her knee into his gut, sending him stumbling back, but more figures emerged from the shadows.

"Ambush!" Y/N shouted into the comms, adrenaline surging through her veins.

"Y/N, get out of there!" Natasha’s voice was sharp, but the words barely registered.

The agents swarmed her, their movements precise and coordinated. Y/N fought fiercely, her training kicking in as she blocked blows and struck back. She landed a punch that sent one agent reeling, then ducked under another’s swing, sweeping his legs out from under him.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull as one of the agents struck her from behind. Y/N’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She tried to fight through it, but the world tilted violently, and darkness crept in at the edges of her sight.

"Y/N!" Natasha’s voice was frantic in her ear.

The last thing Y/N saw before the world went black was the HYDRA insignia on one of the agent’s uniforms.

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Consciousness crept back slowly.

Accompanied by the steady throb of her head and the unmistakable ache of her muscles pulled too tight.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing dim, flickering light. The air was stiff, carrying the sharp scent of metal and disinfectant. She tried to move, but her body was restrained. Her wrists burned where they chafed against something unyielding. As her senses sharpened, she realized she was tied to a chair, her arms pinned behind her and her legs strapped down tightly.

The room was sterile and barren, its walls an industrial gray with faint streaks of rust. A single lightbulb swung overhead, casting shifting shadows around the space. There was no window, no visible way out except for a heavy metal door directly in front of her.

Y/N tugged at her bindings experimentally, her breath hitching when the cuffs dug deeper into her skin. They were reinforced, leaving little room for maneuvering.

Her comms were gone, her weapons stripped away. She was completely alone.

Before she could test her restraints further, the door groaned open. Y/N’s eyes snapped up, her expression hardening as a HYDRA agent strolled in. He was tall and wiry, with sharp features and a smug grin that made her stomach turn. His uniform was pristine, adorned with the HYDRA insignia on the shoulder.

“Well, look who’s awake,” the man drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with false cheer. He carried a clipboard in one hand, tapping it lightly against his palm as he approached.

Y/N didn’t respond, keeping her face blank despite the fear roiling in her chest.

The man circled her slowly, his boots clicking against the floor. “Y/N Stark,” he mused, as if testing her name on his tongue. “Tony Stark’s pride and joy. And yet here you are, all alone, with no daddy or boyfriend to save you.”

She clenched her jaw but said nothing.

The agent chuckled. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I have all the time in the world.” He stopped in front of her, crouching so they were eye level. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. About Stark. About Barnes. About SHIELD.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Go to hell.”

The agent’s smile didn’t waver. He straightened, setting his clipboard on a nearby table. “I was hoping you’d say that. It makes things more fun for me.”

He picked up a small device from the table—a thin rod with a glowing blue tip. Y/N recognized it instantly: a neural stimulator, HYDRA’s favorite tool for “persuasion.” It sent jolts of electricity directly into the nervous system, causing excruciating pain without leaving a mark.

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show fear.

The agent tilted his head, studying her. “You know, I’ve always admired your kind. So loyal. So resilient. But everyone has a breaking point.”

He activated the device, the blue light intensifying. “Let’s find yours.”

Before she could brace herself, he pressed the rod against her side.

White-hot pain exploded through her body, stealing her breath. Her muscles seized involuntarily, and a strangled gasp escaped her lips. The pain was blinding, radiating from the point of contact and spreading like wildfire.

When he pulled the device away, Y/N slumped forward, her breathing ragged.

“Still with me?” the agent taunted, tapping the rod against his palm.

Y/N forced herself upright, glaring at him through the haze of pain. “Is that all you’ve got?” she rasped, her voice hoarse but defiant.

His smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Tough girl,” he said, almost admiringly. “But this is only the beginning.”

The next jolt was worse, targeting her thigh. The electricity tore through her muscles, leaving them trembling and weak. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, tasting blood.

“Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” the agent demanded, his tone sharp now. “Where is he? What does he know about HYDRA’s operations?”

Y/N spat blood onto the floor, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sneered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. “Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. We know you’ve been cozying up to him. You think you can keep secrets from us?”

Her head throbbed where he pulled, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “You’re wasting your time,” she said through gritted teeth.

His grip tightened before he released her abruptly, sending her head lolling forward. “Fine,” he said coldly. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

The next hour was a blur of pain. The agent alternated between the neural stimulator and his fists, delivering calculated strikes to her ribs and abdomen. He peppered her with questions, each one more demanding than the last.

“Where is Barnes?” “What are Stark’s latest projects?” “What does SHIELD know about HYDRA’s current operations?”

Each time, Y/N’s answer was the same: silence or defiance.

Her body screamed in protest, every nerve on fire. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her vision swam, but she held onto one thought with iron resolve: Don’t break.

By the time the agent stepped back, she was barely upright. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her head hanging limply.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” he admitted, wiping his brow. “But strength only lasts so long.”

Y/N lifted her head weakly, a faint smile playing on her cracked lips. “You’ll… have to try harder than that.”

His expression darkened, and he raised the neural stimulator again. But before he could use it, the door creaked open, and another agent entered.

“Enough,” the newcomer said firmly, glancing at Y/N with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “We need her alive.”

The first agent hesitated, his grip tightening on the device. “She hasn’t given us anything.”

“Then we’ll keep trying,” the newcomer replied. “But for now, she needs to recover. Dead subjects are useless to us.”

Reluctantly, the first agent set the device down. He leaned in close to Y/N, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re lucky,” he hissed. “But don’t think this is over.”

He stepped back, and the two agents exchanged a few hushed words before leaving the room. The door slammed shut, plunging Y/N back into oppressive silence.

She slumped in her chair, every inch of her body throbbing with pain. Her breathing was shallow, her head heavy. But deep inside, a flicker of hope remained.

Bucky will come for me, she thought. He always does.

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The morning after Y/N left for her mission dawned uneventfully in New York. Bucky Barnes sat in the Avengers Tower common room, staring at the cold coffee in his hand. He wasn’t much of a morning person, but sleeping last night had been nearly impossible. He’d spent most of the night going over his last conversation with Y/N.

Her kiss had lingered, both on his lips and in his memory, but her nervous energy had also left a knot in his chest. He’d tried to reassure her that she’d be fine, but deep down, Bucky hated every second she spent on solo missions. She was capable—he knew that better than anyone—but the fear of losing her gnawed at him constantly.

Still, he’d let her go. She’d hugged him tight and told him to trust her, and he’d kissed her temple, swallowing his protests. Now all he could do was wait.

Tony Stark walked into the room, his usual swagger missing. He had his tablet in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His face was drawn, and though he wouldn’t admit it, the argument with Y/N before she left had taken its toll.

"Barnes," Tony greeted curtly, settling into a chair across the room.

“Stark,” Bucky replied, just as curt. The tension between them was palpable, but both men had agreed to coexist for Y/N’s sake.

Tony’s gaze flickered to Bucky’s untouched coffee. “What, no appetite for caffeine today? Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge.”

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Just not in the mood.”

Tony let out a low hum, tapping at his tablet. He wasn’t one to dwell on feelings, but the weight of their last argument sat heavy on his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N’s frustrated face, her voice cracking as she defended Bucky.

"She’ll be fine," Tony muttered, more to himself than Bucky.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to him. “You better hope so,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, you’re going to regret every word you said to her.”

Before Tony could fire back, FRIDAY’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, I’m detecting an irregularity with Miss Stark’s mission. Her comms have gone offline.”

Both men froze, the tension in the room morphing into something heavier.

“What do you mean ‘offline’?” Tony demanded, sitting upright.

“Miss Stark’s communicator went dark approximately seven minutes ago,” FRIDAY responded. “I’ve attempted to reestablish contact, but there’s no response.”

Bucky was already on his feet, his expression hardening. “Seven minutes? And you’re just telling us now?”

“I alerted you as soon as the anomaly was detected,” FRIDAY replied evenly.

Tony swiped at his tablet, pulling up the mission parameters and Y/N’s last known location. A map of Eastern Europe materialized on the screen, marked with a blinking red dot.

“She was in contact before this,” Tony said, his voice tight. “She reported everything was going according to plan. What the hell happened?”

Bucky stepped closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder. “Can you pinpoint her last known coordinates?”

“Already done,” FRIDAY replied. The map zoomed in on a dense forested area. “Her last transmission came from these coordinates. There’s no sign of further movement.”

“She could’ve lost the signal,” Tony reasoned, though his tone was far from confident.

“Or someone took her out,” Bucky said bluntly, his jaw clenched.

Tony shot him a glare. “Real helpful, Barnes.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. If her comms went dark, something’s wrong.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Tony turned to FRIDAY. “Initiate satellite surveillance of that area. I want eyes on the ground, now.”

“I’ve already started the process,” FRIDAY confirmed. “However, the forest cover in the region is dense, and visual clarity may be limited.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated feeling powerless. The soldier in him wanted to grab a weapon and go, but without more intel, he’d be running blind.

“What about her tracker?” Bucky asked suddenly.

Tony frowned. “She wasn’t wearing a full tracker. Just the one embedded in her comms unit.”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t start with me, Barnes,” Tony snapped. “She insisted on traveling light, and I didn’t exactly have time to argue after our—” He cut himself off, biting back the word argument.

Bucky turned on him, his blue eyes blazing. “You didn’t argue because you were too busy picking a fight with her about me. And now she’s out there, missing, and we’re wasting time because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Tony slammed his tablet down on the table, standing to face Bucky. “Don’t you dare put this on me,” he hissed. “She’s an agent. She knew the risks.”

“She’s your daughter,” Bucky growled. “And you should’ve supported her instead of pushing her away.”

The room fell silent, both men breathing heavily as the weight of their words settled between them.

“Gentlemen,” FRIDAY interjected, “I suggest you put your differences aside. I’ve detected signs of unusual activity near Miss Stark’s last known location.”

Tony and Bucky immediately turned to the screen, their argument forgotten.

“What kind of activity?” Tony asked.

“Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures converging on the area shortly after Miss Stark’s comms went offline,” FRIDAY reported. “It’s possible she encountered hostiles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “HYDRA?”

“There’s no confirmation yet,” FRIDAY replied.

Tony grabbed his tablet, his hands moving rapidly as he analyzed the data. “We’re wasting time sitting here. Get the quinjet ready,” he barked.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He was already heading for the armory.

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The quinjet hummed as it cut through the sky, slicing through clouds with precision. Tony sat in the pilot’s seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. Bucky sat beside him, silently scanning the mission data on a tablet.

Neither man spoke. The weight of their shared fear hung heavy in the air, but neither dared voice it.

“How far out are we?” Bucky asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Thirty minutes,” Tony replied, his voice clipped.

Bucky nodded, his gaze fixed on the screen. The thermal imaging showed nothing new, just the same cluster of heat signatures near Y/N’s last location.

“She’s strong,” Tony said suddenly, his tone almost defensive. “She’ll hold out.”

Bucky glanced at him. For a moment, he considered saying something comforting, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. She will.”

But deep down, both men knew the truth: time was running out.

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When the quinjet landed, Bucky and Tony moved quickly, stepping into the dense forest with weapons drawn. FRIDAY’s guidance led them to Y/N’s last known coordinates, the eerie silence of the woods amplifying their unease.

The site was undisturbed, save for a few scuff marks in the dirt that hinted at a struggle. Bucky crouched, his fingers brushing against the ground.

“Tracks,” he muttered. “Boot prints. At least six people.”

Tony scanned the area with a handheld device, his jaw tightening. “They took her,” he said grimly. “We need to move.”

Bucky rose to his feet, his expression dark. “Let’s go.”

Together, they followed the trail deeper into the forest, their determination unwavering. Neither man said it aloud, but the same thought echoed in their minds: We’re coming for you, Y/N. Hold on.

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The sharp sting of fluorescent lights buzzed above Y/N’s head, piercing through the darkness she had come to find solace in.

Every time her mind threatened to pull her away, back to a place of quiet oblivion, another jolt of pain grounded her to the suffocating reality of the room.

It had been a full day, though it felt like weeks. Time had blurred, lost in the cycle of pain, silence, and interrogation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink of water. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and each shallow breath she took sent spikes of agony through her ribs. She was sure one, maybe two, were broken.

But she was alive.

That fact alone gave her the smallest sliver of defiance to hold onto, even as her body screamed at her to give up.

The metal chair she was tied to groaned softly as she shifted, her wrists raw from where the restraints dug into her skin. Her head hung low, strands of her hair matted with sweat and blood clinging to her face. She blinked slowly, trying to focus her vision, but the pounding ache in her skull made even that a monumental effort.

The door creaked open, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fists, summoning what little strength she had left to steel herself.

“Still breathing, I see,” a voice sneered.

The Hydra agent stepped into the room, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. He was tall, with a thin, wiry frame that belied the strength he wielded. His cold, calculating eyes scanned her, searching for cracks in the armor she wore so stubbornly.

Y/N didn’t answer. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You’ve held up,” he said, circling her like a vulture.

“I always do.” She spat.

“You think you’re strong,” he whispered, his voice venomous. “But everyone breaks eventually. You will tell me what I want to know.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice barely audible.

The agent smirked. “Ah, defiance. Admirable. But futile.”

He rose to his feet, pacing slowly. “Tell me about the Winter Soldier,” he demanded. “His weaknesses. His routines. Anything useful.”

Y/N lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her lip curled into a faint smirk, though the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The agent’s expression darkened. Without warning, he lashed out, his fist connecting with her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind her eyelids.

“Wrong answer,” he said coldly.

Y/N tasted blood, metallic and bitter, pooling in her mouth. She spat it out, the crimson splatter landing on the floor between them.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony. The Hydra agent wasn’t particularly creative in his methods, but he was thorough. He punched, kicked, and struck her with calculated precision, targeting places that would hurt the most while leaving her alive enough to endure more.

Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stifle her cries, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She focused on one thing: staying silent. Every moment she resisted was a victory, a small act of rebellion against the monster before her.

Her mind drifted to Bucky. She clung to the memory of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way his arms felt around her. She imagined him whispering reassurances, telling her to hold on, that he was coming for her.

“I’ll find you, Doll,” she could almost hear him say, his voice steady and sure. “Just hold on a little longer.”

It wasn’t real, but it was enough to keep her going.

Eventually, the Hydra agent grew frustrated. His fists were bloodied from the beating, and Y/N’s defiance had begun to grate on him.

“Why do you fight so hard for him?” he demanded, his voice filled with venom. “Do you think he’d do the same for you? He’s a monster. A killer. Do you really think you’re anything more than a distraction to him?”

Y/N’s head lolled forward, her vision swimming. She was too exhausted to lift her head, but she managed to rasp, “You don’t know him.”

The agent growled in frustration, slamming his fist into the wall. He turned to the guard stationed by the door. “Bring the electric setup,” he barked.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had endured physical pain, but the thought of being electrocuted sent a spike of fear through her. She closed her eyes, trying to summon the last dregs of her strength.

The minutes stretched into an eternity before the guard returned, wheeling in a cart with a sinister-looking device. The Hydra agent grinned wickedly as he connected the electrodes, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“This,” he said, holding up the wires, “is going to be much worse.”

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow pants. She refused to show fear, but the trembling in her body betrayed her.

The first shock hit her like a lightning bolt, her muscles seizing violently as pain tore through her. She bit down on her tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth again.

“Talk!” the agent demanded, turning the dial higher.

Y/N shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face. “Never,” she gasped.

The shocks came again and again, each one more excruciating than the last. Her vision blurred, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. She wanted to give up, to let the darkness take her, but the thought of Bucky and her father kept her hanging on.

“They’ll find me,” she whispered through cracked lips. “You won’t win.”

The agent sneered. “We’ll see about that.”

She didn’t know how much longer she could last, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

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The hum of the Quinjet’s engines was deafening in the silence between Tony and Bucky. It wasn’t the soothing kind of quiet, the type that offered peace. This was the kind of silence that screamed louder than words, thick with desperation, fear, and the unspoken truth neither man wanted to voice.

Time was slipping through their fingers.

Bucky sat rigid in his seat, his metal hand clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that the material groaned in protest. His flesh hand rested on his thigh, fingers twitching with barely restrained agitation. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the holographic map in front of them, narrowing on the blinking red dot that marked the last location Y/N had been before her comms went dark.

"Why haven’t we heard anything yet?" Bucky growled, his voice low and edged with a dangerous kind of fury.

Tony stood at the console across from him, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. His fingers flew across the controls, pulling up every Hydra base within a 200-mile radius, cross-referencing them with known activity. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"Don’t think for a second I’m not doing everything in my power," Tony snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite. He was too worried, too consumed by the gnawing guilt threatening to consume him whole.

The argument they’d had—the words he’d thrown at her—played on an endless loop in his mind.

"You think I’m going to stand by and let him ruin you?" "You’re better off without him, Y/N." "I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me!"

He had been wrong. He knew that now. Bucky wasn’t the enemy, not when the real danger was out there, holding his daughter captive.

"Her last ping was here," Tony said, jabbing a finger at the map. "A base Hydra abandoned years ago. But…"

"But it’s not abandoned anymore," Bucky finished, his voice cold and flat.

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. "Satellite scans picked up heat signatures. They’re faint, but they’re there. It’s our best lead."

Bucky pushed up from his chair, pacing like a caged animal. His hands flexed at his sides, the familiar rage simmering just beneath his skin. "If they hurt her—"

"They did," Tony interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "You don’t take someone like her and leave them unharmed. We both know that."

The weight of the statement hit them both, a brutal reminder of the clock ticking down on Y/N’s life.

As the Quinjet drew closer to the coordinates, the tension in the cabin became suffocating. Tony adjusted his suit piece by piece, the arc reactor glowing faintly as he prepared for battle. Bucky was already geared up, his combat knife strapped to his thigh and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say.

The Quinjet’s navigation system beeped, and FRIDAY’s voice cut through the silence. "We’ll arrive at the designated coordinates in five minutes."

Bucky inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His mind raced with thoughts of Y/N—her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she always looked at him like he was more than his past. She had to be alive. She had to be.

"FRIDAY, scan for life signs as soon as we’re in range," Tony ordered, his voice firm but hollow.

"Already running scans, sir," the AI replied.

The Quinjet began its descent, the Hydra base looming in the distance like a jagged scar on the earth. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up.

"This feels wrong," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon.

Tony didn’t answer. He was already moving, the ramp lowering as the Quinjet touched down. Bucky followed without hesitation, his every sense on high alert.

The base was dilapidated, overgrown with weeds and rusted with age, but it was clearly operational. Lights flickered faintly in the windows, and the faint hum of machinery echoed from somewhere deep inside.

They moved quickly and quietly through the corridors, clearing rooms with precision. Every second that passed without finding her felt like a lifetime.

"Anything, FRIDAY?" Tony asked, his voice a strained whisper.

"One faint life sign detected below ground," the AI replied.

Bucky’s heart stopped. "Is it her?"

"Unknown, Sergeant Barnes. The readings are weak, likely due to interference."

Tony exchanged a look with Bucky, and for the first time, they were united in their fear. "Then we don’t have time to waste," Tony said.

The descent into the lower levels of the base was harrowing. The deeper they went, the darker and more oppressive the air became. Bucky’s grip on his rifle tightened, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When they reached the door to the room FRIDAY had identified, Tony hesitated. His hand hovered over the panel, his eyes darting to Bucky.

"You ready?" he asked.

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply nodded, his jaw set in determination.

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The room was cold, a damp chill seeping into Y/N's bones as if the very walls around her were trying to finish what her captors had started. Her head lolled to the side, resting against the edge of the chair. Each breath rattled in her chest, shallow and labored. She blinked sluggishly, the dim light overhead casting uneven shadows that seemed to mock her.

The Hydra agent who had come in earlier was gone now, his absence offering no relief. His tools of torment lay discarded on the table nearby: a scorched prod, frayed wires that still sparked faintly, and a bloodied rag he had carelessly tossed aside.

Her body bore the marks of his persistence, evidence of her refusal to give in. The electrical burns on her arms still throbbed, skin raw and blistered, and blood trickled down her temple from a cut that hadn’t stopped bleeding since he had struck her last.

She had screamed. She had cried. But she had not spoken.

"You’ll tell me what I want to know eventually," the agent had sneered earlier, his gloved hand tracing the edge of the prod. "Everyone breaks, little Stark. Even you."

Y/N had glared at him through swollen eyes, lips trembling but silent. Her defiance had earned her another jolt of electricity, the current tearing through her body with merciless efficiency.

She hadn't screamed that time.

Now, alone again, she wasn’t sure if her silence had been bravery or stupidity. It didn’t matter anymore. She was dying. She could feel it in the way her body was shutting down, each pulse of her heartbeat weaker than the last.

The faintest flicker of hope she’d clung to for the last day—Has it been a day?—was now extinguished. She had believed, foolishly, that someone would find her. That Bucky would find her. But the hours stretched on, the silence within the base mocking her.

No one was coming.

Her head tipped back, and a soft, bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips, though it hurt to even make the sound. The effort sent a sharp pain through her ribs, where she suspected at least one was broken.

"Guess this is it," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. Her throat felt like sandpaper, each word scraping against it painfully.

Her thoughts turned to Bucky, unbidden but inevitable. She pictured his face—those piercing blue eyes, the slight scrunch of his brow when he was worried. The way he always called her Doll with such affection it made her heart ache.

He had always been her safe place, her anchor. But now, she was adrift, sinking beneath the weight of her despair.

And Tony… her dad.

Tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision. She thought of the last conversation they'd had, the fight that had sent her storming off. The words they’d exchanged burned as much as the wounds covering her body.

"You think you’re untouchable because you’re my daughter? Because you’re dating Barnes?" "You don’t trust me to handle myself, and that’s the problem."

She had been so angry, so sure of herself. But now, sitting here on the edge of death, she couldn’t even remember what she had said to him as her final words before the mission.

Would Tony regret them? Would he care?

A fresh wave of despair rolled over her, heavy and suffocating. She let her eyes slip closed, her body slumping further against the restraints.

She was so tired.

Time lost meaning in the haze of pain and exhaustion. Seconds blurred into minutes, minutes into hours. The only constants were the ache in her body and the pounding in her head, faint and unrelenting.

At some point, the Hydra agent had returned. His boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his silhouette looming over her. He said something, but the words were garbled, unintelligible.

He hit her again—she didn’t know where, only that it hurt. And then he left, muttering something about "usefulness" as he disappeared through the door.

She was alone again.

Y/N’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her lungs burning with every inhale. She tried to lift her head, but it felt too heavy, her strength long since drained.

She tilted her gaze upward, staring at the cracked ceiling. The faintest flicker of a thought crossed her mind—a desperate plea she hadn’t dared to voice before.

"If anyone’s out there… please."

The silence answered her.

It wasn’t until later—how much later, she couldn’t say—that she heard it.

At first, it was so faint she thought she was imagining it. A soft hum, low and soothing, cutting through the oppressive quiet of the room.

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her bruised face. Was it her mind playing tricks on her? A final mercy before the end?

But then it grew louder, more distinct.

A voice.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, the faint rhythm skipping erratically. She strained to focus, to make sense of the sound.

"Doll…?…Y/N?..."

Her eyes fluttered open, wide despite the agony that coursed through her. That voice. She would recognize it anywhere.

"Bucky," she croaked, the name barely escaping her lips.

Her body trembled as she tried to move, to shift against the restraints holding her down. The pain was excruciating, but she didn’t care.

They were here.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Bucky had found her.

The faint hum of his voice was joined by another sound—a distant, rhythmic pounding. Footsteps.

Her breath hitched as tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting through the grime that covered her skin. "Bucky," she tried again, louder this time, though it came out as more of a rasp.

The footsteps grew closer, the sound echoing through the hallways like a beacon. She forced her head up, her neck protesting the movement, and fixed her gaze on the door.

Please…

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The door slid open with a groan, revealing a scene that made both men’s hearts drop.

Y/N was slumped in a chair in the center of the room, her head hanging low, her body battered and bruised. Her hands were tied behind her back, her wrists raw and bloody. The floor beneath her was stained crimson, a grim testament to what she had endured.

"Y/N!" Bucky’s voice broke as he rushed to her side, dropping his rifle and cupping her face gently in his hands.

Her skin was pale, her breaths shallow. She didn’t respond, her head lolling slightly as Bucky tried to rouse her.

"Come on, Doll," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Stay with me."

Tony stood frozen for a moment, his mind struggling to process the sight of his daughter in such a state. But then he was moving, fumbling with the restraints to free her.

"She’s alive," he said, his voice shaking. "Barely, but she’s alive."

Bucky didn’t let go of her, his thumb brushing softly over her cheek. "We’ve got you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ve got you, Doll. You’re safe now."

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

Bucky nodded, scooping her up as gently as he could. She didn’t stir, her body limp in his arms.

"Hang on, Y/N," Tony whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, just hang on."

As they carried her back to the Quinjet, the weight of their failure pressed down on them both. They had found her, but the fight was far from over.

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The soft whir of the Quinjet engines filled the cabin as it raced back to the compound.

Bucky sat with Y/N cradled in his arms, his hand trembling as it brushed gently against her cheek. Her face was battered, her skin pale beneath the bruises and streaks of dried blood.

“You’re okay Doll, hang in there…” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer.”

Y/N’s head leaned against his chest, her breaths shallow but steady. She tried to respond, to offer him the comfort she knew he desperately needed, but her voice was a faint rasp.

Across the cabin, Tony sat hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He stared at Y/N with an expression that Bucky had never seen on him before—raw, unfiltered anguish.

“She’s going to make it,” Tony muttered, as if saying it aloud would will it into existence. “She has to.”

Bucky didn’t reply, his focus entirely on Y/N. He could feel her heartbeat, faint but persistent, as if she were clinging to him with the last of her strength.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured again, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The Quinjet touched down at the compound, and a team of medics was already waiting. Bruce Banner, dressed in scrubs, stepped forward, his expression grim but focused.

“Let’s move her,” Bruce said firmly, directing the medics to carefully transfer Y/N onto a stretcher. Bucky reluctantly let her go, his hands lingering as if afraid she might disappear the moment he wasn’t holding her.

“I’m going with her,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce nodded, sparing him a brief glance. “Fine, but let us do our job, Bucky.”

Tony followed behind them, his silence unnerving. He hadn’t spoken since they landed, his usual bravado replaced by a heavy, suffocating guilt.

In the medical bay, the atmosphere was tense as Bruce and his team worked on Y/N. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring her fragile vitals. Bucky stood at the edge of the room, his fists clenched as he watched them clean her wounds, set her broken rib, and stitch the gash on her temple.

Tony stood beside him, his gaze fixed on Y/N’s pale face. He finally broke the silence, his voice barely audible.

“This is my fault,” he said, his hands shaking. “If I hadn’t—if we hadn’t fought before she left…”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from Y/N. “This isn’t about the fight,” he said quietly. “It’s about them. Hydra. Don’t lose focus now.”

Tony didn’t reply, but the guilt in his eyes remained.

After what felt like an eternity, Bruce stepped back, pulling off his gloves. “She’s stable for now,” he said, addressing both men. “The next 24 hours will be critical. She needs rest and observation, but she’s a fighter. If anyone can pull through this, it’s Y/N.”

Bucky nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

Hours later, the medical bay was quiet. Tony sat slumped in a chair by Y/N’s bedside, his head in his hands. Bucky was on the other side, his metal hand resting gently over hers.

“She always gets herself into trouble,” Tony muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was thick with emotion. “Just like her mom.”

Bucky glanced up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in Tony’s tone.

“She used to drive me crazy, you know,” Tony continued, his eyes glistening. “So damn stubborn. I see so much of her in Y/N.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “I was wrong about you, Barnes.”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the admission.

“You love her,” Tony said, his voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I see that now. And she… she loves you, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. Someone who’d protect her when I couldn’t.”

Bucky’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened. “I’ll always protect her,” he said softly. “I swear.”

Tony nodded, his jaw tightening as he fought back tears.

It wasn’t until early the next morning that Y/N stirred. Her fingers twitched first, a faint movement that made Bucky’s breath catch.

“Doll?” he whispered, leaning closer.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a soft groan. Slowly, her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy but undeniably alive.

“Bucky?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here, Doll.”

Tony was at her other side in an instant, his expression a mix of relief and overwhelming guilt. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “You gave us a hell of a scare.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Dad?”

Tony nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s me. I…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the fight, for not trusting you… for not being there when you needed me. I…You picked a good one, Sweetie, I’m sorry, He’s..—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the pain it caused. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Tony exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he reached for her hand.

Bucky leaned in closer, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me, Doll,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I thought I lost you.”

Her tired eyes met his, and she managed a small, teasing smile. “You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

His lips twitched upward, a weak chuckle escaping him. “I’m so glad you came back to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Y/N’s smile softened, her gaze steady despite her exhaustion.

“I always do.”

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Thank you for taking the time to leave a request. Hope you enjoyed it, Hun! 🫶

Requests Open!

[narcjsistx]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part six

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 2.8k (2821)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in a part seven!. really a little suggestive at the end but it's literally nothing, but I thought it was right to say it

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!. you can find the other parts of the story by searching in the section dedicated to bllk

The bags fall to the floor almost immediately, dropped from your hands that can no longer hold them. Michael's eyes are fixed on you, and you struggle, even for a few seconds, to hold his gaze. You reflect in his cerulean eyes a subspecies of betrayal, or even hatred; in all the years that you have known him, he has never looked at you like this, and it scares you. You shake more than you should, you even feel difficulty breathing. If hell wants to take you, it's succeeding. You immediately regret even opening that drawer

The letter, clean and tidy, shines on the table: the white, shiny paper, now seems to have your finger prints on it, prints that should only have been Kaiser's when he wrote it. The air is heavy, and heavy is your sense of oppression now

"Micheal I can-" you say almost in a whisper, but you remain silent when you see him take the letter in his hand "Sit down" he says while his eyes now scan the writings he himself has written. You swallow nervously, and quickly do as he says, sitting parallel to him, in the chair in front of his

You watch him as he rereads the letter once, twice, five, ten times, always taking the same amount of time. He never dares to look up at you, not even when he takes a break between readings. After minutes that seem endless, the only sound that escapes his lips is a heavy sigh, perhaps held in for a long time; one hand places the letter back on the table, the other reaches the bridge of his nose, which he massages with his fingers. He's visibly shaken, and you don't blame him, you're still shaking after all these minutes too

"So..." he says after a moment, taking his time to perhaps choose the right words "You read everything" he says looking up a little

You feel the skin on your body almost not sticking to your bones anymore, a sensation that you haven't felt even in one of your worst arguments with Gabriel. Probably if it had happened to you some time ago you wouldn't have understood the reason for this feeling, but now after all you know how to explain it: you love Michael, you're worried that he doesn't want to see you anymore after this. You care about him, about his opinion, about everything he does, unlike Gabriel

If until now, or at least until a few months ago, Gabriel was the person you worried about most in the world, now that role is played by another person. And this person is Micheal Kaiser

You want to talk, make up an excuse, but you know it wouldn't make sense; right now everything is too obvious, there are no openings to escape to and honestly you don't even want to lie to Micheal. The words die in your mouth, making you stay silent and without a truth to say. You stay silent because you don't know how to explain everything, and Micheal seems to notice your difficulty, because it seems more attentive

"I really don't know what to say to you either, Y/n. I wouldn't have even in the worst case scenario imagined something like this" he says with a calmness that hides so much anger, which you can see in the way he holds back some words "I just wonder why you would want to read something like this, especially considering it was hidden. Haven't you asked yourself why it was hidden?" he asks, but it's a question you know you can't answer because he's right "I'm just wondering... what the fuck is wrong with you? I really need to know, because now you know everything about me, that I've loved you for too long, that I dreamed that you were my wife, but what do I know about you?" he asks smiling almost hysterically, probably because of anxiety

The weight of the situation seems to crush you as if you were a simple feather: it kills you, it leaves you suffering and with each passing second it seems to strangle you more and more. Kaiser looks at you, waiting for answers that you have but that you don't really know how to explain to him. You can't explain to him how much you, only after years of him being in love with you, understood that you loved him too. You can't explain to him how hard it is for you to see the hatred he feels for you now, which he absolutely has the right to feel, but which still hurts

You can't explain to him how much you now just want to tell him that you would like to resolve the situation by kissing him and starting over something that probably just needs communication between the two of you

"You had the courage to read all that but not answer me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you look down, keeping your hands in fists in your lap "You think you can solve everything with your silence? No, fuck, you can't, because this is literally a violation of my privacy. Do you realize how much I feel like shit right now knowing that you know things that I've kept from you for years just so our relationship wouldn't go to hell?" he says, and his tone of voice rises a little "Do you really have the courage to say nothing after finding out I love you?" he says, but the last sentence sounds more like a whisper desperate than an exclamation of complete meaning

"Micheal, please" you say with a shaky voice, trying to get a little bit of his pity, but you hear him laughing in an almost amused way "Please? You beg me? And what am I supposed to do, beg you to forget everything I've written over the years on those pieces of paper? Are you seriously asking me to give you a break when you literally did everything yourself, sticking your nose into things that didn't concern you?" he says, but at the last sentence you feel something inside you stir "They didn't concern me? Are you kidding?" you ask looking up, and you notice surprise in his eyes when he sees you answer him "That's not what matters, you literally discovered things that you shouldn't have known even when you were dead" he says, and for the umpteenth time it seems unfair to you "You should have told me" you say with a sudden conviction, but one that you don't really feel. You're just trying to find a way to calm him down, but with strange methods

In your eyes, Micheal seems to be on the verge of breaking. Everything he has kept inside for years is threatening to come out and he himself is realizing it. Everything he kept in his Pandora's box is now coming out like a menacing monster

"What was I supposed to tell you? That every night since you've been with that man, I hoped he'd die so I could finally tell you the truth? That I wanted to see you smile so badly that I gave 101% in matchs knowing you were watching me? That I dreamed for years of the feeling of being able to call you my girlfriend without being afraid? That I spent days locked in the house when you said you were leaving for Italy and leaving me alone? That everything I did was to make you happy and make you see that it wasn't just normal affection?

That I kissed other girls hoping it was your lips and not theirs? That I dreamed a million times of a future where you were my wife? That I always had a bottle of your perfume that I carried with me when I was out of town? That there's a picture of you and me as teenagers in my wallet?

That I lost weight when I found out Gabriel was taking you away from me? That Ness himself always thought me that you didn't feel the same way about me? That every time I saw you walk by I dreamed of you running to hug me?

That I dreamed of another universe where I could really be happy with you, where we were together, we could kiss and hug each other, we were husband and wife, we even had children, where everything was really perfect at least in my eyes?

That you were the only one I cried for? That you are the only person who knew what I went through with that asshole of a father of mine? That the feeling of even hearing your name made me happy? That seeing you after months of separation was like a liberation? That loving you for me was the only great joy my life has given me? That for me you are always be everything?

That ever since I found out that you and Gabriel fought often I was happy? That every time you told me about your arguments I hoped you would break up? That I hoped that the last fight was really the last? That running to you in Italy after your breakup was the moment I looked forward to more than when I have to score a goal? That feeling your arms around my neck while you hugged me after so long made me feel alive? That the sensation of finally having your lips on mine was like entering heaven? That letting you love me that night was like I had never really experienced anything, because there was no comparison in having sex with you?

How could I tell you all this, Y/n, knowing that it wasn't reciprocated? That by doing so I would be pushing away the only person whose thoughts about me I truly care about?"

The tremor you were feeling until now seems to disappear, replaced now by a feeling of liberation that perhaps Kaiser is feeling now too. The weight that was crushing you to death lifts as all his thoughts come to the surface, thoughts so intimate that not even letters could have

Kaiser has unconsciously risen from his chair, his arms stretched out against the table. He is breathing heavily, and it seems only now that he realizes what he has actually said, that the monster he kept in his Pandora's box has come out and destroyed the entire village. It seems as if what he has wanted to say for years has come out now, but he had not kept in mind the consequences of his words. For the first time, he seems like the least alien stranger you've ever met: you didn't know his feelings, but now his words have weight of no small importance

The real Micheal Kaiser, after years, is finally before your eyes, alive as only a human can be, dressed with a level of intimacy that probably few people can reach. Micheal Kaiser has finally shown who he is to the person he has always loved with an almost impossible level

"Micheal, I-!" you say, getting up from your chair too, but something inside you seems to block you from moving. It's time, now or never. You don't even know for sure if he still feels everything he just said, if he really is still in love with you that much, but now it's your turn to lay yourself bare. You love him, you know you do it for years, you know that everything you had with Gabriel was just something you were looking for from Micheal

"Micheal, listen to me, I-" you say trying to find the words, but everything inside you dies the moment he lowers his gaze "Forget everything"

And suddenly, all the weight that was gone comes back stronger than before, not even giving you time to realize. The belief you had until a few seconds ago suddenly seems to be a nonsense that you were about to reveal. Michael breathes loudly, with a calmness that doesn't belong to the situation. You watch him as he stands up straight, no longer with his arms stretched out against the table. It seems as if he has just realized the consequences of his words and that everything he said came out only because it had to come out, not because it had to reach your heart; freeing oneself, not acting for something. And it's exactly that "Forget everything" that comes out of his lips that makes you the angry one in this situation this time. It annoys you that now he is you, the person who would like to escape, that just at the moment when you were about to be the one naked in front of his eyes, he decided to close them

A last sigh escapes his lips before he silently makes his way out of the room, towards the door behind you. He is running away, running away from something that this time he has caused: there is a strange connection in your own situation, as if you were both two identical, yet different, sides of the same coin. In a lightning-fast move you place yourself between him and the door, your arms open and resting against the adjacent walls. Your heart is beating too fast, you don't even know what you're really doing, but it seems right in a corner of your soul. Kaiser looks up, staring at you with a hint of annoyance that actually covers something else

In a few days you went from best friends, to lovers unaware of each other, to strangers, to rival for annoyance and now? What are you two now?

Neither of you dares to utter a word, but your eyes seem to communicate with a language that your minds struggle to understand. It is something fine, that can easily break, but that is saying everything that you have hidden from yourself for years. It's a language that only two people who have done everything to hide their feelings so as not to hurt each other can understand with inhuman ease

“Say it” you say confidently, knowing that what you think is finally coming “Say it, because I know you think it. And I think it, too, Michael.”

You would have, or rather, you should have been honest with each other so many years ago. His tense nerves finally seem to melt away when he hears your words, now light as a feather

"I love you" he says, in a way that seems to carry with it many sleepless nights, lost because of thoughts. Finally, both you and him, have taken off the last crumb of weight that you were carrying; you smile almost unconsciously, bringing your hands between his jaw and his cheeks "I love you too, Michael"

It is in that moment that the knot you were holding tight in your stomach goes away, it is in the same moment that everything seems to take on a new shade. It is in that precise moment, where Kaiser throws himself violently on your lips, that shivers of love run through your whole body

The sensation he longed for is finally here, as he kisses you with an almost aggressive tenderness. You kiss each other back, feeling for the first time the real butterflies everyone talks about. It's a needy kiss, that perhaps he waited too long and that is taking everything now; but it's beautiful, loved, and you wonder how you and him could have waited so long if you knew the outcome was something like this, so exciting and inexplicable

His hands move to your hips, squeezing them lightly with a firm grip, as if he wants to make sure you're there. The kiss doesn't seem to end, as you hold each other, your body smeared against his and vice versa. There's something that maybe you're both still holding back but that's slowly coming out of you. Everything becomes more needy, just like that night in the hotel: the kiss becomes more aggressive, his hands tighter, your hands sweatier as you slide them along his neck, tracing the outline of his tattoo. You feel him tremble, as he moves his lips to your neck, letting soft sighs escape your lips, while suddenly everything seems to take a turn that you've both already experienced a few weeks ago

You don't know how, a few minutes later, you found yourself in his room, lying on his mattress with him on top of you, still aggressive on your neck. But you liked him so much that your legs were shaking for the emotion

You loved Michael Kaiser. Michael Kaiser loved you. You loved each other, and it took you years to realize what you could have experienced already at 19 years old. But now, at this moment, in his room, you loved each other

And that's what mattered to you

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 (if you want to be tagged tell me!)

READ IS IMPORTANT!!: the story seems finished but NO, let's say we are only halfway through what I have in mind. thank you so much for all the support I'm receiving, I think I don't deserve it actually 🥹 love y'all 💗🌷

[missredherring]

I've Got You Babe

Moodboard made by @iamasaddie.

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Rating: T

Summary: There's no beer in the fridge.

Contents: Fluff. Silly goose behavior.

A/N: This is for @iamasaddie 24hr writing challenge. The flow of time is an illusion, Jen. Can you tell I wrote this after work?

There's no beer in the fridge.

He's been standing in front of the open door, but no matter how many times he blinks the contents don't change: the lunches you'd made for them on Sunday and a case of sparkling water.

So there's no dinner or beer.

He could go to the bar and kill two birds with one stone: dinner and a drink without any effort on his part beside getting his wallet out. The fridge starts to hum and his eyes land on the neatly stacked food containers again.

It's not just him anymore. Maybe he'd gotten too used to taking the easy way out in the time he'd been by himself between Sarah moving out and you moving in.

Joel sighs, closes the door, and shuffles off to find you.

You're washing your face in the bathroom and whatever he opened his mouth to say follows the water right down the drain. The way you're bent over the sink makes your ass that much bigger and his tired eyes can't look away until you turn to grab a towel hanging from the bar.

You raise your eyebrows at him when you see him leaning against the doorjamb.

"There's nothing for dinner-" he starts to say and regrets it when you freeze. The wheels are almost visible as they turn your brain around and around.

"Shit. I'm sorry- I was focused on lunch and didn't-" you start to say but he quickly straightens up and holds his hands out towards you to hijack that train of thought.

"It ain't a problem, sweetheart, you did good on that- trust me. D'you wanna go out to dinner tonight and then we can swing by the grocery store on the way home?"

"Yea. Let's do that," you look down at yourself and pluck at the wrinkled t-shirt. "I just need to change into something else and then we can go."

He thinks you look just as good in yoga pants and a t-shirt as you do in everything else, but Joel knows when to pick his battles and follows you into the bedroom to change himself. His collection of un-stained clothing has been growing since he started dating you, and now is as good a time as any to wear them.

Dressed in a green polo shirt and a newer pair of jeans, he waits for you to finish slipping on shoes before ushering you to the truck. With the way you smooth the fabric down he wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches the hem of your dress brush along the back of your dimpled thighs.

The keys are in the ignition and he grips them to turn and start the ignition when a thought occurs to him. He'd had to buy building materials earlier for his current job so he was lower on funds than he'd expected. Joel sits back and rubs at spot of dirt on the steering wheel. He turns his head towards you, looking at the soft curve of your jaw, unable to meet your eyes when he asks if you can cover dinner and groceries tonight.

You pause, doing some mental math of your own, and give him a smile. "I've got it, baby. Did Greg not bring everything you needed for the job again? I don't know why you still work with him if he keeps messing up like this."

Joel scoffs and starts the truck, choosing not to linger on how the relief spreads through him at your easy acceptance. "This is the last time. I've given him enough chances."

The sunlight is concentrated into the golden hue just before it starts to set and it bathes the cab of the truck. At a stoplight he glances over to see the way you squint against the light and when you finally turn your head the few grey strands of hair he can make out at this distance shimmer with the movement.

"Does that make me your Sugar Mommy? Since I'm paying for everything so you don't have to worry your pretty little head?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," he says honestly and then goes on, curious now, "'That something you want? To be my Mommy?"

The laugh lines around your mouth deepen and twist as you cringe. "No- wait, say it again?"

"Mommy?"

"Yea, no, not for me. Nope."

"You sure? Maybe you just need to get used to it, Mommy. Mama?"

He's got you laughing and he sways easily when you push at his arm to stop him.

"What about you, Daddy?" You tease him in a sultry tone, but all he can hear is every time Sarah called him that before she grew up and started calling him "Dad" instead.

"No. That ain't bedroom talk for me."

"See?"

"I was a daddy; you don't have kids."

"Yes, and that has been a deliberate choice."

He grunts when you shove him again and then turns his attention back to the road when the light changes.

"Thank you," you say as the mirth settles in the cab.

"For suggesting dinner and then making you pay?" He jokes and is happy to find he doesn't feel bad about it.

When you reach over to take his hand Joel just switches his grip on the wheel to his left hand and locks your fingers together, resting them in your warm lap.

"More and more I understand why my mom acted as if doing anything after work was a huge issue. Most days all I'm focusing on is getting home and out of my bra." Yea, me too is on the tip of his tongue, but the tone of your voice stops him. He squeezes your hand in encouragement. "So thank you for reminding me that it's fun to go out and do things after work."

"You're welcome, honey," he says, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth for a kiss. "And if you ever want help getting out of your bra, I'm always happy to help with that too."

[thebiggerbear]

i think i've seen this film before

Summary: When three certain little words escape him, you know them for what they are: a plea not to leave him alone with only his thoughts and whiskey for company. You've seen this song and dance before.

Warnngs: heavy angst, cheating/infidelity, light smut, dagger analogy (Idk if this is a thing but putting it here in case)

Word Count: 2202

Response to prompt from @me-writes-prompts

A/N: Yes, I'm still on writing hiatus but this came pouring out of me today from where I have no idea. Must be the holiday. I feel like this happened last year, too, with Something Real which was also a bucket of angst and heartbreak. So it definitely has to be the holiday then. All completely unbeta'd (and probably very messy quite truthfully, I'll have to come back and try to clean it up later tonight, there may be some switching around of tenses, sorry!). As an aside, I don't condone any form of cheating but this just came out as is and I was so relieved to be writing something, that I just kind of went with it. I was going to keep it as a blank character x reader but in the end, the muse overruled me and let a name slip of who it was imagined to be. She's a sneaky bitch who can't be trusted to keep anything resembling a secret, I swear.

“I love you.”

Those three little words, barely said in a whisper, make you freeze. After your heart starts beating again, after your brain has processed that yes, he really just said that, you continue slipping your shirt over your head. 

Once you pull your hair free from your neckline, you turn to where you left him moments earlier, sprawled out on his back on the bed, an arm behind his head with the mist of sweat drying on his skin, his hair a crime scene of damp wayward strands with your fingers having been the perpetrator. You find him watching you intently with those eyes that you swear can see down to the deepest parts of you zeroed in on your face, a faint trace of hope lining the irises you’ve so often found yourself lost in these past few months. You momentarily clench your jaw as you steel yourself to say what you need to. “You shouldn’t say that to me.”

Where you expected to see heartbreak or some vestiges of pain, you only saw determination, suddenly renewed. You then realize your mistake. You hadn’t said the one word he expected to hear, the one he needed to hear: No. So it doesn’t surprise you when you see the hope in his gaze flare brighter, perhaps believing he’s not alone in this after all. 

You watch as he moves aside the thin sheet covering the last traces of his modesty, fully revealing himself to you as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. The irony of the action is not lost on you; he’s making himself vulnerable before you, letting you see every inch of him, even what’s beyond skin deep.

He is suddenly before you, this large man whose hulking stature had completely dwarfed you minutes ago as he had pushed your thighs back and pistoned in and out of you, groans escaping him as droplets of his sweat christened your bare skin repeatedly. And yet, despite the size of him, here he is, exposing himself in such a way that you feel like the tall one, even as you crane your neck to meet his intent gaze head on.

The tips of his fingers gently urge your chin up a little higher so he can see all of you, both of you laid bare to one another as his eyes swallow you whole. “Yes, I should,” he murmurs. “I love you.” You know what’s about to happen, especially as his eyelids lower slightly and he begins to dip his head. The insatiable monster inside you craves his lips on yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a tango that mimics the one your bodies just did, craves him, but you force yourself to pull away.

Ignoring the hurt lining his expression, you turn to look for your shoes that had been kicked off as you both stumbled into the room, glued to one another and tearing at each other’s clothes in your desperate need to have your skin meeting his. Once you spot them, you take a step in that direction when his hand on your elbow stops you.

“Baby,” he pleads. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, refusing to look at him like he’s begging you to.

When you attempt to move again, his hand releases you only for his arm to snake around your waist and prevent you from leaving. You’re not surprised when he pulls you closer and you can feel the scratchiness of his unshaven face against your neck as he burrows into you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he rasps into your ear. He’s begging again, though this time you know it’s more for you not to leave more than his insistence on your belief in his feelings for you. He doesn’t want you to leave him here, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company along with some top shelf whiskey the hotel staff stocks exclusively for him in the mini bar. 

It used to work, this heartfelt plea whispered against your skin, nuzzled against your cheek, pressed against your lips, until you gave in and let him lay you back down on the bed, giving yourself over to him completely for however long he wanted you. Now, though, you’ve grown stronger, smarter, and that’s why it’s easier than ever to push away from him and look him dead in the eye. “Then get a divorce.”

You see the expected pain magnify throughout his handsome face and you take the opportunity of his reaction to your response to finally move away and grab your shoes, slipping them on as quickly as possible. 

He quietly clears his throat before the familiar deep voice that has murmured the dirtiest and sweetest things you’ve ever heard into your ear tears through the quiet paper-thin hush of the room that usually exists once your frenzied lovemaking ceases. “Y/N, we’ve talked about this. You know I can’t—”

“Not my problem,” snaps out of you. You don’t even bother to roll your eyes anymore at the age-old response he gives you every time you dose both of you with reality like this. Except it is your problem, very much your problem. Hell, it became your problem the moment you allowed him into your apartment that one snowy night, fully knowing you were about to change your life forever and not necessarily for the better. When you finally found out how easily your scratches could be seen on his skin, how divine his lips tasted especially after they had drunk deeply from yours and your body still ricocheted with aftershocks from your orgasm, and how taut his back muscles became with every slow and hard thrust into you. When you found out how intoxicating the sounds of his groans in your ear were as he took pleasure in what your body offered his, how dry your mouth was afterwards from all of the loud panting you did as his mouth ghosted over yours while he repeatedly hit that one spot deep within you, and how tightly he held onto you once he came, unwilling to let you go until he had absolutely had to.

You tamp down the desire you feel unfurling underneath your skin at the memories of that night and grab your jacket and handbag from where you’d tossed them. You refuse to think any further about that night, about how he had begged you to let him in, his chest heaving and snowflakes rapidly melting in his short hair, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them and glancing repeatedly at your lips. You absolutely don’t think about the way his mouth desperately claimed yours the moment you opened the door wider and he was on you, kicking the door shut behind him. Or about how only minutes later he had you backed up against the wall, your jeans and panties tossed away somewhere, and him on his knees with his head buried between your legs, making you grip his hair as you bit your lip so hard it bled. Or even about how you had clawed at the wall he had turned you to face as he pounded away at you, his hand turning your head so he could sloppily kiss you, grunting loudly into your ear with every thrust as the rough fabric of his coat sleeve rubbed against your neck. Or how the buckle of his open belt rattled with his movements, only to be rivaled by your own cries, both being surpassed by his loud drawn out roar of “Fuck!” as he buried himself to the hilt within you and burrowed his face into your neck. His hot and harsh breaths dampened your skin while you reached a hand up to run soothingly through his wet hair, struggling to regain the ability to breathe yourself. No, you weren't going to think about how he then moved you to your bedroom from where neither of you emerged until hours later in search of sustenance and electrolytes.

Instead of allowing yourself to get lost in the thoughts of that night, you take a small breath and start heading for the door.

“I love you, dammit.” He’s angry now, just as you knew he would be the closer you got to leaving, leaving him. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

You stop and you hear him take a step closer. You don’t have to turn to look at him to know there is a cautious renewal of hope lighting his eyes. You had stopped after all. But you both have done this dance before and each time it ends the same way. 

“No, you don’t,” you answer him quietly, almost gently. Your aim is not to hurt him, never to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough and you will be damned if will be like her and add to his pain. But at the same time, you can’t lie nor will you continue to swallow any of his. So, like always, you spare him but not yourself. “You think you do, but you don’t. You don’t love me.”

“Yes, I do.” He’s closer now, his voice is cracking slightly…he’s a few moments away from coiling his arms around you like a snake and keeping you from walking out the door, again. 

And so you make it quick, you plunge the dagger of truth into your own chest and let the pain bloom within you, spreading quickly through your veins like wildfire. “You don’t because if you did, you wouldn’t keep me in a holding pattern like this.” You then force yourself to turn and face him, your eyes hard as diamonds and your face one of stone. “I’m purely a convenient fuck for you when you get lonely, or someone to call when it all becomes too much. This isn’t even an affair. I’m nothing more than a painkiller that comes with an orgasm or two. That’s it and you know it. So, no, you don’t love me, because if you did, you would never use me like this.”

As expected, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. You can see the protests building in his throat but you cut him off.

“And if I loved you, I wouldn’t let you continue to use me like this.” 

He stands there, staring at you, a small sadness growing in his deep gaze. This always happens. As much as you try to spare him and not bleed out your pain all over him, some tiny amount almost always splashes onto him. You can’t help that. One of you has to be the strong one and keep it real; it just happens to always be you.

So you don’t allow his crestfallen expression to get to you and you lift your chin slightly, rolling your shoulders back as you straighten your spine. “I’ll see you when I see you.” 

You spin on your heel and stride towards the door. When your fingers grab onto the door handle, you hear a broken plea of “Don’t leave…please.” You clench your jaw and force yourself to open the door, refusing to look back.

“Goodbye, Jensen.”

You walk across the threshold and pull the door closed behind you. You make your way to the elevators, unsurprised that he doesn’t quickly dress and run after you. He never has before; why would that change now? When the elevator dings and thankfully the car is empty, you step into it and hit the “close door” button. You wait and as expected, no calls of “Wait!” or chimes of your phone sound as the doors take their sweet time closing despite their directive. Once they’re shut, once there is no possibility of him seeing you or hearing you, you sink against the wall of the car and grasp at your chest, your breath loudly catching as the full weight of the pain you had denied yourself begins to flow through you anew. Tears mark your cheeks and you let out a sound akin to a strangled sob. 

Yes, you do love him and that is why you continue to let him use you in this way. That is why you opened the door that night and let him in, fully knowing what was going to happen. That is why you allowed him to take your friendship and mangle it into whatever dark and hopeless form it takes now. You fucking love him; of course you do.  In the same breath, though, you know he doesn’t love you and this last bit of pain is what finishes you as the elevator continues to descend: and he never will. You turn your body to face the corner and hold a hand over your mouth, beginning to cry outright. He will never love you the way you love him. No matter how many times you run to him when he calls, no matter how you let him take pleasure in you or comfort in your arms, no matter how many times you’ve begged him to end things with her and be with you instead…he will never love you. You loudly sob as the sharp tip of that truth dagger from before lodges itself into your heart, almost neatly fitting into the groove from all of the previous times. Your heartbreak is the only sound that echoes throughout the small space along with the glaring silence of your phone. And just like that, once again, the dance comes to its predictable end.

A/N: So yeah, sorry about that. As always, no disrespect is ever meant to Jensen, Danneel, or their family. I'm not suggesting or implying anything about either Jensen or Danneel, I just had him in my head while writing. Purely fictional.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Jensen RPF: @ladykitana90; @lemonfreak97; @lacilou; @waynes-multiverse

Forever Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

[nickscodthoughtsblog]

Shot in the Dark (König/Nikto)

hey gang. I had a thought infest my brain and now im sharing it with you guys. something a little different to x Reader fics i've been writing, but hear me out on this one. König/Nikto. first time actually writing for Nikto but i took the time to understand his character. and yes i will write more of this so i hope you like it :)

There was a pretty wide assortment of people König worked with in KorTac. Hutch, Fender, Roze… On the field, he saw how each one of them fit their roles and excelled in them. Off the field, he saw them as friends. Some took longer to bond with, like getting Calisto to warm up to him, while others just gravitated towards him. He’ll always remember how quickly he bonded with Horangi. And, even if some of the others found it strange, he couldn’t help his habit of wanting to know the people he was trusting his six with better than just their skill sets.

There was, however, one person he never got the chance to exchange even one word with, and didn’t even know the name of. Not someone new, though. He would notice from time to time, how the man sat alone, away from everyone, his mask always worn and his eyes distant. The only person he’s seen talk to him was Krueger, and it never seemed like it was a long chat. The last time he asked his fellow Austrian about him, all he got was “Don’t worry about him” and a dismissive wave. Not his name, not his relation to Krueger, not even a hint of his nature. 

And he tried to leave it alone. On his pride, he tried. With Krueger out on deployment, he only noticed more and more how the man sat alone, in the same places at the same time, like he was waiting for the one person he had a chance to talk to. Miserable, König thought, to wait so long alone. He couldn’t help his feet carrying him over to the man in the mess hall, away from the group he normally ate with. 

Maybe his sister was right, when she kept saying he was too empathetic for his own good. 

As he came to stand at the table, the man looked up to him. “Krue-” He stopped upon seeing that the sniper hood König wore was significantly different from what the other austrian wore. “Wrong person.” He went back to staring at the room blankly. 

“Are you okay?” König asked softly. 

“Да” was the blunt reply. It bugged König, so he sat down opposite him. “...what are you doing?”

“You seemed lonely, Soldat. Without Krueger around, at least.”

A short silence, the man’s stare locked on his. He almost thought he was being ignored. “...we’re fine.” His tone sure, as though there wasn’t a chance he couldn’t be okay.

We? König rationalized it as referring to him and Krueger. “Either way, I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s-”

“König.” he cut him off. “Krueger pointed you out to us.” 

…maybe he wasn’t referring to both of them. “Uh, ja. Ja, that’s me.” He nodded. “He never told me your name.” He was only met with a slight nod. Okay, maybe being direct would help. “What’s your name?”

He seemed to hesitate, his gaze shifting away from König’s face for the first time since he sat down. “Krueger thinks he’s okay…” The soft, barely audible mutter made König’s eyebrow raise, just like the questions in his head. He didn’t voice them. “Nikto.”

“Nikto…” he tested the name on his tongue. “Good to meet you.” Those dull blue eyes were focused on him again. He didn’t return the sentiment at all. If he was shy, König could easily relate. But he had such laser focus on staring at him, not a care if it would be disturbing or off-putting. The Austrian had no idea where to even begin with talking to him. Just one, possibly sensitive topic. “...why do-” 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting him off. He took it out, finding a text from Horangi. A challenge to see who could do more pull-ups. And Horangi being Horangi, there was a 10€ bet thrown down. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ah, Tiger…” He returned his focus to Nikto. “Sorry. Horangi was just wanting to-” 

“Go on.” The Russian's voice didn’t hold any contempt. Just acceptance that he had other friends. 

König stood up, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Okay. Maybe we can…talk later?” he offered, not getting much of a response. “See you later, Nikto.” He walked away.

As he left, he heard his voice, a response that gave him a bit of hope for cheering him up.

“Да. Later, König.”

[ttheagcd]

- cue golden girls theme song -

you know these past few months on here have been so ugh and blah as something happened to me and a few friends that killed the fucking vibe for us. slowly but surely people’s true colors came out and i never spoke about it but some people know from experiencing it. now we’re all starting to feel like we used to before which leads me to this post bc thanksgiving and whatnot. in the mood to give thanks to you because you’re the reason I get to keep writing alex / buck / my multi.

okay so i love you all for putting up with my ass, my laziness and alex’s too because i know he is not easy to deal with:

@epihlogue & @loveindomitable / @twistedgrace / @pcrfidia & @firepiloted & @gonnabuck / @athl3tes / @shadowbrn / @forrkeeps / @gldngrrls / @leschanceux / @cfthesoul / @billyktothemax / @mecwmellc / @snnydcys — been loving you from afar so yolo you get a mention too / @dalphahale / @westwingsolo

to my mutuals who are my mutuals and nothing more: keep kicking ass. we are lowkey admiring and loving you from afar and love seeing you do your shit.

i gotta give these following people a little specific shout out because without them, i would not still be here on this blog today.

@gccdgraces — ceejay you fucking phenomenal human being you. we’ve gotten so much more closer in the past few months and tbh having you as the one to help me deal this shit with was a saving grace. you’re not only a fucking amazing writer but also a fucking amazing human being. thank you for everything. love crying over all our babies and our bookish obsession. stay cool. never change and keep being that fabulous bitch you are.

@hstoryhuh / @soulwaned — oh my dear britt britt �� my homie. my little partner in crime. i fucking adore you and your dogs, precious babies 🥺 thank you for everything. for the laughs, for the crying in the feels, for talking about giving me all the things and then we just vibe along. i love everything we’ve done and will keep doing.

@ssolessurvivor — oh saturn, let’s start at the beginning yeah? idk how you came across my blog but thank you for it because holy shit look at us now. a billion and one au’s with our boys and they keep on coming 😂 thank you for liking and trusting me enough to deep dive into logan and his past. not all oc’s have a defined background and information, the majority do but some don’t and that’s where things get hazy and it is so fucking hard to write with an oc when there’s barely any info for anyone to learn about but you cover any and every inch of logan’s past and future. but also thanks for letting me throw anyone at him lmao it’s been fun as hell.

@thcrealheroes — DELLA MY LOVE. my ride or die bitch. we barely write anymore but i still follow and love your ass all over the place because you cannot get rid of me 😏 i couldn’t do this and not mention you. god it feels like we’ve lived 50 lives in the time we’ve been rp-ing together. we’ve been through some shit and always find some way to share the experience, even if it doesn’t directly hit us both. lmao i fucking love you and your kids.

@kookmade — link i know that i mentioned your multi above but i had to give rafe’s blog its own little shout out because this is the blog we met and all. thank you for being my lil football homie and letting me constantly cry about taylor / alex at you. fucking love it and your muses. thank you for hearing me out as well on certain days.

i am so fucking sorry if i forgot someone. i probably did fuck me. i’m sorry if i did, i promise it’s not you. it’s my fucking brain.

[angelsdean]

ok actually. i am not asking. i am DEMANDING. we NEED more ronald in AU fics (or canonverse fics!). but like i have seen every character under the sun be AU dean's exes / pals but i have never seen ronald ????? dean likes him so much !!!!! ronald should be part of the charlie nerd squad in non-supernatural AUs he'd fit right in, they'd bond over doctor who and ron would talk abt the cybermen and his mandroid theories. UGH. put him in fics pls he deserves it !!!

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[steakout-05]

for months now i have had this little story idea bouncing around in my head for an AU of Jetpack Joyride where Barry is stuck inside a big expermental time loop conducted by Legitimate Research to create an army of randomly selected time-travelling soldiers. the idea is very much still rough and i dunno if and when i'll develop it into a bigger thing, but it's a pretty cool idea and it's a twist on the JJ game that i've never really seen much exploration on.

basically, it focuses on Barry, who is the sort of Patient Zero of an experimental concentrated time-fuckery technology LR is working on. every single day, at exactly the same time, Barry goes out to work his salesman job, discovers the jetpack, breaks into the laboratory, takes it for a joyride, eventually gets hit by an obstacle and dies. the next day, Barry goes out to work his salesman job, discovers the jetpack, breaks into the lab, takes it for a joyride and dies. and he does the same exact thing the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day... he's pretty much stuck in a loop of the exact same events happening repeatedly every single day, and he has absolutely no idea about it. that is, until there's a glitch in the system, and Barry progressively becomes a lot more suspicious and paranoid about the situation he's in. the rest of this post is gonna be REALLY spoilery (like i literally just explain big important chunks of the story for several paragraphs) if i ever make this into a full-fledged fanfic, so i'm gonna put it under a keep reading thingy. also it is... quite long and convoluted lol.

as the story goes on, it focuses more on the mental degredation of Barry as he starts uncovering all these weird clues, slowly trying to piece together what's going on and driving himself insane, because every time a reset occurs, his memory of the previous loop ever happening is completely wiped and everything he did that day goes all the way back to square one. since the malfunctioning of LR's technology though, Barry has been getting little nuggets of deja vu and half-remembered fragments of dying before a reset. this eventually becomes him repeating things to himself, little phrases and codes over and over and over in hopes that it will persist into the next reset. this eventually becomes symbols stuck up on the walls of his room and then progresses to entire rituals to help him remember and little behaviourisms like tics and stims to let him know he's in another loop. he becomes more and more panicked and unsettled, paranoid that someone - or something - is watching him closely. additionally, he keeps having disturbing dreams in the early hours of the morning before he gets up to go to work, ones that are symbolic and prophetic, as if they're trying to warn him about something. i've had concepts of him waking up on top of a pile of millions of mangled carcasses that all look exactly like Barry, and having on them them forcefully grab onto his leg and pull him down with the rest of them. it's kinda like the nightmare Woody has in Toy Story 2, but like, dead guys everywhere, lol.

the backstory of this whole thing is kinda insane. basically, Legitimate Research is a sketchy government funded facility that's doing secret time experiments to create the strongest beings for a purpose that's somewhat similar to Brains' Zomb Bomb plan from AOZ (i haven't fully decided yet). Barry is someone who has been randomly selected for their newest version of the concentrated time loop experiment, where patients will be put under looping tests to extract data about their strength, agility and performance and decide what they need to supplement them with in order to create the perfect soldier.

Barry was 22 years old when he was selected. he was actually a relatively normal local Fish N' Chips vendor living in New South Wales, but one day, when he recieved an exciting letter in the mail about a new ambitious job opportunity, he completely disappeared without a trace and seemed to have been entirely erased from the minds of everyone he had ever known. Barry had actually been kidnapped and ensnared into a mind-experiments facility of the laboratory, where they proceeded to wipe his mind, proof of his existence and his entire personhood up to this point, and replaced all of it with fake memories to fill in the gaps. he was then placed in stasis and to be injected with high doses of strength drugs as they crafted a new life for him behind the scenes. a new house, in a new state, all with new stories and memorabilia meant to be lived out by new person. now, he was Barry Steakfries in Queensland, a rough-around-the-edges guy with a passion for action movies and destruction. he was a revel with a thirst for chaos and freedom, but he just didn't have the means to achieve it yet. it was all according to plan.

a big part of the story i want to tell that involves him is that at some point, Barry tries to break free from the time loop by doing something different. this takes a lot of pre-planning, memory rituals and repeating details to himself, but after he wakes up from a reset and gets out of bed, he hesitates, choosing to go to a different place to sell his gramophones that day. he deliberately tries his best to avoid Legitimate Research's headquarters as much as he can, and while he doesn't completely remember why he's doing it, he has a deep gut feeling that he should stay away from them at all costs. so he does. and at first, it goes well. the day is different, his choices seem to actually matter and for once, the feeling of deja vu isn't tearing him apart... until a crazy freak accident happens that forces Barry to die and reset the time loop again, wiping away everything he had done that day. Legitimate Research is now forcefully trying to stop him from knowing what the hell is going on by forcing him to die with each now discovery he makes, and Barry has to figure out more and more creative solutions to averting their surveillance and trying to get the hell out of the loop.

Craig will also be involved with the story too!! i'm not exactly sure what exactly the events leading up to Barry discovering and meeting him would be, but it'd be kinda halfway-late-ish into the story where Barry manages to cut off LR's surveillance of him, breaks into the laboratory and searches through its archives for anything relating to time. during this raid, he accidentally discovers the true Patient Zero to this time experiment: a broken, decrepit shell of a man who has been hooked up to a set of wires and locked away deep into the laboratory, never meant to be discovered by anyone, only known simply as #000 'Craig'. Craig was the very first human they used to run an early prototype of these experiments, but through malfunctions in the threads of LR's technology, he ended up knowing too much and tried to break free from his time loop, which resulted in him being dragged out of reality and becoming completely detached from his own time, stopping his aging process completely and practically allowing him to exist forever and persistently through every reset unaffected. LR relocated him and considered him a catastrophic failure, locking him away in a cell deep in the bowels of the laboratory before destroying and erasing every archive of him ever having existed in any point in time. and now, the same thing is about to happen to Barry if he doesn't figure out a way to stop what's happening quickly. Barry, outisde of LR, is the only one who is aware of Craig's existence in this timeline. Barry makes a vow to make sure that he will never ever forget Craig, no matter what happens to him, no matter how many times his timeline gets reset, because he is the only other person on the whole world who truly understands what he's going through.

at the very end of the story, when Barry finally escapes the time loop and is about to enter into a new reality where none of this ever happened, he reaches out a hand to Craig and offers he come with him to live. Craig, however, rejects the offer, sadly confessing to Barry that because of his disconect from the threads of time progression itself, Craig must stay behind and be erased along with everything inside this one and let Barry live his life. Barry protests, insisting that his life wouldn't be complete without him and that they've already gone through so much together, but Craig assures him that this is the best for the both of them, and that Barry must leave him soon before the window to escape closes. Barry gives Craig once last goodbye, holding him close and basking in his presence for the final time. he closes his eyes, presses his head against Craig's and whispers "I promise I'll never forget you." before he slowly lets him go, not breaking their locked gaze on each other for even a second as he steps into the portal and ventures into an entirely new reality, never to return.

i want there to be an epilogue part where Barry starts his new life and goes looking for a place to stay, and he comes across the place where LR used to be, which is instead occupied with a big square fence plot and a sign that says "UNDER CONSTRUCTION: NEW RESTAURANT TO BE BUILT". Barry stares at it for a moment and reflects on everything that has happened. all the hellish experiments that were once held inside this very plot of land, all the trauma he went through to get to this point, Craig's sacrifice, everything has lead up to him standing here, in the right place, at the right time, to finally live the life he should've had to begin with. eventually, he turns away, continuing to walk down the street. he should go check that place out sometime.

(insert "what a fucked up dream for a baby to have" ending from 'then what' here)

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

[fic: double blind] Question for Peter from the "double Tony" AU, the one with sim!Tony and cured!Tony existing simultaneously:

Does having a version of Tony that did all hose horrible things being it's own separate person make it harder or easier on you? Are you open to having some communication with the evil Tony, maybe in order to deal with the whole evil plan that he made and, yknow, all the crimes he committed, or do you just want nothing to do with him and that's it? And generally, just how do you feel in this good dad/bad dad situation?

Well… easier, because I have Dad around now too. It was… it was really hard when it was just me. And… the other one… is kind of different, now…? I'm not stupid, I don't think he's, like-- cured, but he's not just… ignoring everything I say anymore.

…I've talked to him. We do have to… figure things out, and… he won't listen to Dad at all, so-- it works better when we all talk together. Um, Dad doesn't like it, he doesn't want me to have to talk to the other one ever, but I just… if I can get through to him for real, then we're all safer, right? Like, even if he gets put in prison or whatever… I don't know, it's-- I'm afraid he'd just break out if he's not actually…

S-so anyway, yeah, I've talked to him.