#so I've basically been shaking and crying and thinking i was having a heart attack all day

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part five]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Tags: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fingering, kissing, making out, kitchen sex/foreplay???, reader guiding bucky, praise, fem reader, panic attacks, bucky is touch starved, mentions of previous sa, stake-out mission, wow! they're actually doing their jobs this chapter!!, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, bucky barnes needs a hug, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey not doing good, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, gif does not represent reader's appearance, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 13.9k

A/N: it's finally here! this was... a fucking beast to write. only took a month of agony. this got so, so long, i ended up cutting an entire scene near the start so hopefully it doesn't jump around too much. let me know if you enjoy! on a more personal note, just wanted to give you all an update. i had put a few posts mentioning how i've been very unwell mentally and physically. it's made it really hard for me to write while also studying full time. but um yeah basically i was diagnosed with a?? kinda scary?? chronic disease lol?? which explains why i've spent the last 6 years of my life exhausted and feeling awful, and turns out my depression/anxiety is likely a result of this. but yeah, after all these years of dismissal and misdiagnosis, i know what's wrong so i'm getting medicated for it. i'm hoping it gives me a big energy boost to juggle uni and my hobbies (like writing) more efficiently. anyway, this authors note is so long, if you have any questions or thoughts on this chapter, reblog or send me an ask! thank you all so much. as always, sorry for any typos!

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Bucky didn’t respond at first.

His jaw ticked, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. From the way he shifted, feet planting wider, shoulders drawing back just enough that you almost suspected he was bracing. Not for a conversation, but for a hit. As if he expected you to launch across the balcony, heels and all, and pummel your fist directly into his face. 

As absurd as it was, it almost didn’t surprise you. You’d become strangely used to his defensive reactions, the expectation of raised voices and violence, the way he always prepared his body for pain, like he expected even you to punish him.

And maybe the worst part was that deep down, he thought he deserved it.

Maybe you could’ve hit him. Pounded against his chest or disarmed him with words, if nothing else. You could’ve demanded, snarled questions as to why you were some secret mistake he didn’t dare let anyone see. Why are you ashamed to be around me? Why are you embarrassed?

Do you even care about me?

Do you care about me in the same way I care about you?

The ache in your chest flared thinking about it. Deep down, you knew the answer. 

So, you held yourself back. Quiet, still, observing. Not because you weren’t angry, not because you weren’t hurting, but because you had become disturbingly good at packing that raw pain into tidy boxes and sealing them away. 

Bucky adjusted the wrist of his leather glove, tugging it tight like it gave his hands something to do other than shake. You lifted your chin.

“Alright.” He spoke finally, voice a little hoarse, and for a split second, you wondered if he had been crying. “Talking… that’s usually where the trouble starts, isn’t it?”

His attempt to be light-hearted, to gauge your reaction, was short-lived. You met him with silence, exhaling slowly from your nose as you looked him up and down. He immediately folded, metaphorical throat bared as he met your gaze with his signature puppy-dog eyes.

For all your guilt, for the sadness and longing you had felt these past weeks, you still had enough self-respect to keep it together. You’d spent too many years of your life making excuses, compromises for those around you. For once, you would stick up for yourself, for once, you’d let someone other than yourself know you were hurting. You weren’t sure if that was a strength or a weakness. You were sick of being the one who met insults with sarcasm, tired of being the one who shouldered every blow and sting for the sake of others' comfort.

For once in your life, you would take the teeth you were born with and learn how to bite.

“You hurt me.” 

Bucky’s fidgeting stilled instantly, face taut, his eyes searching yours already wide with creeping dread. “I—”

“Let me finish.” You cut over him, and his mouth clamped shut.

“I know this…whatever it is between us is complicated. There isn’t exactly a rulebook for this stuff. I know it’s messy, I know we never defined anything, and maybe we should’ve talked more…” Your body shuddered as you sighed, hesitant as you decided on your slow wording. “But what I understood, what I thought we both understood, was that there was trust. If there wasn’t anything, there was always trust… and what you said, that broke it.”

You paused, trying to steady your voice. Bucky had gone deathly still across from you. You watched his expression crumble. Guilt bled into every crease on his face, each of your words weighing down on him.

“I know that I lied to you about Nat, and I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something, but I was scared that you’d react badly. That you’d react in the way that you did. I’ve never pretended to be easy to be close with. I know that I can be guarded, cold, or distant but…” You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. 

The words burned behind your teeth.

“I always cared. I do care.” Your voice softened momentarily, despite the bile rising in your throat. “I gave you my time, my trust, I took you seriously, Bucky, I told you things I haven’t even really told anyone, not even myself, I—”

You crossed your arms over your chest, fingers digging into your sides. You could feel that stone in your gut, tears pressing just behind your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. You’d say your peace, lay it all out before him and see what he did with it.

“I get that you’re scared. I get that you feel shame, shame that you don’t quite understand. I understand that you have an instinct to protect yourself, to control how others see you because you’re afraid to push it too far, afraid to upset anyone…” The words tasted bitter, but they kept coming like a flood, hot and vile even as Bucky looked across at you like he was seconds away from crumpling to the floor. “But what you said was cruel. It hurt me. I just need you to understand that. I need you to understand that whatever it is we’ve been doing, friendship, lessons, whatever… It was never a joke to me.”

As you met his gaze directly, he flinched, jaw clenching so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“You acted like I was beneath you, like you needed to downplay all that has happened for the sake of saving face. I understand you want to keep things private, I respect that, but a desire for privacy is very different to belittling me in front of Steve.”

Bucky’s shoulders slouched, his entire body shrinking in on itself. You half expected him to drop to his knees then and there from the way his eyes locked onto the balcony, too ashamed to meet your eye.

“I can be your secret, I can help you, but we are equals,” you muttered, quieter now. “I won’t chase after you, begging for scraps of decency. I’m not going to accept you pretending I’m invisible, that you’re disgusted by me the second someone important walks in the room.”

You looked away, breathing deeply through your nose as you willed the weight pressing on your chest to leave. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, god knows I am anything but that. I just need you to understand that I’m… I’m sick of making myself smaller just so other people can feel comfortable. I’m sick of the constant judgment, the way people don’t think I realise. I’m sick of all of it.”

When you finally looked up again, he looked like he had been punched in the gut. Not physically, but in that hollow, breathless way that left someone stunned and struggling to stand upright. Like every word you’d laid out between the two of you had knocked the air clean out of him.

His mouth parted, but no sound came. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring past you without actually seeing. You could see it written across his face, the guilt, the lingering panic, the way his whole body trembled. It was the slight hitch with each inhale, the way his shoulders rolled tight beneath the strain of his suit jacket like he wanted to crawl out of it, crawl out of his own skin.

He was close. Too close, seconds away from spiralling into the kind of anxiety that devoured everything in its path.

So, you gave him space. Silent and steady, let him work his own way through it. 

The breeze stirred around you, catching a few strands of loose hair. They tickled against the nape of your neck. Below you could hear the hustle and bustle of the city nightlife, the chatter, the cars. The muffled sound of the party music just beyond the glass windows separating the balcony from the rest of the tower. 

Bucky’s chest rose, then held, then he released it slowly. You watched him, silent, as his eyes flicked around. One smell, two things he could feel, three things in his line of sight. Good. He was grounding himself.

You watched without interfering, letting him work and find his own rhythm. You could practically read his mind now, how the cogs turned, each minuscule mannerism telling you which step he was at. You’d coaxed him through enough of these moments to know the signs. And maybe there was something bittersweet about it, the fact that he was steady enough to guide himself, no longer dependent on the comfort of your voice to guide him through.

“You’re right,” Bucky said at last, the words rasping out like they had been lodged in his throat for hours. “You’re right, I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

His hands flexed at his sides, fists curling and releasing as if unsure of what to do with them. A flicker of movement crossed his face, a wince, maybe, and then he lifted his eyes.

“I was a coward.” He continued, voice hoarse. “I’ve been replaying it in my head every day since. Over and over and… thinking about you. About how I made you feel.”

He took a half-step forward, caught in the pull of wanting to close the gap. His foot faltered mid-air, stopping him. He planted it back on the ground, shoulders locked, as if he was worried you’d dash if he closed the distance between you.

“I should’ve apologised that day, the second it left my mouth,” he muttered, words almost lost to the breeze. “I should’ve followed you instead of hiding and hoping it would fix itself.”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “And I know it’s not an excuse… I was just so afraid.. Afraid that I had fucked up so badly that I would lose you. Guess it didn’t matter in the end because I lost you anyway—”

“You didn’t lose me,” you cut in, firm but soft. “I’m right here.”

He blinked hard at that, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. His chest trembled as he dragged in a sharp inhale.

“I’m sorry.”

There. That was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, the thing you’d needed from the very beginning. Not grovelling, not guilt, not the sight of him unravelling, just understanding. You hadn’t wanted to watch him spiral or flinch beneath the weight of his own remorse. That was never the point. You only wanted to be seen. For him to see you, the ache you’d swallowed, the silence you’d worn like armour.

You weren’t the kind of person who held pain like a weapon, who dangled forgiveness just out of reach. But you were tired, bone-deep tired, of being stepped over, of shrinking yourself to keep the peace. Tired of wearing humour like a mask, sharp and dry, to cover the bruises he couldn’t see. All you’d wanted was for him to get it. And now… now he did.

All you ever wanted was for someone to listen to you. Truly listen. 

“Yeah?” Your voice cracked slightly despite yourself. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I’m not embarrassed by you, if anything, I’m embarrassed about how I acted—”

“Bucky…”

“And don’t you dare say it’s okay,” he interrupted quickly, almost desperate. “Because it isn’t. I should never have said that, never have even thought that. After all you’ve done, after all the kindness and patience you’ve shown me, and I repay you by shaming you—”

“Repayment…” You cut over him, rolling the word slowly over your tongue, head shaking. “You don’t owe me anything, remember? That’s how it works with us, yeah?”

He exhaled hard. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Handle all this so gracefully…Have such a pure heart despite everything.”

“If I were to describe my heart,” you said with a dry little huff, “it would not be pure—”

“You’re killin’ me here—” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and for the first time in days, the edge of your mouth twitched into a smile. Sly, wicked, and entirely involuntary.

His gaze caught it instantly, and his breath stilled.

You took the initiative, closing the distance between you in a handful of steps, until his breath hitched slightly, his eyes locking onto your face.

“I am sorry.” He murmured, voice less desperate now. “Seriously. I don’t expect forgiveness, hell, I don’t want forgiveness unless you really mean it, and you’re not just saying it to spare my feelings—”

“Bucky—”

“No, don’t say it—!”

“Bucky.” You breathed his name. Your hands found the front of his tie, fingers curling around the black silk. You wondered if it was the same tie you had blindfolded him with, if he had subconsciously chosen it to feel closer to you. You nearly smirked at the thought, a warmth in your belly despite the surprised expression flooding his features. You tugged gently, and he didn’t resist. He leaned into the pull, breath catching again as you drew him in close, close enough for your foreheads to nearly touch, for your breath to ghost across his lips. “I forgive you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, like the words had struck him physically. “I don’t know if I deserve you—”

“Bucky.” You hummed, almost scolding. “If I’m honest, I forgave you weeks ago.”

His eyes opened, a spark of confusion flickering.

“I was just… sabotaging myself,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Because that’s what I do when things get complicated. I cut people off, I burn bridges, I destroy my own life. I convinced myself that you hated me, because I lied to you about Nat.”

He quickly shook his head. “I could never hate you.”

And there it was.

You exhaled, something soft breaking inside you, not the kind that shattered and left shards punctured into your heart and lungs, but the type of crack that let the light in. Your hand slid from his tie to his chest, resting lightly over his heart. Beneath your palm, it thudded unevenly and wildly. 

“Stop looking at me like I’m not real,” you muttered.

“I’m not—”

You shook your head with a snicker, fingers tracing across his shirt to the lapels of his suit jacket. You tugged at it, and he stiffened in surprise, but didn’t stop you as you twisted around him, easing the jacket from his shoulders. He shrugged it off wordlessly, leaning into your guidance, and you knew he was secretly relieved to be rid of the thing. 

“I know you hate these things,” you murmured, voice teasing. “Can’t move properly, too tight around your shoulder ‘cause Tony never gets them tailored right.”

Bucky blinked at you, lips parting slightly, some of the tension still lingering in his brows.

“You remembered that?”

“Of course,” you smiled faintly, smoothing the sleeve as you folded it over your arm. “You know, at this point I think I remember more about you than I do about myself.”

His lips curved at that. “Tell me something then?”

“Like what?”

“Something I don’t know about you. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard. For a long moment, you just stared at him, stunned into stillness. No one had ever asked you that before. Not really. Not with that quiet, open curiosity. Not like they actually wanted to hear the answer. People were always eager to talk, to fill the silence with their own stories and needs. But here he was, waiting, willing to listen.

It left you a little breathless.

There were still entire corners of your life shrouded in fog, moments you hadn’t unpacked, parts of yourself you hadn’t dared to explore. You’d spent so long watching others, peeling back their layers, learning what made them tick. It was instinctual how you kept yourself safe. Quietly observant, always listening, always careful. You didn’t mean to be secretive. It wasn’t some deliberate act of mystery. It just… never came up. No one had ever made space for you like that. No one had ever lingered long enough to want something beyond the surface.

Until now.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, gaze dropping. “I guess… I guess pick at my nails when I’m nervous?”

He let out a soft, almost fond huff of laughter. “Yeah, I picked up on that one months ago.”

“Shit. That obvious?” You glanced down at your hand, suddenly extra aware of the damage. The nailbeds were raw and uneven, the skin around them puffy and inflamed from restless fussing.

Then Bucky did something unexpected. He reached out, slow and careful, the soft creak of his leather gloves barely audible. His gloved fingers brushed against yours first, the cool and smooth material almost foreign in feeling. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he gently threaded his fingers between yours.

“Maybe a little,” he murmured with a quiet snort, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Without a word, he began to tug a glove off, leather resisting slightly before giving way. You swallowed and helped him, pinching the fingers and easing them free, and then repeated with the other side. 

His bare fingers closed gently around yours again, his palm warm and calloused. Your jaw snapped shut as he traced his thumb over the jagged cuticles in a comforting, rhythmic motion.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you breathed in, sharp and shallow, and shrugged in a small, embarrassed motion. “Well… I don’t know, then, I’m probably an insomniac who relies too heavily on coffee to get by.”

That earned a proper laugh from him, and warmth pooled in your belly like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

“You and me both,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You hesitated then, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as your faint smile faltered. Your mind turned inward, digging past the surface, searching through the fog for something true, something buried a little deeper. Your brow furrowed as your gaze dropped again, fingers twitching faintly in Bucky’s grasp like they wanted to pull away but didn’t quite make it.

“I’m claustrophobic,” you admitted at last, so quietly you didn’t think he had heard you.

His laughter cut off mid-breath, a soft sound dying on his tongue. The stillness that followed was immediate. His hand stopped mid-motion, thumb frozen against your knuckles

You forced yourself to keep going. “I don’t like small spaces. Feeling… trapped. It’s why I never take the elevator. It’s why I… freaked out on you at training the other week.”

“I’m sorry—” he began, voice already thick with regret.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head quickly, eyes flicking away. “You didn’t know. It just… it just reminds me… reminds me of things I’ve tried to bury.”

His free hand rose then. You didn’t flinch as his fingers brushed your chin, tilting it upward with such deliberate tenderness that it made your breath catch. His touch was featherlight, and when your eyes met his, the air sucked out of your lungs.

“I understand.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I’m sorry that I freaked out on you. I should’ve—”

“No.” His tone deepened, firm but gentle. “It’s okay. You don’t apologise to me for that. Ever.”

His voice was low now, so low it vibrated in his chest, a soft rumble that thrummed through the narrow space between your bodies. “You never have to apologise for setting boundaries.”

The words hit you square in the chest, like the impact of something you didn’t see coming. Your knees weakened, just slightly, and you gripped his wrist to steady yourself, though whether it was to anchor you or to keep from moving closer, you weren’t sure.

For a moment, everything else faded, the hum of the distant city life, the soft swish of the breeze, even the bass from the party. All that remained was him, warm, close and achingly sincere.

A part of you wanted to kiss him. Badly. The urge bloomed like heat in your chest, climbed up your throat, burned behind your lips. But then your gaze flicked, just briefly, to the giant pane of glass windows behind him, floor to ceiling, offering a clear view into the party beyond. You were almost certain Steve and Nat were watching from somewhere, probably with popcorn.

So instead, you smiled, small and almost rueful, and didn’t move. Didn’t lean in.

But he did.

His hand, still cupping your chin, shifted just slightly, tilting your face upward with a touch so gentle it barely registered as pressure at all. His eyes searched yours for a heartbeat longer, as though committing you to memory, as though asking are you sure? without even speaking a word.

And then his lips met yours.

Every nerve in your body buzzed, and his lips were warm and plush against yours. You could feel the way he held himself back, like he was afraid of falling too deep into hunger. 

His hand hovered at your waist, fingers brushing your side, hesitant to pull you closer unless you gave him a sign. The other remained at your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge of it in a gentle rhythm, anchoring you. His breath mingled with yours, sweet with the faintest trace of spearmint, his chest rising and falling unevenly against the few inches that still lingered between you.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes blinked open as though waking from something half-dreamed. A breath of laughter broke from your lips, soft and stunned, and you shook your head slightly. Still, you didn’t move far, fingers tangled loosely in his tie. “People could be watching, you know—”

You were beginning to think that none of it mattered anyway, not when he looked at you like that.

“Let them.”

You didn’t even flinch as he pressed in again, slow and exploratory, the faintest drag of his lower lip over yours, testing the shape of your mouth with a tenderness that sent a ripple down your spine.

But something in him had shifted, restraint thinned, weeks of built-up tension bleeding into a desperate need. 

His mouth moved with more certainty, lips parting yours just slightly, enough to deepen the kiss without taking too much. He coaxed rather than claimed, a subtle tilt of his head aligning you closer, a soft press of his tongue just barely tasting the seam of your mouth. 

Your fingers curled tighter back into the front of his tie, tugging him closer as that familiar rush of heat flooded your chest and belly. You responded, parting for him, letting him in, and the reward was a low, pleased hum from deep in his throat, vibrating through his chest and into yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, the slick warmth of his mouth lingering, his gaze was heavy-lidded, pupils dark, lips parted just slightly. A faint smear of your lipstick sat crookedly above his upper lip—evidence, as obvious as a lovebite

You blinked at him, lightheaded, dizzy in the best way, like the floor had dropped out from under you and all that held you upright was him. And then, to your own surprise, you giggled. Actually giggled, breathy and unguarded, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in far too long.

“They’re going to be insufferable now, you know that?” you said, grinning against the glow that refused to leave your cheeks.

He tilted his head, lips quirking. “Who?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Steve and Nat.”

“Because their little scheme worked?” He snorted. “Shit, you’re probably right.”

“I’m already bracing myself,” you muttered, mock-exasperated. “Nat gets this tone in her voice when she’s feeling particularly smug. It’s the worst, she doesn’t even try to hide it. Drives me crazy, I swear—”

“Sam knows too,” Bucky said, a little too casually, but his voice dipped just enough to betray him, quiet like he almost hoped you wouldn’t catch it.

Your smile faltered. “Oh?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking briefly away. “Yeah… after the little, uh… slip-up in training, he knows everything now.”

“Everything?”

Bucky winced, shoulders hunching slightly. “Yeah. I may have told him and Steve the whole story.”

You gaped at him a moment, speechless, before you found the sense to speak up. “The full story… as in, lessons and everything?”

“Maybe…” He gave you a look so sheepish it bordered on boyish. “Do you wanna know what Sam said when he found out?”

You groaned, almost too afraid to ask. “What?”

“‘That sounds like an HR nightmare.’”

You broke into laughter, a real, bubbling laugh that rose out of you before you could stop it. “Shit. We’re in deep now.” 

He watched you, fondness etched into every line of his face. His expression had softened again, that rare, open version of him shining through. You pulled back enough to look up at him properly. His eyes were gentle, amused, but earnest—so goddamn earnest it made your chest ache. 

“I feel… good about this,” he said, and the quiet conviction in his voice struck you deep. It rasped low, his tone threaded with a sort of rough certainty that made your stomach flutter.  “For the first time in… I don’t know. I feel good.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide and a little dazed. Warmth bloomed steadily in your chest, curling beneath your ribs and climbing up your throat. It spread like honey through your limbs, soft and molten, loosening something inside you that had been wound tight for far too long.

“Careful, Bucky.”

“I’m tellin’ the truth, doll.” His hand brushed your arm, knuckles grazing like static, his eyes trailing down your body as if you were committing you to memory, curve by curve, inch by inch.

“Keep talking like that,” you murmured, “and I might kiss you again.”

His smile curled slowly, crooked and dangerous. “Oh yeah? Just kissing?”

You tilted your head, letting your gaze drop to his mouth. “Maybe more… if you’re lucky.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that vibrated through you. Then he took a single step closer. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, once, then again, just to see the way his expression shifted. Bucky let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, one hand snaking around your waist as he pulled you in again for just one more kiss.

—

After the disaster that had been the training session—where you and Bucky had gone so hard it probably qualified as attempted murder in at least three jurisdictions—Steve, Natasha, and Sam had clearly smashed their heads together and prayed they could cook up a plan to get you two talking again. The infamous balcony had been plan B, and to their endless delight (and your mutual dismay), it had actually worked. But that small victory left them scrambling, because now they had to try to cancel the other contingency plans they’d set in motion, like overexcited matchmakers who’d gone past their pay grade. 

God only knew how many schemes they’d cooked up. From your current predicament, it seemed they’d well and truly scraped the bottom of the barrel. Because here you were, wedged into the backseat of a car far too small for three muscled idiots, on what was technically a stakeout, but what felt more like slow torture. You were hours into waiting for some crypto-genuis kid, Karpin’s pet money launderer, to finally come home. And the whole reason you and Bucky were here at all? Steve and Sam had begged Fury to approve your presence on this op, convinced this was plan C, the masterstroke that would fix things between you two if the balcony gambit failed. 

But the balcony hadn’t failed. The balcony had worked spectacularly, and now Steve and Sam were left trying to undo their apparent meddling, scrambling to pull you off the mission. Too late, Fury had signed off, likely with one of his signature scowls and a clever quip. Everything was greenlit. No take-backs. 

You’d managed to pry this information out of Steve within the first three hours, much to the absolute dismay of Sam. Now both of them were currently avoiding your gaze like their lives depended on it, and you were simmering, imagining at least five creative ways to end them before the kid even showed up. 

“So this was your brilliant plan C, huh?” you hissed, exasperation curling through every word as you craned your neck forward, arms braced on the back of Steve’s seat, peering between him and Sam in the front. The centre console dug uncomfortably into your ribs, but you hardly noticed over the heat pricking across your skin. “Cram us into this metal coffin and hope the awkward tension does the trick?”

Steve still kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the street ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel like he might snap it in two if he had to endure one more minute. The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Sam, slouched in the passenger seat, had perfected the art of looking like he wasn’t there at all, staring out the window, face blank, like maybe if he wished hard enough, he could astral project somewhere far away from this cramped nightmare. 

Beside you, Bucky had sunk so low in his seat you half expected him to disappear into the upholstery. His arms were crossed tightly, his long legs awkwardly angled to avoid pressing too much against yours. Though your thigh and shoulder still touched, the contact was warm and sticky. Secretly, you didn’t mind it that much. 

“Are you gonna bring it up and whine about it every 5 minutes or—” Sam finally drawled, and you leant over to smack the back of his seat in warning. You could’ve sworn the jolt made his eyes roll harder. 

“It wasn’t my first choice—” Steve spoke at last, voice strained, and you scoffed, flopping back into your seat. You shot a glare up at the rear-view mirror, where Steve steadfastly refused to meet your eye. You resisted the urge to kick the back of his seat. Sam’s lip twitched, and you weren’t sure if he was fighting a smirk or a grimace. 

“Yeah, yours was the training session, wasn’t it?” you muttered, shifting in your cramped seat, your thigh brushing Bucky’s. “The one where we nearly killed each other?”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Steve protested.

“You paired us against each other—!”

“I thought it would help work out the tension—!”

“Oh, genius move, Cap. Almost as subtle as the balcony stunt. Remind me…” You said, glancing between the two of them with an exaggerated patience. “How much money did you lose to Nat over us making out within twenty minutes?”

Bucky choked on air beside you. 

“Nope,” Sam cut back, smirking, eyes on the windshield but clearly enjoying himself. “She made me promise not to spill what she put down.”

“She cleaned up, didn’t she?” you said, grinning despite yourself.

“Let’s just say I owe her a drink…or five,” Sam muttered.

“And you two just went along with it. And when that actually worked,” you went on, voice rising as you gestured vaguely at the cramped space around you, “you didn’t think to, I don’t know, maybe… cancel this mission?”

Steve gave a long-suffering sigh, “I already said we tried—” 

You blinked, turning to Bucky, who was doing his best impression of a statue. His ears were pink. God help him, he was blushing. “Are you hearing this?”

“Loud and clear,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw, eyes fixed on the upholstery like it was the most fascinating thing in the car. “I’m starting to think we’re the mission, not the kid.” 

Sam barked a quiet laugh at that, then immediately tried to hide it behind a cough. 

You smirked, leaning back just enough to make your knee knock into Bucky’s. “At least someone finds this funny.” 

“Oh, I do,” Sam didn’t even try to hide his grin now, eyes glinting in the rearview mirror. “You know, Buck folded like a lawn chair after that training room mess. Didn’t even need to interrogate him, he just started confessing.”

You blinked, glancing sideways at Bucky, and sure enough, his shoulders tensed, jaw tight, face flushed red. Yeah. You’d heard about that. After you and Bucky had practically torn each other apart during that disaster of a sparring session, it hadn’t taken long before Bucky caved. All it took was one pointed look from Steve, and he’d apparently spilt everything. The lessons. The gala mission. The whole messy, complicated truth. He hadn’t wanted to hide it anymore, and they hadn’t judged him. If anything, they’d been supportive, but god, had it given Sam and Steve endless material to work with.

“I didn’t fold,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face, trying to hide the red creeping up his neck.

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh no, you practically snapped in half. ‘It’s not what it looked like! I swear!’”

Steve, who had been studiously pretending to focus on the rows of beach houses, finally let out a quiet snort.

Sam continued his onslaught. “He was trying so hard to be chill. Said something about ‘It’s not like she was giving me sex lessons or anything!’ Swear to god, I thought you were about to write us both a formal apology letter.”

Your brow shot up, heat blooming warm and easy in your chest. Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Jesus, can we not—”

“So…” Sam began, tone too casual to be innocent. He swivelled half around in his seat, arm slung over the headrest. “What exactly do these lessons involve?”

Bucky shot him a glare that could have melted steel. “Not talking to you about this.”

“Right. Right, of course.” Sam nodded solemnly, lips twitching. “Just curious. Is there, like… a syllabus? A final exam?”

Sam looked over to you, and you rewarded him with a blank, unbothered expression. All of his attempts to get under your skin so far had fallen flat. 

“I swear to God, Sam—” Bucky huffed. 

“Okay, okay!” Sam laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Damn, Barnes. Touchy!”

Bucky grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face as if to physically wipe away the heat creeping across. He exhaled through his nose, visibly trying to collect himself, jaw working like he was biting back another groan.

The moment stretched, the car settling into a beat of silence.

Then Bucky leaned back, voice dry as bone, as if he was looking for punishment, “I still haven’t forgiven you for not packing snacks, by the way.”

It earned a sharp bark of laughter from you before Sam twisted around, indignation written all over his face. “You were supposed to pack snacks!”

“You’re the reason we’re here in the first place!” Bucky shot back, arching a brow, the edge of a smirk threatening his mouth.

Sam groaned, tipping his head against the headrest like a man resigned to his fate. “God, please. Can you just shut up—?”

“You’re the one who has been talking this entire time—”

“Eyes up.” Steve’s voice cut through the bickering, sharp enough to snap the tension like a taut wire. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as his gaze fixed out the windshield.

You straightened instinctively, pulse kicking up, the lingering humour of the quarrel evaporating as your attention followed his line of sight.

A sleek, silver car, a little too flashy for the neighbourhood, rolled up the driveway of the house you’d been watching for hours. The low purr of its engine smothered the quiet hum of distant gulls in the air. The driver door swung open, and out stepped a kid who looked like he belonged more at some overpriced frat party than tangled up in Karpin’s operation. Early twenties, hair artfully messy, sunglasses pushed back onto his head like he thought he was some kind of tech mogul already. His clothes screamed new money, designer labels, logo-heavy, just subtle enough to look casual if you weren’t paying attention.

From the back of the car, the trunk popped, and a scruffy golden retriever leapt out with a thump, tail wagging like mad as it bounded up to the kid, nearly bowling him over. The kid laughed, ruffling the dog’s ears, before slinging a backpack over one shoulder and heading toward the front door.

“Target’s home,” Steve muttered, already shifting into command mode. His voice went flat, but with that edge of anticipation that always crept in when the waiting was over.

Sam sat up straighter, his earlier grin gone, eyes sharp. “Finally.”

Bucky leaned forward, his knee brushing yours, the tension humming back into his frame like a coiled spring. “What’s the play?”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off the house. “We move in quietly. Sam, you cover the back in case he spooks. Buck, I’ll need you two with me at the door. No heroics. We’re here to talk, not smash up his house.”

You gave a tight nod, hand already sliding to the door handle. “Copy that.”

“Let’s move,” Steve said, and the car doors clicked open almost in unison, the stale warmth of the vehicle giving way to the salty breeze as you slipped out into the early afternoon air.

— The dog’s tongue lolled out of its mouth as it bounded after the tennis ball you lobbed down the yard for what had to be the fiftieth time. The poor thing was all enthusiasm and no aim, skidding through flowerbeds and trampling what was clearly someone’s expensive landscaping project. You didn’t have the heart to stop him. The quiet thunk of the ball hitting the fence made you sigh, shading your eyes with one hand as the retriever scrabbled to chase it down.

The house loomed behind you, modern, sleek, soulless, and through the open patio doors, you could hear muffled voices. Mostly Steve’s, low and steady. Occasionally, Sam’s sharper edge cut through, exasperation bleeding into his tone. You couldn’t make out the words, but you didn’t need to. This was dragging. Of course, it was dragging.

You glanced at the sky. How long had it been? Too long. Definitely too long. 

The dog trotted back, panting, ball slimy with slobber, and you took it with a grimace, wiping your palm on your thigh before tossing it again.

The screen door creaked, and you turned just in time to see Bucky step out, rubbing the back of his neck. His jacket was off, henley sleeves rolled to his elbows, expression carved from tired frustration.

“Well?” you asked, arching a brow, catching the ball one-handed as the dog dropped it at your feet.

Bucky exhaled, dropping onto the steps beside you. “It’s not going well. Kid’s a wreck. Just keeps freaking out, throwing out half-baked lies, hoping we’ll get bored and leave him alone.”

You smirked, tossing the ball lazily. “He doesn’t know those two very well then, does he?”

Bucky’s lips quirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’re trying for a good cop, bad cop thing… don’t think it’s going too well.”

You dusted off your hands, straightening. If this dragged on any longer, it would be nightfall, you were entirely sure there was a better and faster way to get the kid to spill. “It’s my turn to play cop, don’t you think?”

Bucky looked up at you, wary. “You sure? He’s on the verge of passing out.”

“All the more reason to cut the bullshit.” 

The living room was too clean, not lived-in, just staged, like everything else in this house. The kid sat on the edge of the pristine white couch, hunched over, elbows on his knees, wringing his hands so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His chest hitched, breathing fast and shallow. Steve was standing nearby, voice soft, like he was talking him down from a bridge. Sam loomed near the window, arms crossed, scowl in place.

You didn’t bother asking. You just dragged a chair across the floor, the legs screeching deliberately against the polished hardwood as you flipped it around and straddled it, resting your arms along the back. The kid’s red-rimmed eyes snapped up at the sound, wide with panic, sweat beading at his temple.

“Okay, everyone, let’s take a breath.”

Steve shot you a sceptical look, brows knitting together like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. Sam, arms still folded tight across his chest, arched a brow, glancing at you like, really? The kid—Brandon, that was his name, you remembered now—just looked outright bewildered, as if the suggestion was the most alien thing he’d heard all afternoon.

“One deep breath. All of you.” You spoke pointedly, daring a glare over at good cop and bad cop respectively. You dragged in a slow inhale through your nose, filling your chest until your ribs ached, then let it out in a long, audible exhale. You exaggerated it, not for theatrics, but to show there was nothing complicated about it. Just air. Just calm.

Steve, bless him, always the good soldier, mirrored you next, drawing in a slow breath like he was trying to set an example. Sam followed reluctantly, like he hated admitting that maybe you had a point. His chest rose and fell, but he kept side-eyeing Brandon the whole time.

Brandon hesitated, his gaze flickering between you all like he was waiting for someone to yell gotcha! His knee bounced erratically, fingers twitching. You half expected the kid to bolt—not that he’d make it far, you were sure either of the three men would take absolute delight in tackling him to his shiny, expensive floors.

“C’mon, Brandon,” you coaxed, leaning forward just slightly, head tilting. “You’ll feel a whole lot better. Just one breath. Try it.”

For a beat, you thought he might refuse, too locked in his panic to even try. But then his shoulders sagged a fraction, and he sucked in a shaky breath, a wet, uneven sound that hitched halfway through. He let it out in a rush, but it was something. 

“There we go,” you murmured. “Better, huh?”

Shit, maybe you were good cop. 

He stared at you, wide-eyed, chest still shuddering from the uneven breath he’d managed. Like he couldn’t quite believe the panic hadn’t immediately swallowed him whole. 

You didn’t rush him. Instead, you took another slow, deliberate breath, and with just the faintest glance to the side, you caught Steve doing the same. Bucky too, silent and steady at the doorway, setting the rhythm without a word. Even Sam, though he tried to look like he wasn’t following your lead, let his shoulders loosen as he exhaled through his nose.

“Good,” you murmured after another long beat. “Let’s just stay right here for a second. Was getting far too tense in here, wasn’t it?”

Brandon sucked in another breath, still ragged, but at least it wasn’t the frantic gasping from before. His hands were still trembling on his knees, but they weren’t clenched into fists anymore.

“Okay. Let’s rationalise this, yeah? One step at a time.” Your voice dropped low and warm, the kind of tone you’d use with a skittish animal. The type of tone you used with Bucky when he was spiralling. 

“Do you know who he is?” You tilted your head toward Steve.

Brandon hesitated, but his eyes flicked to Steve, and he gave the smallest nod.

“Say it out loud for me,” you urged gently, fingers drumming softly on the back of the chair.

“H-he’s Captain America,” Brandon whispered, voice weak, almost like he wasn’t sure if saying it would make it more real.

“That’s right,” you said, offering a small smile. “Good. That’s good, Brandon. You’re thinking straight.” You pointed with a lazy flick of your finger at Steve. “And do you really think Captain America of all people is going to hurt you?”

“No.”

“Good. But those other two—” you jerked your thumb toward Sam and Bucky, your voice dipping into dry humour, “—those ones you wanna watch out for. Absolute wildcards.”

It earned you a quiet snort from Sam, and Bucky’s mouth twitched, but Brandon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. His face was pale, but some of the sheer panic had started to ease at the edges.

But the hyperventilating wasn’t gone. His chest was rising too fast again, his eyes darting around the room like he couldn’t help it.

“Hey, hey. Just breathe.” Your voice stayed patient, casual but focused, like you had all the time in the world. “I just need to ask you a few questions. Can you handle that?”

Brandon’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His wide eyes glistened beneath the overhead light, flicking between you and the silent figures of Steve, Sam, and Bucky like a cornered animal. Though, it wasn’t the wild panic of a man about to bolt. It was something else. Defeat, maybe. The heavy, sinking weight of realising he was out of moves.

His mouth opened, shaky. Closed. Opened again. He wet his lips, voice barely a whisper.

“They’re gonna kill me if I snitch—”

“Who’s gonna kill you?” Steve’s voice cut in, instinctively taking a step forward.

You lifted a hand, a silent hold up, and Steve froze mid-stride, eyeing you warily but ultimately submitted to your lead.

You exhaled slowly, studying Brandon, the trembling hands on his knees, the sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his leg bounced like he might still have been weighing the odds of making a run for it. Your head tilted, voice dropping just a hair softer.

“How about this,” you hummed thoughtfully. “I tell you what we know… and you help me fill in the gaps, hm?”

Brandon blinked, uncertain, but you saw the subtle slump of his shoulders. “O-okay…” he croaked.

“You’re from a middle-class family. Did well in school. Kept your head down. Got all A’s in college, IT, tech stuff, right?”

His eyes widened. He glanced at Sam like maybe he’d confessed those details without realising. Sam just arched a brow, impressed despite himself.

“You got into cryptocurrency to make a little money on the side…” You continued, your tone easy, conversational. “And that’s when Karpin found you. Asked you to help him move his money until it was basically untrackable. Paid you more than you’d ever seen in your life to keep quiet and work with his buyers.”

Brandon’s mouth parted, but nothing came out. 

“You probably don’t even know what he’s really selling,” you added, shrugging lightly. “Just that it’s illegal. Because you’re smart, you could see it a mile off. But you didn’t ask. Why would you? You’re making more money than you ever dreamed of.” Your gaze swept the room, the expensive furniture, the sleek floors, and the view of the ocean just beyond the windows. “Beachfront property? At your age? You’re making more than most people see in a lifetime.”

Brandon gave the faintest, almost imperceptible nod.

“But now you don’t want to talk. Not to us. Not to anyone. Because Karpin’s dangerous, right?” You softened the words further. “Because he told you as much, because you know you’re in deep…Because he threatened you. Maybe even people you care about, said if you ever ratted him out, it wouldn’t end with just you?”

That hadn’t been in the brief, but you’d spent enough time in Karpin’s club, in his VIP rooms, hanging off his arm like his latest pet to know his game.

You didn’t even need to hear the confirmation from Brandon, just one look in his glassy eyes told you the truth. You were right. Your eyes flickered over to Sam and Steve, watching as they exchanged a look.

Bucky hadn’t moved, leaned quietly against the doorway, face carefully neutral. But his eyes—oh, his eyes tracked every word, every shift of your body. And though his mouth was set in a firm line, there was something under it. A shameless flicker of pride. That soft, secret warmth, like he was quietly glad to see you work your magic.

Brandon’s breath rattled, his fingers fisting the fabric of his shorts. His wide eyes darted from you to Steve, then to Sam, as if one of them might swoop in and end this interrogation—or maybe mercifully his life. His voice cracked as the words tumbled out in a rush.

“I didn’t know, I swear! I mean, I knew—I knew it had to be something illegal, but not this illegal! I thought it was just drugs or something!” His chest heaved, breath coming fast again, panic starting to claw its way back up his throat.

“Hey.” Your voice cut through the rising spiral of his fear, leaving no room for argument. “We’re not here to decide if you’re guilty or not. That’s not why we’re here. We want to talk to you about one of the buyers, the one Karpin does the majority of his sales to. Do you know who I’m talking about? The Russian?”

Brandon hesitated, throat working as he swallowed. “Yes…”

“Good.” You hummed, slow and encouraging. “I need you to tell me anything you know about him. A name, a bank number, an address. Anything you can give us.”

Brandon’s shoulders hunched, his head shaking, wild-eyed. “I can’t—”

“Why?” you pressed.

“Because… because they’ll kill me!” He burst out, breath hitching again. “If it’s this bad, if it’s really this bad, I know they’ll hunt me down if I say anything—”

“They’re not going to be able to reach you, Brandon.”

His head snapped up, desperation shining in his eyes. “How can you guarantee that?!”

You sat a little straighter, drawing in a slow breath yourself. You knew the feeling currently roaring through Brandon’s veins, you recognised it like an old enemy. The panic, the sick weight of fear coiled tight beneath your ribs. The terror of the unknown. It was like wading blind through pitch-dark water, searching for a foothold, for anything solid to cling to, with no promise of light ahead. You’d felt it too many times before, felt it in your bones, felt it define you. And like every time before, your mind scrambled to make sense of it, to wrestle the chaos into something you could control. But how could you, when you didn’t even know the shape of the fight you were facing? How could you rationalise the storm without knowing where it might end, or if it ever would?

If only, you thought bitterly, if only you’d had the foresight back then. The knowledge. The map that would’ve let you navigate those shadows instead of stumbling through them, bruised and broken.

You knew exactly what the kid needed to hear.

“Do you want me to explain what’s going to happen to you after this conversation?”

Brandon nodded wordlessly.

“The police are going to come.” You reassured, recognising the instant dread in the kid’s wide eyes. “They’re going to arrest you, not hurt you. They’re going to keep you in custody while Karpin and his buyers are investigated, tracked down, and arrested. You’ll be safe. No one can get to you inside.”

“You’ll hire a lawyer,” you continued, voice even, matter-of-fact. “And that lawyer is going to tell you to take a plea deal. That means you’ll testify against Karpin. The deal might mean you walk free under witness protection, or maybe you serve a few years, but nowhere near as much trouble as if you stonewall us now.”

You smiled softly, leaning forward, lowering your voice to a comforting hum. “Brandon, all you need to do is cooperate with us.”

He blinked hard, tears threatening now, though he fought them, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I’ll be protected? Will my family be protected? You’re sure?”

“If you help us?” You shrugged, glancing at Steve and Sam. “You’ll be protected. So will your family. By the people we work for. There’s no shame in having made a mistake, Brandon. You think we’re innocent?” 

Your grin tilted, dry and a little wry as you thumbed toward the guys. “These three destroy half of New York every other week, and you think people are just fine with it?”

Sam gave a short huff of laughter, shaking his head. Steve smirked faintly, arms crossed over his chest, watching the way you worked with no small amount of admiration.

“We can do what we do because we have the right friends in the right places,” you went on, gaze locked steady on Brandon’s. “If you tell us what we need to know, we’ll make sure you and your loved ones are protected. That’s a promise.”

Brandon let out a shaky breath, the tension bleeding from his frame, if only slightly. He swiped the back of his hand across his damp face, voice rough as he finally nodded.

“O-okay. Okay. I’ll help.”

—

The mission had wrapped up without much fuss once Brandon finally cracked. A little breathing room, a few well-placed reassurances and the kid had spilt more than you’d hoped for. And after a long morning of waiting and watching, the team had been cleared to stand down. The beach house, a backup in case the op had dragged on, was yours for the night. No one had expected things to go so smoothly, but no one was about to complain either. 

Now, with the sun bleeding gold over the horizon and the promise of an early flight hanging over your heads, you were determined to steal a few hours of peace. 

You lay stretched out on a sunbleached towel at the base of the porch, toes buried in the warm sand. The last of the afternoon rays bathed the world in honey light, glinting off the waves as they lapped the shore. The ocean breeze lifted your hair and carried with it the brine of the sea, the faint tang of salt settling on your skin where the sweat had dried in the heat. You tilted your face up now and then, soaking in what little warmth was left, letting your eyes fall half-shut.

The beach house itself was small and sweet, worn blue paint with white trim, seashells lining the windowsills, wind chimes and catchers swaying and singing softly in the breeze. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to the sea as much as to the people.

On the porch steps, Bucky sat like a man trying to blend into the scenery. His arms rested heavily on his thighs, his boots planted solidly on the wood. There was tension in him, subtle but sure. He watched the waves, mostly. Sometimes he watched you. His gaze would flicker your way when he thought you weren’t looking, then back out to the horizon like it could give him answers. He’d tried the sand once, made it a few steps before muttering something about not wanting it grinding into the plates of his arms. The steps were his compromise, close enough to be near you, far enough to avoid what unsettled him. 

Steve and Sam had gone into town, promising a dinner worth eating—something fresh, not from a takeaway joint or gas station, which was the usual menu for missions, especially stakeouts—before you all shipped out at dawn. The house, the beach, the world itself felt hushed in their absence. Just the occasional cry of gulls, the gentle crash of waves, and the music of chimes above. 

It was Bucky who broke the quiet first. His voice was almost tentative, as if he’d been sitting with the thought some time before letting it out.

“You were good with that kid today.”

You cracked one eye open, shading it with your hand from the sun. The breeze caught his hair, tugged at the soft cotton of his shirt, ruffled the hem where his sleeves strained over the gold and black glint of vibranium. 

“You’re good at talking to people,” he went on, not looking at you now, but at some fixed point beyond the waves. “Understanding them.”

A soft, tired huff escaped you. You let your eyes fall closed again, the sun warm on your cheeks. “What I understand about people is that everyone wants kindness. That’s all. They want to be seen, heard, given a little grace.”

You let your head loll to the side, gaze following the slow roll of the sea. His eyes were on you again, you could feel it, watching, like he was trying to piece you together, to see past the practised ease of your words. 

“How did you know all that?” he asked after a beat, quieter now. “About lawyers, plea deals, witness protection?”

Your lips curved, a wry, sad little smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I lied.”

You felt him shift. His boots creaked against the steps, his spine straightening. “You lied?”

You rolled onto your back, brushing the sand from your skin, fingers playing idly at the tie of your bikini. “I told him what I knew he wanted to hear. That’s all. A kid like that, scared, cornered…He responded well to knowledge. It doesn’t matter if I don’t know what they’re gonna offer him, maybe they will offer him a plea deal, but at least he won’t feel like he’s in the dark.”

The breeze tugged at the chimes again, the gentle clatter filling the quiet that followed. Bucky didn’t speak, just watched you, thoughtful, a crease between his brows. His gaze was steady now, no longer flickering away like he was seeing something in you that you didn’t want him to.

“I just…” His voice was gentler now, but insistent. “I just think that version of you, the one who talked that kid down, the version I know... sometimes I think it’s the real you.”

You turned to him properly then, one hand propping you up, the other shading your eyes against the glare. “The real me—Jesus. Are we doing this right now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. 

“I think they’re still in your head,” he said simply. “The same way… the same way H.Y.D.R.A is still in my head. You just wear the mask better. Pretend better. It took me too long to see it, but now I do, and I can’t unsee it.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been tackled from behind, a cold rush tearing through your veins, leaving you sick and hollow at the centre. H.Y.D.R.A. Bucky almost never said it aloud. That name lived in the shadows. But now he had given voice to it, like he was fucking invoking it.

You stared at him, heart tight, the sincerity in his voice cutting deeper than you expected. He was right. Of course, he was right. There had been far too many occasions where he had seen through you, seen through the walls, the humour, the deflection—and for what? For you to be afraid, to continue to pretend, to deny him entry to the truth you both knew he had already discovered?  

“What are you trying to say, Bucky?”

He hesitated, just for a breath, as if he was weighing his following words before he went all in. “Why are you still in this job?”

Your pulse spiked.

“Because it’s what I’m good at?” you snapped back, a little too fast, a little too brittle. 

“Bullshit.”

You sat up fully now, towel forgotten beneath you, heat rising to your cheeks. Whether it was anger or shame, you weren’t too sure anymore. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your hands lifted, fingers splayed in frustration. “This is all I know, this is what I was trained for. There is no other alternative, and you of all people should understand that.”

There was a pause. A longer one than you expected. 

“Do you know what Sam said to me after today?” His eyes met yours, sharp, intent, almost fierce in their focus. It pinned you where you sat. “He said, ‘I think I finally get what the hell those lessons were about’. He saw it. He saw you. The way you connect, the way you see people. I think you’re far more than what you limit yourself to.”

You let out a breath that tasted of defeat, bitter at the back of your throat. Or maybe it was a laugh. You couldn’t tell anymore. “I do this job because I want to make a difference, Bucky. Maybe I want to make a difference because no one ever tried to help me, or Nat or Yelena. We had to help ourselves.”

“And you think the only way to do that is by tearing yourself apart in the process?”

You snorted, shaking your head, though the motion felt heavy. “Tough words coming from you.”

He huffed his own small laugh, but there was no humour in it. 

“I just…” His voice was lower now, the edge of frustration softening into something that sounded almost like pleading. “You really plan on doing those missions forever? The ones where you use your body to get information? I see how it weighs on you. How it tears you down piece by piece.”

You dug your fingers into the towel beneath you, staring at a seashell half-buried in the sand—anything to avoid the look in his eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do instead, huh?” Your voice was tight, controlled, though you could feel the cracks forming, the storm just below the surface. “I’m good at what I do. That’s why I do it. I know how to get what the team needs. I know how to play the part, no one expects me to be anything else. So I stay in that box, because it works. End of story.”

Bucky was shaking his head before you had even finished your stubborn spiel. 

“I think you have more potential. I think you get people. Really get them, in ways none of us do. You always say the right thing, know how to calm a room, and make people feel seen. I think you’re wasting that, wasting you, because you’re too afraid to ask for more.”

You forced a laugh. “Bucky, just because I’m nice to you doesn’t mean I’m good with people—”

“Steve told me what you said that day,” Bucky cut over you, quiet but unyielding. “What you said when he walked in on us. He told me how genuine you were. How much you cared. Said he never expected it, not from you.”

For a moment, your throat closed up tight as your mind skidded, fishtailing toward anything that might sound coherent.

“This all just sounds like you’re the one who’s got a problem with my line of work,” you said finally, trying for lightness, humour, anything to take the weight out of his words. “What, you jealous or something?”

But the joke fell flat between you. Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice carried an assured edge like he was giving up hiding behind anything. “No. I think you have a problem with it.”

Your breath snagged, ribs pressing in tight like you’d sucker punched.

“I think you’re destroying yourself,” Bucky went on, tone stripped bare, nothing left but truth. “I think, deep down, you’re punishing yourself. And I don’t know why. Or what for, but I know the signs, doll. Because I do the same damn thing.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. The wind stirred between you, the gulls cawing above and the hush of the surf. The world felt too still, too intimate, like the air itself was holding its breath.

“Where is this coming from?” you managed, voice smaller than you intended.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because watching you today, watching you work, impressed me. I know it impressed Steve and Sam. Maybe it just got me thinking about how things could be. How things should be.”

“I don’t want things to change,” you said, too fast, too sharp. “I like it how it is now.”

“Oh yeah?” His gaze still unflinching. “And what about all this makes you so happy?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Swallowed hard. 

“You,” you said quietly, bitter as the ocean air. “You make me happy. I like helping you and talking things out with you. I like lessons, or when we just hang out.”

Your voice softened, as if that could make it truer. “I’m comfortable. I’m happy.” But even as the words left your lips, they curdled. They felt wrong. Hollow, like smoke in your mouth, like ash on your tongue. And you knew—God, you knew—he could see it. He could see right through it, through you.

Deflect. Deny. Subvert. The old playbook. Your armour, your sanctuary. The instinct that came too easily, a reflex honed by years of keeping the world at bay. You reached for it like a lifeline, tried to wrap it around yourself before he could press further, before he could dig up what you’d buried so deep even you barely dared look at it. Anything was easier than letting him see the soft, frightened parts. Anything was easier than letting him reach them.

You sat still for a heartbeat longer, the weight of his gaze heavy as a hand at the base of your throat. And then you moved. You pushed up from your towel, brushing sand from your palms as you crossed the short distance to where Bucky sat, stiff and watchful on the porch steps, his eyes lifted to yours, wide and unsure, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d strike him down or pull him in. 

You lowered yourself, just enough to meet him, just enough to cage his face between your sand-dusted hands. You knew the grit would drive him a little mad, would catch in his stubble, smudge across his cheekbones, probably lodge itself somewhere in the joints of his vibranium arm. But you did it anyway. You did it because it was the only way you knew how to say what wouldn’t form on your tongue.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you murmured, voice low, breath hitching in your chest. The wind tugged at your hair, lifting it from the damp heat of your neck. Your thumbs traced his cheekbones, light as the breeze. “Is that okay?”

His lips parted, maybe in a silent plea. “Yes.”

It wasn’t neat or gentle. It was messy, hungry, your mouth slanting over his, tongue sliding past his lips as he groaned low in his throat. His hands came up, tentative at first, like he didn’t know where to touch you. Then the dam broke, and his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, his other hand bracing your hip. The taste of him was salt and heat, the faint bitterness of coffee from earlier lingering on his tongue. Your breath mingled, quick and uneven, as you poured everything into it, the frustration, the fear, the need.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. The windchimes clattered softly, like they’d been eavesdropping on the whole thing.

You gave him a look—part promise, part challenge—and turned, heading inside. You knew it was wrong. Christ, maybe he knew it too. Knew that this was what you did when the truth got too close, when his gaze stripped you bare and the panic rose sharp beneath your skin. You’d reach for what you knew worked. The kiss, the heat, the distraction. Anything but the raw honesty of what was unfolding between you. 

Your bare feet padded across the worn wooden floors, the little beach house warm with the last of the sun’s heat. You shook out your towel by the door, brushed sand from your legs and arms as best you could, then made for the tiny kitchen, rinsing your gritty hands under the tap. 

You were just reaching for a towel to dry your hands when you felt him behind you, the silent, solid press of his body, the familiar weight of his hands wrapping around your waist. His fingers splayed across your bare skin, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to be but couldn’t stay away. His breath was warm against your ear, his nose brushing along the curve of your neck as he nuzzled there, the stubble of his jaw rough but welcome.

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Bucky murmured, voice low and earnest, the words vibrating against your skin. “I’m not trying to argue. I just care about you.”

“I know.” The words barely made it past your lips as you turned in his arms.

His hands framed your face, his mouth on yours. His thumb brushed your cheek, his other hand slipping down to your waist like he knew the shape of you by heart. The scent of salt air clung to him, to you. The kitchen felt impossibly small, the world shrinking down to just this. Just him, just now.

When he finally pulled back, breath warm against your lips, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “You make me happy too, you know,” he murmured, an honest confession. “More than I think you even realise.”

Your heart gave a traitorous lurch, and you swallowed hard, your hands still resting at his sides, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, but there was no bite to it, no real protest.

“Why not?” His mouth quirked into a soft, crooked smile. “’Cause you might believe me?”

You let out a breath, half laugh, half sigh, leaning into him. “Hmph…”

His mouth found yours again, slow and searching. His thumb kept stroking your cheek, tenderly, while his other hand slipped lower, fingers curling around the curve of your hips as if to steady himself as much as you.

The worn floorboards creaked softly beneath you both as you shifted, as he nudged closer, fitting his body to yours like a puzzle piece. The scent of him—spearmint, sea salt, the faint leather tang of his jacket still clinging to him—filled your senses, dizzying in its familiarity.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers splaying over the hard lines of muscle beneath the soft cotton. His heartbeat thudded steadily and sure beneath your palm.

Without thinking, without planning, you found your back hitting the edge of the counter. His hands followed the movement instinctively, guiding, steadying, as you hitched yourself up onto the worn wood.

Bucky stepped in, between your parted legs, his hands finding your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles over your skin. His lips sought yours again, deeper now, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you let him, you gave yourself over to it, to him. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, greedy for his touch, his taste.

The kiss deepened, your breath mingling, your pulse thundering in your ears. Your hand skimmed lower, a slow, teasing path along his stomach, until your fingers brushed under the edge of his waistband, intent on taking control the way you always did, the way that felt safe and predictable. A soft sound escaped you, half a plea, half a groan.

He stopped you, catching your wrist gently just as your palm began to slip beneath the fabric. When you looked up, his blue eyes met yours, dark with heat, yes, but steady. Sure. 

“No,” Bucky said, voice low, roughened by want, thumb brushing your wrist. “I want to make you feel good.”

You stilled.

Pure, unfiltered, raw panic slammed through your gut like a punch you didn’t see coming. It rose fast, too fast, thick and all-consuming, choking the breath in your throat. The edges of the kitchen blurred, vision tunnelling to just him. The closeness of his body, the heat of him, the solid press of the cabinet at your back—

You dragged in a breath, but it scraped through your chest ragged and raw. Metallic fear coated your tongue, your pulse roaring too loudly in your ears to even think.

Your free hand twitched, half-formed in the start of that signal—the three taps. You could feel the ghost of it against his arm already, your fingertips itching to retreat into that small mercy, that lifeline you’d always given each other without question.

But you didn’t. God, you didn’t.

Because if you did, this would change. He would see. He would know. And then the questions would come, the soft ones, the careful ones, the ones that peeled you open in ways that scared you more than anything. And what then? What would become of you?

No. No, you couldn’t let that happen. The thought made your heart pound harder, made your throat burn. You needed to do this. Needed to show him, show yourself, that you were fine. That you weren’t broken. This was different. He was different. That you could be the person he saw when he looked at you, brave, whole, unflinching.

Even if inside you felt like you were unravelling at the seams.

Your breath shuddered as you forced it deeper, trying to steady the wild beat of your heart. You blinked hard, trying to clear the haze creeping at the edges of your vision, trying to quiet the voice in your head screaming. And you clung to him, to Bucky—

Your Bucky.

He could never hurt you. 

You swallowed hard, trying to drown the panic, trying to push it down where he couldn’t see. You could do this. You would do this. You trusted him. More than anyone.

“Can I make you feel good, doll?” His voice was soft, low, threaded with something that almost sounded like hope. His palm glided slowly up your forearm, warm and steady, the rasp of his calloused skin grounding. He didn’t see the storm behind your eyes, didn’t feel the stone lodged deep in your gut.

“Is that what you want?” You whispered, your voice hoarse.

“Yes.” The word came out on a breath, “more than anything.”

And for a moment—just a moment—fear loosened its grip.

Your mind spun back, unbidden, to all the nights you’d lain awake wanting this, wanting him. The ache of it. The sleepless hours where your hand found your own skin, your own heat, and you pretended, just for a heartbeat, that it was his touch. You thought of the months you and Bucky hadn’t spoken, how that want had burned hotter because of it, how his absence had left you hollow and restless.

And now here he was. His body so close, his hands gentle where they held you. And you remembered every time he had touched you. His hesitance, his tenderness, his devotion hidden in the brush of knuckles, the graze of fingertips.

It stirred a molten heat in your gut, one more welcome than panic. 

“Yes.” The word tore from you roughly, your forehead tipping to his, your eyes fluttering shut as frustration and need coiled tight inside you. 

You felt his breath hitch, felt the tremor, the hesitation in his hands even as they touched you, almost shy as they smoothed along your exposed thighs. His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips hovering just near your jaw, like he wasn’t sure he had permission to go further, like he didn’t trust himself to do this right.

“Bucky…” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair, coaxing him to look at you. His gaze flicked up, blue eyes wide, the vulnerability in them making your heart squeeze. His palms were broad and heated where they held you, but they trembled ever so slightly, like the weight of wanting was almost too much to bear. “Are you sure?”

“I—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his thumb tracing slow circles just above your waistband. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

The honesty in his voice, the way it cracked around the edges, nearly undid you. You cupped his face, feeling the prickle of stubble under your palms and the tension coiled in his jaw.

“You won’t,” you murmured, stroking softly beneath his eyes. “You can’t. Just… touch me. However you want. I’m right here.”

Something within him eased, you felt it against your mouth as you leaned in, trying to pour every bit of reassurance into the slide of your lips. His hands roamed more boldly, exploring the dip of your waist, the curve of your thigh. It felt like worship the way he took his time, mapping your skin, committing it to memory.

The heat built between you, slow and consuming, and the edge of panic drowned out. You arched into him as his mouth followed, kisses pressing into the sensitive hollow beneath your ear, down the line of your neck. The small kitchen disappeared, the world narrowing again until it was just him, just this. His hands moved as if guided by instinct now, though there was still that delicious edge of hesitance that made every touch precious. His hand skimmed lower, calloused pads slipping beneath the thin band of your swimsuit bottom. You gasped, fingers fisting in his shirt. 

And for the first time in far too long, maybe in your entire life, fear didn’t spike. You didn’t choke, you melted—

His breath stuttered, and he froze just over your mound. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his voice uncertain. “Tell me what to do, doll. I want to—I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smiled, the kind of soft, private smile only he ever got to see. Your fingers found his wrist gently, guiding his hand down, slipping it fully beneath the fabric, where you were already warm and wet for him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. You’re perfect. Just… slow. Start slow.”

You saw his lips part, saw his pupils blow wide, felt the tremor in his fingers as they touched you where you wanted him most. His gaze flicked to yours, awed, wrecked.

“That’s good,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a shaky exhale as your heart thundered against your ribs. Your hips moved instinctively, chasing his touch, tilting into him, desperate for more. “That’s so good, Bucky…”

His fingers trembled, tentative but eager as he explored. He traced the slick heat of you, learning every reaction, every way your body responded to his touch. Your hand slid over his, guiding him gently.

“Here,” you whispered, voice thick with want. His breath stuttered as his fingertips grazed your clit. “Feel that? That’s where I want you.”

A shaky breath left him, and he followed, so careful it made your heart ache. Your own nervousness forgotten, you arched a little, legs falling open wider, encouraging him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. I promise. I want this. I want you.”

That seemed to steady him. His fingers slid through your slick heat, finding your clit again. You shivered. But still, he hesitated, waiting, watching your face.

“Circle it,” you murmured, voice low and pleading, your hand tangling in his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gently urged him on. “Gently. Like this…” You rocked your hips, showing him the rhythm, slow and steady, letting him feel how you moved beneath him. And God, he followed, so tentative at first, testing, learning, then growing surer as he felt your breath hitch, your body tense, your pulse race beneath his hands.

“That’s it,” you gasped, pleasure building, slow and deep, coiling low in your belly. “Good. Fuck, that’s good Bucky.”

The praise tumbled from your lips, and it only seemed to fuel him. His fingers moved with more purpose now, every breath, every sigh from you making him more confident. His thumb found a rhythm, steady and sure, as two fingers slid inside you, filling you, and the low groan that broke from him when he felt you clench around him made the heat bloom hotter, deeper.

He buried his face against your neck, nose brushing your skin, breath warm and ragged in your ear. You kept guiding him, your voice cracking as a pleasured sob bubbled in your chest. “That’s good—Please just…You’re doing so well, Bucky. So well.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself just feel. Let him take control, knowing he would never misuse it.

Every time you gasped or sighed his name, you felt him react, his body pressed closer, his kisses growing hungrier, his fingers more confident. His vibranium hand anchored at your waist, holding you steady as he worked you. His mouth brushed your ear.

“You’re… so beautiful like this,” he managed, voice rough, as if the sight of you unravelled him.

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut, the world outside the two of you blurring to nothing. The kitchen, the sea breeze, the clatter of seashell chimes, all of it faded, lost beneath the crash of pleasure building inside you. His thumb kept that perfect rhythm, his fingers filling you, stroking you. Your hips rolled, chasing him as you found yourself already trembling on edge.

You tried to keep guiding him, tried to tell him how perfect it was, how right, but the words blurred as the pleasure built, as he guided you through every tremble, every sharp breath, every subtle roll of your hips. 

“You feel so good,” he muttered, voice wrecked, lips brushing your jaw, your ear. “So fuckin’ good like this…”

And then you couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but hold on as he pushed you over the edge, his name falling from your lips in a broken moan, toes curling, back arching, body trembling apart under his hand. Your breathing was ragged as Bucky’s fingers kept moving, slow and sure, guided by every gasp, every shiver he coaxed from you. His forehead pressed to yours, fingers gentle now, soothing you through the aftershocks. His focus was absolute, blue eyes darkened, intent, watching you like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. And you were. To him, you always had been.

“I think I get it now,” he murmured, voice rough-edged, low like a secret.

Your lashes fluttered, your mind hazy with the pleasure he so patiently built inside you. “Hm?” you managed, head tipping forward. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

Then, softly, with that mix of wonder and affection that always, always undid you, he spoke.

“Why you like watching me finish.” His voice was a rasp, reverent and wrecked all at once. And before you could reply—before you could even think—you watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, slow and purposeful, tasting you, sucking his fingers clean with a soft, satisfied hum.

It was obscene. 

Your body nearly gave out. You gripped the edge of the counter for support, chest rising and falling, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sound of the sea and the chimes.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, dragging a shaky hand through your salt-tangled hair, trying to catch your breath. The strands clung to your damp skin. Your bikini bottoms were twisted at your hips, darkened with wetness, your thighs still trembling from the slow burn of his touch. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

---

hello! thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! <3

[planete777]

꒰ RED LINES .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n finds her fate hidden within two red lines, and fears the demise of her and lando's relationship. [based on this ask]

pt. 2 .:. 'red hearts'!

WARNINGS. pregnant!reader, both her and lando aren't ready so there are discussions about potential abortions, mental break downs (i.e panic attacks, crying, you know the drill), angst, mentions of throwing up (no one does it i promise), attachment issues (like me fr), a little bit of fluff (because im not that evil >:])

NOTE. first non-high!lando fic!! i've never written a pregnancy fic, so like, forgive me if it's bad haha 🥲 i put so much effort into my banner, like i'm so proud of it lmao. anyways, enjoy reading luvs 💗

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any high!lando thoughts, scenarios and requests, or any other trope too 🤍

edited to add tag in banner

y/n is almost blinded by it.

two bold, red lines.

she finds it completely comical how she didn't know it sooner, for the ink that runs down the result window is so palpable, it might as well have been written with a permanent marker.

the test taunts and mocks her as she stares at it in complete despair and confusion as she so sure that they had been careful. but now, she lets herself cry over spilt milk because having a baby, on top of mountainous piles of stress that came hand-in-hand with uni, was not a checkbox she would've liked to tick off amidst her status quo.

the bathroom pounds with an deafeningly eerie silence, as she stares, and stares, then blinks as tears flow, then stares again. her ears are swallowed by loud static and her vision fuzzes around the edges, making the test in her hand seem further away than it actually is, and she allows herself to completely fade out.

she feel utterly sick. like she wants to throw up, but the upcoming bile, instead, remains dislodged in her throat and presses immense weight into her chest. it shortens her breaths, she's hyperventilating as if she's been strangled, then panic completely overwhelms her. everything before her zooms in and out like a malfunctioning camera and the pregnancy test clatters to the ground as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

she doesn't remember the last time she had a panic attack this severe, and neither does she know if she'll get over it solus. yearn for a presence beside her devours her brain and she wishes that lando–

lando.

the way her heart seems to squeeze in her chest is almost too animalistic to be normal, and it arrives at the thought of him being unacceptable of the baby. he's barely situated in one place, fuck, he basically travels for a living, and all her mind conjures is how he won't be there when she needs him most. she tries to wish it away, because just thinking about her makes her spiral even more and she knows she cannot survive with a child whose father decides to be absent.

codependency isn't great, that she's thoroughly aware of, but lando's presence brings a wave of comfort braided in the brightness of his smiles and the warmth of his embrace, and it has become her whole lifeline.

yet, the bathroom she's in feels too small and too cold to be anything other than unbearable, and her body feels to weak to remain upright, sliding down to the tiled floor. she sobbing and spluttering so much that lando can hear it from two rooms down, and he rushes into the en suite without a thought in mind.

he crouches down in front of her, hands flush against the skin of her cheeks. he's shaking, fucking terrified out of his wits, and his words are enunciated with a tremble.

"hey, hey, y/n breathe with me," he desperately takes her hands into his, and places it on his own chest, making exaggerated breaths as y/n's start to simmer. it feel like hours stretch by, the air surrounding feels tense with fear and devastation, and by the time she settles, y/n senses nothing but exhaustion.

"what's wrong, love? you're scaring me," lando gently asks, and she struggles to respond, mouth rid of any moisture as if it had been scraped dry. lando takes the initiative to look around in hopes that anything would give him a clue to his girlfriend's break down.

then he freezes.

the white stick lays there, gleaming and glowing like it's fucking sent from heaven, and he feels his heart plummet into the depths of his guts. he knows he can deny it all he wants, but it's undeniable, what he's seeing, yet prays like a grieving mother that what he thinks is not true as his quivering hands reaches for it.

two bold, red lines.

"oh fuck," it punches out of him, every inch of energy disperses like fleeing birds, "you're pregnant?"

it's so small, so timid that he almost doesn't see it, but she nods, and his arms fall like he's been shot and the test leaves his fingers. he swears he's drenched in ice cold water and he remains silent, bound by stunned numbness. his lack of response spurs y/n again, and she begins sobbing, pressing her face into her arms and wiping it furiously. all she thinks is that he doesn't want it, and out of sheer terror, she starts rambling utter shit.

"i can get rid of it, if you want, lando, just please i'm begging you, don't leave me."

he's crying himself now, doesn't know what to feel at the suggestion, but it makes him gag.

"get rid of it if i want to? fucking hell y/n, i'm not a prick like that," he fumbles out, words wet and hardly cohesive, "as long as you want to keep it, i want the baby too."

she looks up at him, eyes so full of hope that he immediately takes her into his arms.

"you sure, lando?" she's still hesitant, burying her head into his chest, and as further reassurance, he kisses her forehead, "as sure as i'll ever be."

[amourrs]

Some sick!reader + Ellie headcanons I've been thinking about for you Ani <3

• You aren't too sure if it's a coincidence or Ellie is really just That girlfriend, but when you're feeling unwell, all her plans get cancelled out of the blue for her to lay on the bed next to you on her phone quietly glancing towards you from time to time to make sure you're happily enjoying the drink she fixed for you.

• She also goes above and beyond to distract you from the pain,- physical or mental; and probably talks to you to a point where you have to attack her with kisses all over her face for her to stop infodumping for a second and just enjoy the show y'all are watching

• Back rubs.. belly rubs.. arm caresses.. temple kisses.. small pecks.. knuckle kisses.. and boob holding for comfort??? Ellie-

• If you start to feel better by the evening, she tells you not to frown about the missed date and hand crafts a blanket fort "Girls night" as she likes to ironically call it and laugh about it(I'm a sucker for Ellie being traditionally girly dont look at me) She basically makes you watch old movies, does your hair and lets you paint her nails.

you don’t understand how happy this ask made me like omg. 18+ only due to suggestive content under the cut! expansion below (also featuring a couple of sneaky ai audios right at the end…) cw for vomit.

this is so cute i’m gonna cry you just understand all my daydreams!!! she’s so gf i love her… btw it’s canon that cups of watery, kind of awful tea ABOUND in your household when you’re sick and you don’t have the heart to tell ellie they’re bad. she’s looking at you and prompting you with her eyes to take a sip and you have to conceal your wince as you do it. “it’s good tea, right? dunno if i left the teabag in for long enough… google said two minutes. was that right? it’s good, right???” you wait for her to stop but she just keeps rambling and you feel so bad for her that you just have to nod along and swallow down the tea 😭😭

the infodumping… god, the infodumping. you’re just trying to focus on a show through your thumping headache as ellie drones “honestly, i think taissa did do it to allie on purpose, even if she doesn’t realise it-” until it gets to the point where you thwack her with a pillow and she pouts at you before pecking your forehead with her lips and snuggling down next to you.

also i see your boob holding and raise you tit sucking… because yes you’re sick but, well, ellie’s still ellie, and so of course she still wants to do horny things. she’d spring it on you right as you’re waking up from your mid morning nap, eyes all soft as she looks down at you all curled up in the little cosy nest of blankets she meticulously arranged for you.

“hey baby. you just wake up? i can make you another cup of tea if you want,” ellie offers happily. she must see the slightly apprehensive look on your face because her eyebrow crooks up as she continues: “or, well… i was thinking… what if i, like, sucked your tits? just a little? think it might help ease some of the aching… after all, my mouth is kinda magical, if i do say so myself.” you’re unable to contain your splutter at the terrible joke. ellie grins and keeps pushing it. “in fact, this might be a miracle cure!” she says with all the drama of someone announcing they discovered a new planet in the solar system. “you might never get sick again!” comes her next line, hands gesticulating wildly in the air as your chest begins shaking with unbridled giggles.

a fake depressive look turns your girlfriend’s lips down as she dramatically sweeps a hand across her forehead. “okay, maybe that’s a bit far… stop laughing at me. you’re gonna make yourself throw up again,” she teases, except you both seem to realise at the same moment that her last statement was probably true. your eyes lock as ellie dives for the sick bucket and you do in fact puke, her calloused hands holding back your hair from your face <3

as for girl’s night- i feel like she would probably make you a little mocktail because even though you’re not well enough to be drinking, cranberry juice is really good for you and lemonade is almost one of your five a day if you really think about it… and “mint’s basically a vegetable. like, it’s green enough, right?” when you’re forced to take the opposing side on the is-mint-really-a-vegetable debate she acts like you’ve just hit her with a hammer and insists on calling jesse to settle the matter.

“ok, i need your help with a super important decision,” ellie says, a stern expression on her face. the way her eyebrows are wrinkled in the middle looks extra cute, you think, and lean forward to kiss her. instead you’re met with a hand to the sternum and an angry glare. “damn. okay, important decision,” you agree, eyes lifting to hers in curiosity. your girlfriend sucks in a deep breath and you brace yourself… “should i paint my toenails green or pink?” ellie asks innocently. you feel like thumping her- why do i ever take her seriously?? you think, heart slowing back to its normal pace as you throw her a dirty side eye.

“wait, actually… that yellow looks kind of cool-” you cut her off with a thump to the head with your pillow. “OW!” comes her pained response, your lips tilting up into a smug smile as ellie shoots you a look of pure betrayal. “ok… OK!” THUMP! “i get it! no yellow…” the pillow lifts again as if to drive your point home for a final time and… THUMP! “ow! fuck! wait, why is your pillow so fucking solid?”

+ as promised, the ai audios… as i mentioned on my blog before, my bot isn’t anywhere near perfect yet so please excuse if these happen to sound a little funky!

[poppadom0912]

Her father's daughter

Warnings: Kidnapping, crying, canon-typical injuries, blood

Summary: When all is well, someone just has to barge in and ruin Will and Faith's lives.

A/N: Soo, I am back more than a month later. I didn't mean to disappear for so long... It will happen again i am sorry. This Ramadan has come with more work and I have exams in two weeks that i refuse to fail. I will most likely return at the end of april/beginning of May.

i've been thinking about writing this for a while because of how much I love Faith but I didn't want to hurt her but then I thought, no one can turn down some good old angst. Sorry again for being mia for nearly another month but randomly wrote this all in one sitting after doing some psychology and having an existential crisis soooo. This is going to be a little longer than usual, happy reading!!

Will was at work when it happened.

He was getting ready to assist Connor in a surgery when he got a call as they were scrubbing in.

The part-time nanny he hired was now basically considered family over the two years she'd been looking after Faith whenever she wasn't in school and Will was at work. So to have her calling him at work was odd but when he answered her call and was immediately met with tears and gasping and hyperventilating, Will felt his heart stop.

Will wasted no time. simply telling her he was on his way before hanging up.

Connor, without hesitation, encouraged Will to leave, saying he'd find Goodwin and tell her himself.

As soon as Will was in his car, the first person he called was a no brainer.

Whenever Will called, Jay would always come running, day or night for his older brother and niece, consequences be damned.

Will found himself struggling when Jay answered, grappling for words he couldn't muster.

"What's wrong Will?"

"Faith's gone Jay... Someone's taken her."

*****

The brothers met up at Faith's school, Will arriving before Jay.

The second Will got there, Allison, the nanny, found him instantly. She ran up to him in tears, hysterically crying as if it was her own child that was taken.

"Will I'm so sorry." She gasped, on the edge of a panic attack, eyes impossibly red as she hyperventilated, tears showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

"They- Reception said a woman picked her up in Maggie's name three hours ago-" She cut herself off with a sob. Poor women was a mess, seeing her so distraught made Will want to cry along with her.

"Allison, please listen." Will said sternly, holding her shoulder so she would pay attention to him. "None of this is your fault, okay? If it wasn't for you, it would've been another two hours before someone found out."

She exhaled shakily, nodding fervently when Will pressed her to stop apologising and accept she was at no fault, there was no reason for her to take any blame.

Before either could say anything more, the sound of sirens scared them, making both of them jump at the sudden loud sound.

At the sight of familiar cars, Will wasn't too sure if he felt relief or impending doom.

"Intelligence Will need to take a statement but after that you can go home." Will told Allison, squeezing her bicep with a timid smile for reassurance.

"As soon as they find Faith, you'll be the first to know, I promise."

*****

Jay was struggling to concentrate on the CCTV footage him and Adam were meant to be watching.

He could say with 100 percent confidence the he never thought he'd find himself in such a situation.

intelligence have been involved with numerous kidnappings. So many in fact that it was usually what they would be expecting to be called in for every day.

But, this was his niece's kidnapping. This wasn't the norm for him let alone the rest of them. A five year olds kidnapping was something they'd never want to deal with, especially someone who was family.

"Here it is." Adam said, clicking the mouse a few more times before settling on a frame, the scene being the reception of Faith's school.

Shaking any deprecating thoughts away, Jay pushed his chair forward, looking closely and minimising his blinks as to not miss a single second of valuable footage. Footage that would show the final moments of Faith being alive and safe.

The halls were empty for the most of it, bar the occasional janitor or teacher walking by. Two minutes passed when a woman in a black trench coat walked up to the desk. Her brown hair obscuring her face from the camera's view along with the thick scarf wrapped around her neck.

She spoke to the receptionist, signing a sheet of paper before a lady walked away, soon returning with a small familiar bundle.

Faith was in her little purple puffer jacket, bobble hat covering her ears and mitten on her little hands. She wore little winter boots, her my little pony backpack sat nicely on her shoulders and Will's old scarf held in her hands. Unconsciously, Jay thought about how she always complained about the itchiness of the scarf that Will would always wrap around her masterfully, his method luring out the most wonderful sound to mankind; Faith's laughter.

Faith looked perfect, just like her fathers carbon copy and even from the shitty camera footage, Jay could see the pep in her step and the twinkle that never extinguished from her eyes.

Jay's thoughts trailed back to earlier this morning when he was still fast asleep in bed but his brother had messaged him, sending him a picture of Faith in all her adorableness. Nothing had changed from that picture and it warmed his heart slightly.

Usually, whoever picked her up was met with the biggest hello, the widest smile and incessant talking and she retold the adventures of her day but this time, Faith's steps faltered at the sight of the stranger.

Jay struggled to watch the rest.

*****

All Will could hear was his baby girls cries echoing in his ears.

He'd heard her cry plentiful, he raised her since birth for goodness sakes but this cry was different. It was like he could hear just how scared she was and it felt like a literal stab in the heart.

Will forced Allison home twenty minutes ago after Hailey took her statement and was told everything. She was still very torn and upset, she refused to leave Will for several reasons but before she started blaming herself again, Will forced her to leave, promising once again to call her later.

Jay had shown Will the footage of the woman who never showed her face, maybe there was some chance Will could recognise the back of her. Somehow, she knew the exact school Faith went to as well as knowing the list of very few people that were allowed to pick her up. The list consisted of Will obviously, Jay, Allison and Maggie.

Somehow, whoever this person was, they knew who was on the emergency contact list, information that only the school and said people were privy to.

That small bit of information made Will want to be sick.

They had tried other means to try identify the woman but they were coming up with nothing. Another hour had passed, now being give hours since Faith had been taken and Will was slowly losing the plot.

"I've contacted a bunch on my CI's." Jay said, face set in stone as he finished presenting. "Still waiting to hear back."

"I have several CI's in that area." Antonio added, Kevin nodding to also confirm. "Waiting for a call any time now."

Voight hummed, giving no indication of what he was thinking or feeling. But not too long ago, he had taken Will aside and promised they would bring Faith back to him, no matter the cost.

No matter the cost. Ethically, Will wasn't too sure what to feel but emotionally, he felt relieved.

Will must've zoned out for a bit because the next thing he knew, only him, Jay and Antonio remained in the bullpen. Everyone else seemingly disappeared.

Wow, he really needed to fix up.

"Hey, how are you-"

Just as Jay opened his mouth, he was cut off by a phone ringing.

*****

Jay wasn't allowed to accompany Antonio to his CI, instead taking Kevin with him. The Latino was never once persuaded by Jay, even when he promised to stay in the car.

The sun was now starting to set and there was a clear shift in the atmosphere as the sky grew darker. To ease broth his own and his brothers fears, Jay sat with Will, sitting together in a silence neither could stand.

This was an uncommon occurrence since Will had returned from New York, the two brothers being alone together. Since coming back, it had always been the three of them. So to be in this moment, both Halstead's would rather die than to have to repeat this again.

"You want a coffee?" Jay asked, eyeing up the half empty coffee pot. At the rate this investigation was going, they'd be needing more than just coffee to help them stay up.

"Sure." Will hadn't meant for his answers to be monosyllabic, Jay had done nothing but right now, he had not much left in him to continue being so forth coming.

The silence enveloping their space, Will usually relished in any moments of silence he could get but this was just uncomfortable. Never did he ever want his little girl to be causing such a ruckus.

"Maggie called me back." Will said, watching Jays' back, following his actions as he made both their coffee's. "She doesn't recognise the woman nor has she told anyone outside the ED's staff about Faith - that's all people I know and none of them know that woman."

Jay hummed as he stirred the tiniest bit of sugar when his tasted a little too bitter for his liking. "That's good but it does mean we have even less of an idea as to who this is."

Will didn't reply, only mumbling a small thanks as he took the mug from Jay's outstretched hand and sipping the lukewarm drink.

"Have you butted heads with anyone at work recently?" Jay asked, knowing his brothers stubbornness very well.

"No." Will rolled his eyes. "I've been under Goodwin's strong scrutiny after the last stunt. Go ask anyone, I've been good."

And for a second, nothing felt as heavy but such a feeling didn't last.

"Antonio and Kevin are back." Trudy suddenly appeared in the doorway of the breakroom causing both of them to flinch. "Go see them downstairs."

*****

"My CI works in a restaurant. When I reached out, his story matched up with ours." Antonio started, standing tall besides the computer screen where Kevin was trying to connect it to the USB they were given.

"At the same time Will called us, a different woman came and ordered a takeaway with a kid he said looks a lot like Faith."

Will felt his heart rate picking up the more Antonio spoke. Hearing all of this felt like a fever dream, he didn't want to get his hopes up just in case they reached another dead end.

The camera footage started to play, Kevin skipping it when nothing was happening, only to abruptly replay it when someone walked in.

All they could see was the back of the woman, her black hair in a braid, scarf wrapped around her neck with a long jacket on. As Will's eyes studied the stranger, he followed her outstretched arm to-

Faith

Will's breath hitched at the sight of his little girl who hadn't seen since the early hours of the morning when he dropped her off to school. He held his breath, watching closely to see if a single hair was misplaced on her body or to try and see what she was feeling from either her scrunched up eyebrows or her quivering lips.

But he couldn't see anything.

The woman went to the counter, ordered her food and stood there for however long it took for the food to be made. Only when she was handed a carrier bag with several containers did she finally turn around and show her face.

Will's face paled in recognition instantly.

"What's wrong Will?" Jay noticed his change immediately, his question causing everyone in the room to turn and look at him. "Do you recognise her?"

Will swallowed harshly, blinking repeatedly to bring himself out of shock.

"Yeah, it's Faith's mum."

*****

With this newfound information, it didn't take Intelligence long to track her down.

Stephanie Brooks, 'Steph' was what she insisted everyone call her. For just over a year, she was Will's girlfriend and as of five years ago, she was Faiths absent mother.

Ever since that night five years ago, Will never thought he'd see his ex again but here he was, sitting in the back of his brothers truck as he waited for Intelligence to get his daughter back.

Once they had her name, they found the car she had under her name in Chicago and the place she was renting out as of three months ago. Three months of which she had been watching them under a microscope.

Will actually had to go be sick in the toilet when Kim turned around with all of Stephanie's activities since she arrived in Chicago, all of which suspiciously looked very familiar and aligned with everything he and Faith did recently.

That aside, all Will had to do now was wait.

Jay and Kevin stood in front, Kevin ready to kick the door down before Jay could go in first. All they were waiting for was for Voight's signal.

"Now!"

Within seconds, they were all entering the bungalow, guns out and pointed in any direction, covering all corners as they searched for Stephanie.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

They all went separate directions, covering every room in search of any life and soon enough, they found their culprit.

She screamed.

"Stephanie Brooks, your under arrest..." Adam went on, reciting the words they all had memorised for years now, his gun lowered slightly as Antonio went forward to handcuff her.

"What, no! You're crazy!" She shouted, struggling against Antonio's grip. Despite the cheap bungalow she rented, she was dressed as if ready for a night out. Her hair was curled, makeup perfect, heels and a tight fitted dress on.

"Kidnapping?" She scoffed, continuing to struggle as she was forced onto her feet. "She's my child, my daughter!"

"You can't take her from me." She told them, getting more riled up when she saw Adam rolling his eyes at her. "I want my lawyer, you have no right to take my daughter from me."

On the other side of the bungalow, Jay heard nothing but thundering in his ears as he frantically looked up and down for his niece. Nearly every room had been covered and they hadn't found her yet-

Jay felt his heart break the second Faith was in his sight.

He found her stuffed in the bathtub shivering. He had to kick down the door, finding her with zip ties around her wrists and ankles, sat in the bathtub with on her knickers and vest on.

Faith started crying.

Without another thought, Jay dropped his gun and rushed forward, kneeling at the edge of the bathtub before picking her up and dropping her into his lap.

"Oh Faith." Jay sighed, wrapping his arms around her as she curled into him. "It's okay, your safe, Jay Jay's got you now."

As sobs racked her little body, Jay took out his knife and carefully cut the zip ties off. As soon as the were chucked to the side, she wrapped her arms as far as they could around his torso.

Standing up, Jay took strides out the bathroom and made his way outside. Hailey found him on the way, taking her scarf off with Kim not too far behind taking her jacket off.

Both garments swaddled Faith, protecting her bare limbs from the torturous snow but she continued to shiver.

Jay felt himself breathing easier with her in his arms but Will was firmly on his mind.

Only a metre away from the premises did Jay find Will who was already bounding towards them.

"Faith, look." Jay gently poked her, watching her carefully pick her head up and turn in the direction Jay was pointing.

The cry she let out, it would forever haunt him.

"Faith."

Jay handed her over to his older brother who's arms encased her small body. Will dipped his face in her hair, inhaling the comforting smell that he never wanted to forget.

"Oh baby. It's okay, it's okay." Will repeated as she sobbed, showing no signs of stopping any time soon. "Daddy's got you."

Will pressed several kisses wherever he could: in her hair, her forehead, her ear poking out from her curls, her cheek anywhere. His arms tightened in their embrace and if it wasn't for Jay who was supporting him, he would fallen into the snow as soon as he lost all feeling in his legs.

Will could barely hear his own thoughts over Faith's gut wrenching cries. Somehow, her tears weren't running dry. To see her in such a state but to have her back and safe with him, Will finally let his emotions get the better of him.

He sniffled, hiding his face in her wild curls he always struggled to tame, his tears dropping like rain but his cries were muffled. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to even out his breathing, Jay's hand on his back comfortingly rubbing circles kept him somewhat sane.

"We're driving to Med." Jay told him, directing the father-daughter duo towards his truck.

Sitting in the back, the outside world no longer existed, his entire universe was sat in his lap. Will had lost track of time, she had been continuously crying but Faith was silent now as she was knocked out, crying herself to sleep, that's how tired she was. All he could hear was the occasional soft snore, but he could feel everything from her rising chest against his own, her curls that needed to be brushed, her skin that was slowly warming up from both his own body heat and the garments wrapped around her and the tears that were drying on his shirt.

Will felt like he could finally start to relax.

*****

Faith remained in Will's arms at Med, even when he woke her up, neither of them made any move of letting go.

As soon as they got to the hospital, Will was surrounded by all his colleagues, all riddled with stress that was slowly disappearing when they saw Faith.

Currently, Natalie was doing the standard tests, letting Will do all the convincing which wasn't a lot. As soon as he asked, Faith complied.

"I'll go grab some heating blankets." Natalie said, stepping back as she finished off. "I'll make sure to put a rush on these."

"Thanks Nat." Will said, letting Faith curl back into his embrace.

"It's no problem." She smiled, her eyes looking down at the little girl, the sight of father and daughter making her think of Owen. "We're all just glad she's safe and mostly unharmed."

Will tried not to think of the scrapes and clotting up scabs that littered her body. He hadn't seen any of them till they got to Med, his chest restricting to know she had been hurt and he wasn't there to relieve her of the pain.

"Thank Ethan for me." Will added when Natalie was about to leave. "Faith loves the my little pony band aids."

And with that, they were left alone for the first time surrounded by the muffled sounds of the bustling department and the occasional beeps of machinery and the faint drips of the iv.

Despite being a doctor for years, Will found it difficult to see the iv needle in Faith. To have two worlds collide, Will would never wish this upon any parent.

Small pokes to his collarbone caught his attention, Faith poking it ever so gently as she stared up at him imploringly with the widest eyes that still glistened, their colour identical to the woman who was going behind bars.

"Missed you." She whispered, voice breaking towards the end. It was the first time she had spoken since she found her and the two words made his eyes water.

"I missed you too. Missed you so much baby." Will replied, tucking her hair behind her ears so he could see her whole face. "I'm so sorry baby. Daddy loves you so much."

A smile appeared on her cherry lips, her dimples not too far behind. Seeing them made it feel like nothing was wrong with the world and only the two of them mattered.

"Home?" She asked, her voice filled with so much innocence and hope that Will has to give himself some time before replying.

"Not yet, I'm sorry bubbles." He apologised, rubbing circles into her back. "Jay Jay still needs to come back and Maggie needs to bring you some medicine. She might even ask you to sleepover."

For once, Will was glad she was so eager to stay at his workplace. She had such wonderment surrounding his job, the thought of sleeping over at his work was almost a dream come true.

To finally see her mood pick up, her eyes glistening now with newfound happiness at the prospect of a sleepover, unaware of the connotations it had, Will allowed himself to feel good.

For now, all that mattered was that his daughter was rightfully back with her father and surrounded by family that would do anything for her.

[ridiculousimplicity]

I was so scared that Bobby was gonna hurt himself or resort to something dangerous again or would start spiralling because of what happened with Jonah Greenway. I couldn't help but panic a little as the story continued but then.. Eddie happened.

Eddie has been going to therapy and that episode where the therapist helped him realise that it was not his responsibility to have kept a look out on the enemy while they were flying back, that he was doing what he was supposed to do i.e. taking care of the injured soldier and focusing on patching him up was cathartic.

In simple words, he yanked him out of the abyss of self blame, out of misplaced responsibility. He was taking on the weight of it all and repressed it so much within that his brain had no reason not to send out panic signals when triggered.

So many things happened to him and due to the incessant burial of memories and emotions related to those events, they ended up overlapping.

He "moved on." He wanted to.

His basic nature of putting it all "behind him" because he grew up that way was all he had. He had never known how to confront it, how to feel that emotion and let it pass, because he needed to be strong for his family. He needed to man up (a toxic trait his father had, without thought, imparted to him). And when he felt like those emotions were lingering, bubbling up, he felt like it was abnormal. That he was lacking. That he was not measuring up to be who he thought he should be. He never felt good enough.

He never felt enough.

And when he finally broke the lock to that box, it roared and burst out. It was unapologetic. I felt my heart break when I saw him sobbing, bawling his eyes out by the bed, whispering "They are all dead. They are all dead."

This scene where Buck finds him uncontrollably sobbing, hugging himself goes to show how one needs to know how to process their emotions, how mental health is so important, that one should reach out to someone in their time of need, get the help one needs, to stop being cruel to yourself and that you matter.

Another important point to note is that he was forgetting who he was. His identity and his needs were fading to the background. Maybe that first panic attack of his was a cry for help.

Eddie is now starting to heal. And he is learning to recognise trigger points and objectively looking at things within him and around was what made him say this. 👇

Buck about Bobby, "He takes responsibility for everything. That's his way. Probably why he makes such a good captain."

Eddie frowns, "Taking responsibility for something he didn't do wrong? It's a bad road to go down." He remembers the first time he had realized it. "You lose sight of things, of who you are."

And this, when he realises Bobby needs to hear this right now..

"Jonah wasn't your fault."

"Eddie."

Eddie continues, "No, look, I spent the last few months trying to put away a lot of things from the past and move on. What I've learned is you can't carry someone else's weight. It'll take you under."

Bobby counters, "I'm the captain. My responsibility-"

Eddie interrupts, "Is your team. But he was on the 118 for, what, a-a few weeks?"

Bobby blinks and crosses his arms.

"You barely knew him. You think you missed something? All the other cities, other houses. Everybody missed something," Eddie tries to reassure him.

But Bobby shakes his head. "This happened on my watch. He killed Claudette and who knows how many others." He swallows, the guilt resurfacing. If he just had done something more--

"Because he thought he was a God." Eddie stares straight into Bobby's eyes, "But he's not. Neither are you." He hopes to help Bobby realise he isn't all knowing and that is okay.

"You're not all-knowing and all-seeing, Bobby. You're just a good man."

Bobby shakes his head vehemently. "I'm not. I am not." Tears spring to his eyes as memories resurface.

Eddie knows why he is saying that. The hundreds that had lost their lives years ago, the hundreds Bobby blamed himself for, repented for.

"You saved my life." Eddie reminds him. "And my son's. So whatever responsibility you take for Jonah, you make sure you take some credit for me. You earned it."

~ 911, S5 E18

And the scene after of Bobby unpacking the bottle of alcohol had me at the edge of my seat. I understood why he wanted Eddie to stay for dinner. He needed something else to focus on or he would.. But he did not. He took it in his stride that Eddie was needed elsewhere and it was okay. He could do this on his own and went on to pour the entire bottle out into the sink, letting go of the guilt that has been eating away at him simultaneously.

[secretwritingbullshit]

salvation

I was "saved" on 12/11/2023, at 29 years old. I put it in quotation marks as that's the date when I said the prayer and starting changing my habits, however I think Jesus has been in my heart since about May.

I've suffered with anxiety for as long as I can remember. Sometimes, it's nothing more than the basic "what if" scenario running through my head. Other times, though, I'm shaking, crying, and my body feels like it's actually processing premature death.

While on a charter bus with my husband and 50 strangers going an hour and a half into the middle of the jungle in Mexico, I had one of the bad kinds of anxiety attack. I sat in my seat desperately trying not to draw attention to myself, discretely wiping the contact tears and sitting on my hands so no one could see them shaking. Head down, I counted every fiber in my tennis shoe laces to try to ground myself again. It wasn't working. The fire in my chest was demanding to be seen. I also, however, wanted more than anything to not ruin this trip for my husband. We were on our way to see the Mayan Ruins and it was a bucket list activity for him.

I started praying. I don't go to church, I don't pray before meals or bedtime or read the bible at all. I never have. But i don't know what else to do to stop this feeling in my heart, so I pray. "Jesus, please help me. Jesus, please bring me peace in your name. Jesus, please come into my heart for my husband's sake. Please heal me. Please help me. If I am fearfully and wonderfully made, please help me live in this moment and not in the tormented world my head creates for me."

I stopped shaking. I stopped crying. I stopped feeling like I was going to die. The fire in my chest was doused with water. I laughed. I felt peace. My heart felt full. My husband and I climbed up the Mayan Ruins, walked around the jungle, and got followed by spider monkeys. It was truly one of the most amazing experiences. I knew my prayer worked, but I didn't realize how much it had worked.

Not much changed in my life after that, except I thought about God and Jesus a little more. A couple of months later, we were planning a trip to Ireland. I had a nicotine habit that dated back about 12 years. I had quit for a week, a month, even up to a year.. but always wound up with a cigarette or a vape back in my hands eventually. I was nervous about this Ireland trip as I didn't think I was capable of going nine hours on a plane with no nicotine.

Why don't I just see how long I can go today before I cave? I can start gathering data about my addiction, soo how many hours I'm at now, and hopefully work up to going 9 hours by September when we leave. Queue the immediate craving. So I start thinking, how am I going to do this? Praying worked in Mexico- maybe every time I get the craving for nicotine, I think of Jesus instead, God wouldn't want me to be damaging my lungs, maybe I can give this burden to him.

I haven't felt the need to ingest nicotine since. I was delivered from this habit by Him with more ease than I ever imagined happening. My first try just to see how many hours I could go hasn't ended yet, 172 days later.

After I realized those cravings were not coming back, I realized how impactful Jesus had been in my life. Then I had panic set in. Am I only believing Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior because it's benefiting me to do so? Is He serving my needs or am I serving His? I've now had two nearly impossible situations end in the best possible outcome for me, am I really saved? Or just selfish? Will I stop believing once my prayers stop being answered?

A few weeks later, I found myself mindlessly scrolling through facebook reels while I was supposed to be sleeping. Out of nowhere, almost all of those reels were Christian's talking about Jesus. "Micro-learning" they called it. Learning things in minute long videos to hold your attention span. I started talking to my sister about it, who is a Christian, and she told me "Jesus is seeking you out. He's surrounding you with His word, and answering your prayers. He's making an effort to be in your life. You can accept Him, He is seeking you."

That got me. He is seeking me? Is that what this is? I used to say when people asked me about religion that I couldn't choose what I believed. I just didn't believe it all and I WANTED to, but I couldn't help it. He made me believe.

Then I went to a church function with my sister. A women's study Christmas learning event. This was the night I said the prayer and got saved. A few days later- I met with my sister's pastor, Pastor Scott. He asked me about my story and I told him. He asked me very plainly- if Jesus was to come back today- would you be going to heaven or to hell?

This took me back a little, as I still had self deprecating thoughts, I still struggled to forgive myself for all that I had done in my life, and I didn't know how Jesus or God could forgive me for it. I told him yes anyway, as I knew being saved meant I was going to heaven. The FEELING of it just wasn't there yet. He told me to start reading the bible, and to start with John.

I actually started reading- I'm very bad at discipline, but I started reading. I then understood I wasn't only believing in Him because my prayers were being answered. Jesus was showing me He is the son of Father God the same way He showed everyone when He walked on earth. He was leaving the 99 to come get me. He was helping me believe the things I couldn't choose to believe. He was giving me my salvation, and I now FEEL hat it's like to be saved.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me all the time. Pointing out to me when I commit sins that I don't think about. Reminding me to love everyone the way Jesus loves me. Taking care of my body, keeping in His word, and fighting His fight. I have discipline I never had before. I have peace I never had before. It's growing.

So even if you don't believe. Even if you don't feel it, it doesn't make sense, or you are out of escapes. Pray anyway. Over and over, as many times as it takes. And I believe Jesus will change the unchangeable things in your life too. Nothing is too big for him.

[batlingsstuff]

|| DREAM SMP HEADCANON|| Ranboo with Dementia

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

AYYY WHAT'S UP GUYS it's me :) i'm sorry this took so long to make, school is fxcking me over

okay okay now onto the headcanon

this will be pure angst, so be ready boys ;)

also, this is completely platonic.

insp: Everywhere at the End of Time - The Caretaker

TW/CW // anxiety, death, panic attacks, hallucinations, dementia

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

┌────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────┐

GENDER NEUTRAL

└────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────┘

✦ - STAGE ONE

at first everything was normal, you two were best friends and did basically everything together

he ocassionally forgot little things, like where he left his pickaxe and other stuff

it was harder for him to concentrate so you always were there for him to help him with everythimg, even just little things

and he appreciates it so much

then the behaviour changes, like suddenly getting more angry and/or impatient

and being more cheerful than usual

then the anxiety, he was always scared and one time he had a really bad panic attack

you were absolutely concerned about him and decided to take care of him

you never left his side

he always talked about how scared he was

and ranted for hours

until he forgot about his problems

✦ - STAGE TWO

everything stayed like that for two years, then he started forgetting major things, like people's names

one day you two went to visit your friend, jack manifold

he couldn't remember his name or who he was

you noticed there was something wrong with him, and decided to take him to several hospitals and clinics

after several check-ups you got the results

he was diagnosed with dementia

you cried for hours while he was sitting next to you patting your back, constantly asking why you were crying

he would ask the same question several times, making you cry harder

you moved in with him to make sure he was taking his meds

"why am i taking these, (y/n)?"

'for your own sake'

one day you took him to a walk around snowchester and he looked disorientated, not knowing what was that place

✦ - STAGE THREE

everything was worse, so much worse

he lost his memory book because he misplaced it somewhere, but you don't know where

he had trouble with speaking and stumbled with his words most of the time

tubbo, his platonical husband, came to visit every now and then to check up on ranboo

but ranboo forgot who was him

"your husband? haha oh no, i don't rem...ember getting engaged, i'm sorry."

"why are you crying?"

tubbo stopped visiting after that

he often had problem differentiating colours

one day he was so depressed that he couldn't get out of the bed for two days

after that, he seemed to have trouble recognizing you

'ranboo, it's me, your best friend (y/n)! don't you remember me ranboo? please remember.'

"i... don't know who you are... i'm sorry. i don't even r...ecall having a b-best friend."

you couldn't stop crying

your best friend was slowly losing his memories, and you couldn't do anything about it

i guess it's over, isn't it?

✦ - STAGE FOUR

his memory problems got so much worse, he forgot that water could actually damage him

he was curious about the rain, so he got out one day when it was raining and put out his hand to reach the droplets

he hissed in pain when the water damaged his skin and stormed back inside

hopefully you treated his wounds quickly and told him that it was better if he stayed in bed for now

while he was in bed and you were trying to get some rest besides him, he allucinated about a whole ass wave drowning him and he started to scream, like if he was in pain

you woke up due to the screaming and tried to calm him down, hugging him tightly and shushing him

he calmed down after a few minutes, sobbing loudly and returning the hug

he was scared, he didn't want to die

he couldn't talk at this point, every noise that came out of his mouth was incomprehensible, he was unable to communicate with others normally

you couldn't understand him, he couldn't understand you

your friendship was falling apart with the time

but afterall, you were there for him.

and that warmed his heart, even if he wasn't aware of that.

✦ - STAGE FIVE

he stayed up late multiple times, just watching you sleep or looking at the window, not able to think about anything

he felt like he was disconnecting from reality, like if his soul was slowly leaving his body

everything was foggy in his mind as he started to forget who was he, what was his name and occupation, who were his friends

who were his friends? is a question that he often asked himself

he looked at you one more time while he repeated that question simultaneously

"they're my friend."

he repeated that sentence several times, like if he was reassuring himself so he wouldn't forget that you were his friend.

he wrapped his arms around you while you slept, pulling you in a gentle hug

"thank you."

why was he thanking you? he felt like you were doing something important for him

but he couldn't remember what it was.

and that frustrated him, so he started sobbing uncontrollably

but he managed to calm himself down thanks to the relaxing sound of your heartbeat

he felt like he was dying slowly, but he didn't care about that

he had a friend who cared about him, and that's what matters to him.

✦ - STAGE SIX

ranboo was worse than ever, he forgot how to eat food properly and the basic movements of the mouth to do so

so you had to help him by gently moving his jaw up and down so he could munch the food

deep down his heart, he was thankful.

he didn't understand what was happening to him or who you were, but he knew that you were his friend.

he would randomly start crying, but it wasn't out of sadness

they were tears of joy

he was thankful that you were his friend

as no one else came to visit anymore

so he spend up his last years snuggling with you, always trying to remind himself that you were special.

and he loved you dearly, platonically speaking

✦ - STAGE SEVEN

ranboo couldn't even get out of bed as he forgot how to use his legs properly, not being able to walk

so you brought him food to his bedroom and started talking with him everyday and you didn't care anymore if he didn't answer you

you knew he wasn't able to speak anymore

you even stopped caring about your life, like work and friends

you wanted to spend every single minute with ranboo so he wouldn't be alone in his last days of life.

the days passed by slowly and one day everything ended abruptly.

ranboo forgot how to breathe, his body reacted roughly to the lack of oxygen and started moving his hand uncontrollably

you were beside him scared and paralyzed, watching how the life drained slowly from him

after what seemed to be like a few minutes, he stopped moving

he gasped loudly as he remembered everything; his name, his friends, his origins, his house, his cats, his crown, his husband, l'manberg, his memory book, you.

after that, he whispered his last words:

"(y/n)?"

and boom, he was gone.

gone from this world, forever.

you shaked him in horror, screaming his name multiple times as you cried.

your best friend was gone, and you couldn't do anything about it

so i guess this is it, huh?

✦ - AFTER RANBOO // BONUS

you hosted his funeral and everyone except dream was invited

everyone cried for him, they felt guilty as no one except you were there for him when he most needed it

tubbo was heartbroken, he was in denial and left the funeral early, probably gone to spend time with michael, his son

after that, everyone went home and you noticed that a strange book was lying in your house's entrance

you went to inspect what was it and noticed the book was dusty so you cleaned it to read what the title was

the title was 'DO NOT READ'', you recognized that book as ranboo's memory book

you gasped and stormed inside the house to read it

you sat on a couch and flipped the first page, reading carefully every single page and making sure you didn't skip anything

while you were reading, a small note was found in one of the pages and you started reading it, noticing that his handwriting was more messy than usual

it read: "Hello, if you're reading this then this is embarrassing. I wanted to write out my feelings in this small note because I was scared to talk out this with (Y/N). The thing is: I'm scared. I've been losing my memories and it's scary, I'm scared of forgetting who am I or who are my friends, I don't want to lose them. I know I promised Tubbo and Michael that I would protect them, but I'm not sure if I can keep that promise anymore. Tubbo if you're reading this, I'm sorry, for everything. Things seem to go downhill everytime I forget about things, even if they're just small things like forgetting where is my crown, and I'm scared that I will eventually forget who are my friends. I don't want to lose (Y/N), they're my best friend and I'm not ready to lose them yet. I know it sounds stupid but I just wanted to write about how I feel, goodbye forever Memory Book."

oh no, you were sobbing again.

"why didn't you tell me sooner, ranboo?"

"why?"

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

IT'S FINISHED, FINALLYYyyY Yy YY yes i love angst i love making people suffer

ANYWAYS thank you if you readed all of that shit, also big thanks to my friend moony for helping me with the grammar since i don't do english

moony if you're seeing this i love you /p

ANYWAYS THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!!!!!

[morgans-cowbaby]

Hey cowbabies this is for the @rdr-secret-cupid @charlessmithhasmyheart this is for you :)

I really hope you like this one. this is my first time writing for rdr and writing something in another language :O (i will double check my spelling but i apologize in advance if there’s some nonsense down below)

RELATIONSHIP: Lenny Summers X f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,549

WARNINGS: A LIGHT MENTION OF BLOOD/WOUND.

fluff with a soft touch of angst (honestly guys i don’t know)

All this running from the law, pinkertons and now this Angelo Bronte guy did you no good. You were tired, Miss Grimshaw had you working non-stop for days since the gang moved, you needed some peace. The swamp air is thick and you're covered in sweat, but still, all you could think about was him. You knew that talking to him would wash all of your worries away. So you sit on a log sewing a pair of old jeans, roaming your eyes around in hope to find him. There he was, sitting in the main room at the old manor house planning a coach robbery with Arthur, Lenny Summers. You were good friends since you joined the gang, he could always tell when you were not feeling ok and he would do anything to cheer you up. One night you woke up having a panic attack, shaking and crying, trying to scream but nothing came out. Lenny was on guard duty but he left it immediately when he saw your situation. Poor boy, he knew nothing about anxiety crises but he did his best to calm you down, and it was that night you finally realised, you are in love with him. Since that night, you’ve been trying to approach him in a flirty and romantic way, but you saw it, you were no dummy. The way he talked with her, you saw every subtle move he made towards Jenny Kirk, and the worse of all, you remember how devastated he got after the blackwater incident.

You didn't hate her, you couldn't. She was so young and you were sure that Lenny would be more than happy to have her by his side right now, but oh well, you can help wishing you were the one he dreamt of.

Suddenly you feel a soft touch on your left shoulder

“They will be fine. I'm sure they have a good plan, and Arthur is our best gunslinger, he will bring your boy back” It was Hosea.

Oh no you were so lost in thought that you didn't notice you've been staring at him for way too long. Did he noticed?

“M-my boy? whatchu' mean Mr. Matthews?” Was it that obvious?

“C'mon now dear, I've seen the way you look at each other. Just like me and Bessie used to do” He says “And you are not very good at hiding it”

“I'm sorry but I don't know whatchu' talking about Mr. Matthews" You can feel your face burn with shame.

“Lenny got his heart broken after what happened, he would never be interested in another relationship" You think to yourself

“Sure you don't”. He says with a soft smile on his lips.

“But I'd tell you, if my Bessie was alive, I wouldn't waste any time” He says while walking into the manor to check that stagecoach robbery plan.

You try to focus again on sewing the jeans in your hands but you just can’t stop thinking about what Hosea just said to you. After all, having a relationship and taking the risk of ending with a broken heart was something you could not afford, not right now. By now, you’ve finished all your chores of the day and decided to watch the beautiful dusk from the balcony, from up there you could see Lenny and Arthur getting ready to leave camp. You have a weird feeling in your gut, like when something bad is about to happen, “What could go wrong? Lenny and Arthur can handle a simple stagecoach robbery” you thought as you walk back to your tent “and besides, they have planned it thoroughly” As you’re getting ready to sleep that weird gut feeling strikes again but you just brush it off, slowly closing your eyes.

Suddenly you wake up to the familiar sound of horse hooves hitting the soft mud, but something is wrong, that gut feeling is back and it’s stronger. You head off your tent expecting the worst but you see them, Arthur and Lenny, getting off from their horses with some cash and valuables in hand. “Well, everything is fine” You thought as your eyes roamed over Lenny’s body and then you finally found out why you had the weird feeling in your gut. Lenny was shot, you froze in place when you saw the big blood stain on his right arm. You ran to him.

“Lenny oh my! What happened to your arm” You said loudly, but not loud enough to wake the camp

"The boy’s gonna be ok Miss Y/N” Arthur said heading inside the manor, leaving both of you alone.

"Yeah, that’s nothing to worry about. I was grazed by a bullet, I’m not feeling any pain” Lenny said gently, while making his way to his tent.

"Please let me take a look. You said grabbing his hand lightly and guiding him to your tent”

"It’s ok Y/N, I’m telling you”. He protests but still, he follows you.

“I don’t want to bother you this late at night”, he says while standing at the opening of your tent.

"Nonsense” You said motioning for him to sit on your cot. He slowly makes his way to your thin cot and starts to roll up the blood soaked white sleeves from his shirt.

"Oh no, this is bad”. You say grabbing the little first-aid kit you kept next to your clothes. “But luckily you won’t be needing stitches”. With iodine and a clean gauze in hands, you lean forward and start cleaning his arm.

"Hey that hurts!" Lenny said as he flinched

"If you keep moving it’s gonna take longer to finish it”. You said holding his arm down

“It’s easy to talk when you’re not the one with medicine on your wound” He says jokingly

“I would never hurt you Lenny” You said while cutting a piece of the gauze to make the final bandage. “I love you actually”. You freeze, you can’t believe you just said that, but you did. And worse comes next.

Lenny had a confused look in his face, his mouth was open but he didn’t say a word. You look away and start to have a panic attack “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT OH LORD WHAT DO I DO NOW?” You thought while wrapping the gauze around his arm as fast as you could, without looking at his face.

“Well, we’re done!” You said basically screaming “You can go to your tent now Lenny, if you need anything I’ll be here” Your legs were shaking but you managed to stand up and walk to the front of your tent.

“Y/N…” Lenny touched your shoulder “You serious?” He asked

“I’m so sorry Lenny I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn't, you’re still in love with Jenny and I’m sorry about what happened to her. But please don’t be mad at me it’s ok you can leave and we’ll never talk about this again” You talked so fast that it felt like the words were pouring off your mouth.

“Y/N calm down… look at me please” He spoke to you so softly, it was almost a whisper. You lift your head up, eyes feeling heavy with tears and cheeks burning like fire.

“It’s true, I loved Jenny and to be honest… I still do, even after what happened in Blackwater.” Your heart sinks as he speaks, the feeling of guilt running freely through your body.

“But she’s gone now”. The sadness in his eyes is slowly fading away. “Y/N, I like you too” Your body is finally relaxing, his reaction wasn’t so bad, was it? He didn’t say i love you back to you, but at least he wasn’t angry.

“And…. umm…” Lenny was the nervous one now “I like you enough to have you as my partner”

“REALLY?” Your heart jumps with joy only to be interrupted as he continues to speak

“But not right now, we have the law and pinkertons on our neck, I just can’t afford to lose another loved one”.

Now what? Your body is burning from embarrassment, eyes feeling heavy with tears again while you open your mouth to say something but your brain is not cooperating, your mind is blank. Lenny cups your face with his calloused fingers and lays his rough lips against yours, kissing you. You were surprised at first, but you kissed him back.

“It’s ok Y/N, you don’t have to say a word. I know you’re feeling confused right now but we will soon be out of this mess” He says as he caresses your face

“Yeah, I heard Hosea talking about a bank robbery, it seems like a good score.” You said while sitting back on your cot

“It better be” Lenny says as he sits by your side and pulls you for a hug “With that amount of money on our hands, we can leave this whole mess” He pulls you again for a passionate kiss, this time you open your mouth and let his tongue in.

“I think we’re going to Tahiti,” You say while letting out a soft chuckle and he slides his fingers through your hair.

“Honestly, I’d be happy anywhere.” Lenny says “As long I have no worries and you by my side”.

[secret-engima]

So I've recently discovered your ffxv aus. I haven't played the game, and it will be at least two weeks until I can play the game because I will be visiting family and away from my ps4, but I adore all of your aus I've read so far. And due to the fact that I've been reading up on them, basically one after the other, and you have all kinds of xovers happening. And I'm curious, how do you think the Galahdians from thrown to the wolves verse would react to Nox and his uncle?

Oooohhhh I hope you have a nice visit with your family and YES GOOD. TRY THE GAME IT’S GOOD.

*cracks knuckles* this is gonna be FUN (and probably long, and probably way angsty).

Short version- TOTAL HORROR.

Long version:

-they- they have no idea how to react. Here is an Ardyn who is, well, on the SURFACE he’s fine, but their Ardyn isn’t that flamboyant and his smiles aren’t that sharp unless he doesn’t feel SAFE and that means this one doesn’t feel safe around them, doesn’t RECOGNIZE THEM as family. He has no braids in his hair and his clothes are not Lazarus make and he calls himself IZUNIA rather than ULRIC or even Lucis Caelum. He stares at them with sharp eyes, his shoulders just a shade too tense to be normal and they- they KNOW Ardyn. Better than this Ardyn knows himself at this point. They can see that he’s a half-step away from drawing his armiger on them if they prove to be a threat.

-And Nox- oh NOX. They do not understand who he is at first. That he is supposed to be REGIS’S child because he’s- idk probably 15 in this mini x-over and so physically only about 8 years younger than the Regis currently staring at him with wide eyes. They don’t understand why he calls Ardyn Uncle and not Grandfather or Sage, but they can see the Arra braid in his hair that is not a marriage braid and that- that makes no sense. Adopted LCs are always given to the Ulrics???

-What do you mean you weren’t rescued as a child, are you not one of those abandoned by the Kinslayers??

-What do you mean you weren’t born in the Citadel or with royal knowledge? You’re an illegitimate? Oh .... okay so who is your father and why is Ardyn your Uncle.

-WHAT DO YOU //MEAN// YOUR FATHER IS REGIS AND HE DOESN’T KNOW YOU EXIST AND THAT YOUR MOTHER WAS ARDYN’S SISTER????????????

-There is- a LOT of rage and grief and horror as they drag the (cover) story out in bits and pieces from Nox and Ardyn even as they bundle them up in the nearest safe place and fuss like crazy over them. The Galahdians know Ardyn’s secret, even if they politely don’t tell this Ardyn that, so they come to believe an adapted version of the cover story.

-They think that Ardyn was never freed. That- that either the Vitae never managed to free him, or WORSE, judging by Nox’s answers to a few of their questions, Vitae, the first Vitae, Ardyn’s child, never survived to reach Galahd. Galahd had no magic. No one was left to Remember Ardyn. No one was left to SAVE HIM. They think that he was LEFT THERE for centuries upon centuries until NIFLHEIM found him, dragged him free and tormented him, used him. Forced some unknown name on him and humiliated him. Their Grandfather, their Sage, the heart of their history, Forgotten and stolen away, driven mad by the Kinslayer’s cruelties and Niflheim’s lies.

-They believe that Ardyn ... found Nox, an illegitimate LC child who was unknown to both Clan and Kinslayers, that even in his madness, the Sage’s Heart reached out to the boy and took him in, even if he treated him horribly at first because of his own traumas. They believe (not ... totally incorrectly) that Ardyn made up the story of Nox being his sister’s son so he’d have an excuse to keep Nox around, keep him SAFE and teach him magic. That it was Nox who tore Ardyn free of Niflheim’s web and has helped patch him together into the man they are meeting today.

-They internally seethe at Nox’s scars, his soft voice and wary flinches, because that leads to a lot of other theories on JUST WHAT his blood family was like to him before Ardyn Claimed him.

-Then Nox whispers of the refugee that took him into the Arra Clan, of a people scattered to the winds and forced to unite under the Kinslayer’s banner and service and all of Galahd WAILS at the realization that they HAD NO MAGIC WHEN NIFLHEIM CAME. THAT GALAHD IN THAT WORLD IS FALLEN because Mors pulled back the Wall and THEY HAD NO MAGIC TO RAISE THEIR OWN. 

 -Regis and Co hover in a nearby corner and Clarus has to physically hold Regis upright because his legs are jello and his heart is SCREAMING at the sight of a son who doesn’t know him, who glances at him with some sort of ... primal fear and regret and longing yet never dares come close or look at him for more than a minute. This child of HIS who wears an Arra braid but is so new to the Clan he barely knows what it means to be adopted. This boy who is covered in scars and underweight, who speaks softly and sometimes stares vacantly into the distance like he’s gotten lost inside his own head and can’t find his way back out.

-This boy who huddles into Ardyn’s side and calls him Uncle, clings to him like he is the only trusted anchor (and in another world, that is understandable, but this doesn’t look like a reaction to being in another world, this looks like HABIT and that means both Nox and Ardyn are so very, very alone.)

-They take the two to their Ardyn, because of course they do. Who better to figure out how to undo the dimensional travel (who best to know how to help these two lost souls who need family and are unaware of all they could have had but lost)?

-Nox and his Ardyn take one look at Sage Ardyn and freeze. They can feel the Scourge still lingering under his skin, weak as it is. Nox’s Ardyn recoils, something like primal terror in his gaze (don’t let it close don’t let it infect not-again-please-not-again) but Nox lunges, ripping free of his uncle’s grip to crash into the startled Sage, grabbing his hands and pulling with his magic. White starfire unspools from his soul, pushes against his skin until it turns to the color of ash and cracks form along his hands-arms-neck-face, like jagged lines of a poorly repaired piece of pottery, his magic gleaming through the cracks like he’s going to come apart under the strain.

-The Sage screams as Nox wraps his magic around what is left of the Scourge in his not-Uncle’s blood and burns it.

-Nox’s scream mingles with the Sage’s as the Scourge writhes into the air, seeking an escape, any escape, and fails. Black dissolves into nothing and Nox crumples, wheezing and shaking as his Ardyn finally snaps out of his horror and catches him before he can hit the ground. Sage Ardyn staggers, wild-eyed and in shock, but ... free. Cured. Clear. All of Galahd surges forward with a cry, worried for their Sage and outraged at the Kinslayer Child who attacked him but Sage Ardyn holds up a hand and they still.

-He stares, in terrible grief and knowing and understanding down at Nox, who isn’t entirely coherent anymore as he shakes and shivers in his Uncle’s arms, and whispers, “Chosen King of Crystal, Bringer of Dawn, Lost Child and Last of his Line.”

-”No,” snaps Nox’s uncle from where he clings to Nox, something desperate as blue eyes meet former-gold-now-blue, “No. He is Nox. Nox Izunia of the blood of Lucis Caelum. Eldest, but not only, son of Regis Lucis Caelum.” There’s something wild in Nox’s uncle’s gaze as he looks up at the Sage, like he’s trying to convey something without actually saying it in front of the assembled Clans, “He is my nephew. No more. No less.”

-And Sage Ardyn, who is suddenly purified, Sage Ardyn, who FELT all of Nox’s power and age and regrets and stubborn, fragile soul in those moments were the Scourge burned away from his veins, Sage Ardyn who saw time unspool and unwind in Nox’s soul and realized this boy is so much more than an illegitimate child (not illegitimate at all, just displaced, lost and cast out of his own fate and time by the power of his own stubbornness and a lot of magic) ... understands what his counterpart is saying.

-Don’t tell them.

-Let us stay secret. Let us stay safe.

-He bows his head in acquiescence and instructs the Clans to house them in the best lodgings they have to offer. To let Nox rest in privacy and peace with his Uncle, as thanks for what he just did. He looks Regis and then Aulea in eye, as if seeing something about them they cannot fathom, then smiles for the Clans and tells them He Is Free. Nox has finished what the Clans started.

-All the Clans celebrate for their Sage, but at the same time they Mourn for the two displaced souls they know they cannot keep. That they must return to their lonely dimension of fractured Clans and too-heavy secrets.

-Regis spends the week it takes them to return lingering nearby Nox and Ardyn, and two days in Ardyn rolls his eyes and invites the man to sit down with them already. Nox eyes this younger, earnest, unbroken Regis warily, but drinks in the time spent with him and Aulea (Nox’s mother, this woman is his MOTHER, if from another time and place).

-After they return home, Regis ... Regis spends a very long time walking the cliffs of Galahd, listening to the wind and ... thinking.

-”Your kid,” Nox had blurted right before they disappeared, his gaze snapping to Aulea and Regis with a strange sort of gleam in his eyes, “If- if you have a son- can you- name him Noctis?”

-”Not Nox?” Aulea had asked while clinging to Regis’s hand.

-Nox had smiled, too sad and fragile for someone so unbelievably strong in magic, “No,” he had answered “I don’t think Nox is going to exist in your world.” As as he faded from that reality, Regis just barely heard him finish-

-”And I hope he never has to.”

-Eventually Regis goes home, eventually he and Aulea do have a son. They name him Noctis.

-And a few years later, when Noctis is still just a child, Ramuh comes to Regis and Aulea while they watch their son sleep and tells them, soft and neutral, that Noctis will be the Chosen King.

-And they both stop breathing as they think of that moment, where the Sage named Nox King of Crystal and Bringer of Dawn. They think of a boy too old for his skin and with magic so strong it threatened to crack him open and turn him to ash and endlessly ropes of scars.

-They think of the words “And I hope he never has to.”

-And suddenly they understand.

-Regis turns to Ramuh, eyes glittering with magic and power and all the towering Rage of a father who has already seen the fate of his child, and rumbles with the power of the Storm, “No. Not my son.”

-Ramuh merely tilts his head, watching placidly as Bahamut’s chains of prophecy shudder and shake before his eyes, “The Scourge must be purified.”

-”Then we will do it. The Clans will rise for War,” snaps Aulea with static in her curls and lightning on her tongue, “The Clans will Rise and Rage and we will purify the Taint together. But Bahamut cannot have our son.”

-And Ramuh laughs softly, as the chains snap and dissolve into nothing before his Sight, and he feels Prophecy come unwound, “Then you have my Blessing to try. You and all who walk the Isles.”

(welp this got stupid long, but hope you enjoy!)

[mewmurdock]

Doubts

Summary: You and Loki have a serious conversation about what you believe in.

Pairing: Loki x Christian!Reader

Warnings: Christian beliefs, absolute blasphemy, mentions of God, feelings of inadequacy and doubt, one or two thoughts related to suicide, hurt/comfort

Prompt: Drown by Tyler Joseph. Lyrics from the song will be in bold.

A/N: This is for @kitkatd7 's writing challenge! She's such a sweetheart. The prompt is listed above — it's honestly one of the saddest songs I've ever listened to, and it certainly was a challenge to write this. I can identify and relate to the reader. I basically put you in my shoes. I hope you like this!

All is quiet, but you want to scream.

You feel like you can't breathe, your breath caught in your throat and your wet eyes shut tight, tight, tight —

Though the world around you, including the lover by your side, is silent, your own thoughts attack you. They are not loud but they are frequent.

Do you really think God cares about you? He left you a long time ago. He likes to see you suffer from loneliness and anxiety. He likes it. You don't matter to Him, not at all. Your sinfulness is too great for Him to forgive.

You bite down on your hand to silence your sobs. You barely make a sound — you don't want to make a sound.

You want to die.

You don't want to kill yourself. Dear God, no.

But, hey, if you died right now, and you could escape from your doubts and fears, that'd be fine —

"Don't. Don't say that. Don't even think it."

Oh. He's up. And, even better, he's listening to your thoughts.

"I thought I told you not to do that," you say weakly, not looking over at him.

"They were too loud. Too desperate," Loki whispers. "Turn around, love, let me see you." He's pleading with you.

You comply, turning over in one fast, almost careless motion to look your lover in the face.

"Why — why — why are you thinking like this?" Loki's dumbfounded, stunned. Teary eyed, he tugs you to him, and suddenly you can't keep your sobs away or your arms from gripping onto him for dear life, your knuckles white. You shatter in his embrace, sobbing helplessly.

Loki makes a sound in his throat, a combination of a sigh and a whimper. He grips you to him as well. "What's the matter, my heart? Tell me everything..."

You can't, though you want to. You can't find your breath. All you do for a while is cry as Loki holds you, grateful that he is there.

"Whatever you're thinking," he says quietly, his voice causing low, comforting vibrations in his chest, "all I want you to know is that I love you. I adore you, sweetheart, and if you left..." He draws in a shaky breath. "God, I wouldn't know what I would do... But for now, I will listen to you. All you have to do is talk to me. I can't help you if you don't do that."

You nod, your sniffles becoming more frequent than your cries.

"Now, can we dry those lovely eyes? I can't stand to see you cry." Loki strokes your head, your shaking torso. "Take deep breaths now, love. That's it... Can you talk to me now?"

"Yeah — yeah," you stammer. You're calming down a little, your breaths becoming more even and your thoughts becoming less loud and crushing. It helps some to have Loki's embrace, his kind words and his gentle touches. It helps you know that you're not alone right now, it helps you to know that there's someone next to you to love.

"Okay. Go on. What's the matter with my darling, hmm?" Loki lets go of you a little, holds you a little less tightly. His body remains just as close to yours, though. You, in turn, let your hands fall to the mattress and raise your head a little to look into Loki's eyes.

"I've... I've been having some tr—trouble praying. And — and sleeping. Mostly praying..."

Loki's face softens then.

You were the one to try to help him believe in a God bigger than his world's. Yes, the Nine Realms existed, and they came into being the way he knew, but to you, Earth was created by your God — Who would also have existed as some form of Norse god that Loki knew.

Which is what you tried to tell Loki. Tried.

(Yes, it's confusing, but it's not the issue here...)

Loki was open to believing almost anything, so he listened to your versions of the Bible stories you remembered. He admired the fact that you believed in a very personal God, one that came to Earth to suffer and die for humanity, then defy death and rise again. Fully God and fully man, that's a concept that Loki never understood. But bless him, he tried.

"Oh..." Loki muses. "Why's that?"

"Er — it's just that... on some days... I feel. I feel... lost. I feel... I feel like —" You take a sharp breath. "I feel like God doesn't want to hear from me."

There's a pause. A very uncomfortable one.

"Why — why would that be?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely confused, concerned.

"I don't know," you mutter. "I just think it. I just think that God has turned away, that He doesn't want to be with me and that he doesn't forgive me for anything I've done."

"That's — that's awful," Loki says sadly. "And... I'm sure that's not true... But go on. Anything else that's bothering you?"

"It's just that I do so much, I try so hard to be better, to be what He wants me to be. I wanna be a lot of things. And I fail. I feel like I'm failing miserably, drastically. And then I crash dramatically into a wall I've hit a hundred times before. I fall back into the same mistakes. Then I go to God when I've failed with my choices.

It feels like He doesn't want to forgive me. And I've read stories about how sinning physically hurts God. Like I'm causing him pain. I draw blood. I still ignore the dark red blood stains on the floor. But... I want to go up to Him and ask, "Is the blood mine or Yours?" I'm confused and lost and scared..."

You say all of this slowly, trying to make this as descriptive as possible, for both of your sakes. So that you can better process it and so that Loki can better understand it.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you say blankly.

"It's the guilt," Loki says. "The guilt of sinning."

You nod. "I've just been feeling so alone, so distant from God lately. A part of me just... isn't there. I'm hollow."

"Well, isn't God always with you? That's a thing you told me... He told his followers, 'I am always with you, until the end of the age.'"

"Yeah," you say. "But that's not how I feel. Not all of the time. Sometimes, I'm alright. Other times, I feel so numb and that everything around me is so dark. I'm screaming submission and I don't know if I am dying or living."

"You're speaking in metaphors, love. But I understand. You feel empty. Depressed. Alone."

You sniff, his words sinking in again. The tears resurface.

"All I want is — I want Him to drown me. Dr—drown me in His love. But I never — I never feel worthy of it."

"Oh, no, no, love... No more tears," Loki whispers. "Please, no..." He grips you tighter again. "Sweetheart, I need you to understand something.

"God is with you always, and He sees your pain, okay? You're never alone. Never. And I think what He'd want you to do is talk to Him about it. And... it's good that you feel like you're not worthy, because you're not."

Those words are not what you are expecting to hear. You look up at him, shocked and hurt. "What?!" Your voice tremble.

He gasps, guilt crossing his face. "I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was... you're not worthy, but God doesn't care. Because He died for you. He gave you his grace by that act of love — suffering and dying at the hands of the Romans and the Jews, yeah? He did that for you."

"There's — there's a quote by C.S Lewis that I remember," you say, regaining your mind and emotions. You're starting to feel better, calmer, more helpful. "'When Christ died, He died for you individually just as much as if you'd been the only man in the world.'"

"That's a wonderful thought, my love. Take heart in that. Believe it."

He draws you closer then, kissing your temple. "You're going to be alright. All God wants is to be with you. Don't let your thoughts tell you otherwise. He loves you. He loves you, He loves you, He loves you. And I love you. Oh, my darling, I love you to the ends of the earth. And that is all you need to know."

You sigh, drowsiness suddenly taking you over. "Thank you," you whisper, feeling much better.

"You're absolutely welcome, dear heart. Remember... you're never alone. And God would want you to keep living. Stay alive, because He has better plans for you than this. I promise."

[jiwonsssi]

— stress relief, pt. 1

The difference with dealing with that stress is that he smokes, and she cries.

Warnings: smoking, swearing.

Characters: Eun Jiwon/Sandara Park.

Jiwon thinks that all these fashion events are so fucked up. He has been there for two hours and he's already exhausted like hell.

Eyes are blurry from all the of cameras that are everywhere. Everyone has that fucking thing. And everyone thinks that it's their own proud duty to stuck it in his face.

It is his first time attending these kind of meetings and the last. He doesn't even remember why he agreed. Maybe it wasn't even Jiwon who did that; there are too many people who can say 'yes' for him without asking his opinion in the first place.

He suddenly goes back to old days; Jiwon hates it. It was all fun being famous until they started being slaves for a shitty company. And it's nothing different.

He pulls out a pack of Marlboro and sighs.

There is no way he can quit smoking; otherwise he might kill someone out of nerves. He already has that reputation, it's enough fame of being crazy for one person. Although he likes it. It's so much easier that way.

Lightning a cigarette, he leans on a wall not caring about expensive designed jacket. It's just an ordinary black suit. He has something around ten of them. He's even sure that if he would change that one with one that he has at home - nobody would ever notice. And that's the most annoying shit about everyone whos out there trying to make themselves experts.

Fake.

Feeling how the smoke is going down the throat, Jiwon puts his hand in a pocket and looks at the nights skies. He just wants to get home and sleep. Moral exhaustion is taking all the good from him; he's not even tired physically.

Only God knows how much he abhors days like this.

Trying to make himself better in front of people he doesn't even know. It's his work, right?

The music from the afterparty that is still goes on suddenly becomes loud and he looks to the back door in front of him, being a little bit curious. At the end it's not even a place to smoke, he just found the most empty place which happen to be behind fire escape door. Jiwon just got prepare to bicker with anyone who would try to kick him out.

To what he wasn't prepared is for seeing crying woman appearing and then disappearing after noticing him right at that particular door.

His brain proceeds information slowly at first; he even forgets to exhale the smoke and when he coughs a few times, realisation becomes clear - that was Sandara Park and he's in rather, how to say, difficult situation at that exact moment; he's fucked up.

Jiwon hates seeing people cry. It's not about women, but in general. What should he do now? Go after her? Or stay here? Or.. what? She clearly went here to not to 'breath some fresh air', she wanted to be alone. Just like him.

Though she was in tears and that is the most tricky part about the whole thing.

Jiwon curses under his breath and throws unfinished cigarette at the concrete floor. Of course he would follow her. Like hell he would.

He clearly has a soft spot for her.

Just when his hand touches a door knob, metal cracks open, filling almost complete night silence with muffled music. And her sobs.

Jiwon tries his best to not panic. What should he do now? Saying 'wazzup hows it going' is not really a way to go, but he doesn't want to disturb her with that pathetic 'what's wrong? Can I help you?'. The struggle is written on his face when Dara passes him and stops a few meters away.

He should leave her alone. He would more of a disaster than a help. And so he does. Ignoring the increase of her sobs right after he closes the door behind him.

And than Jiwon is standing inside the crowded bar, filled with kind of music that makes him want to throw up with a persistent thought that he hates that place. Everything about it. All that chatting that has zero sense that goes on a loop around him; all the loud fucking music that gives him head-aches; all the people who only cares about image. It's sick.

There is one way for him and he's willing to follow it. Free bar. He's here to enjoy the alcohol and to get wasted. So he guides himself to the holy place when his brain proceeds better than him.

- Can I have a glass of water? And tissues.

He can't let her cry there all alone. Right? Jiwon doesn't think that he would be able to calm Dara down, but offering her some help is a reasonable act of being a nice man.

Jiwon receives what he asked for and goes straight to the back door, passing security guy who gives him a suspicious look and opens that door that now is more like hell-gates again.

- Hey, I..

He stops mid-sentence, seeing her on her hunkers with face covered by palms, while her bare shoulders are shaking violently. He doesn't even hear her sobs at this point; she's just shaking and.. it breaks his heart.

Putting a glass on the floor and tissues in a pocket, Jiwon is beside her in a second, getting down as well.

- Are you in pain? Sandara, come on, stand up, I'll help you, - he's not even sure if he can call her by her name. She reacts quickly with putting her hand in palm that he offered to help her ro stand up.

He really though that she was crying because she was hurt. But now, when he can see her trying to wipe her tears, he realises that she, in fact, isn't. Dara is exhausted. Again, just like him.

The difference with dealing with it is that he smokes, and she cries.

- I'm okay, - voice turns out to be crooked and unstable. Somehow Jiwon sees her in a perfectly new way now.

He doesn't like her crying, of course, he's not that kind of crazy. Jiwon remembers her as smiling and always hyped-up woman who invited him to one of the best dates he had ever been. It was so distant for him - thinking, that she really likes him and his hobbys just as they truly are. They, other women, always try to change him; his life-style and interests. So when she planned the perfect food and activities for him, he was.. more than impressed. Touched, even. And she enjoyed it as much as he did. Jiwon would never forget how happy she was.

And now he sees her crying her heart out because of stress. It breaks his heart as well.

Basically that is the thing that he finds the most troublesome.

- If you say so, - persuasion is not going to end well and so it's better to stuck with keeping a distance right now. He doesn't want to invade her space more than he already did.

- I'm sorry, I.. I didn't know you were here and thank you also, I just.. - she even tries to bow to him and Jiwon stops her immediately, being as gentle as he can let himself to be, putting his hands on her shoulders. Touching her now might be really offensive. Crying people - really hates it.

- It's alright, no worries. I've got you something, - he goes for a glass that he left on a floor and puts it right in her hand, making sure it won't slip, - You look like you are going to have a badass photoshoot with all that mascara situation on your face..

Jiwon finds it funny and adorable. Dara doesn't.

And so the glass she was holding of course slips out of her fingers and with a loud crack it breaks, water splashes, Jiwon curses and Dara closes her face with hands and cries again. Just ten times harder.

- I'm sorry, oh my fucking God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, please, I'm an idiot, please, - he continues to repeat the same things over and over again and he's panicking. He looks like a monkey now, desperately trying to make her look at him without touching her hands. He's in a scariest panic he had ever been for a past few years.

He's in a full panic mode, yes, but he didn't want anybody to interrupt them. Jiwon is not sure how to accept that he wants to deal with it only by himself now.

- Come on, I've got tissues if you didn't like the glass, - he pulls out some and steps on broken pieces, - See? Bad glass. Never gonna give you any glasses anymore.

He does it again a few times and she softly giggles through sobs and did that feel like a heart attack? Because he surely had one.

- Yeah, glass was kinda gross, - she jokes back and he doesn't bother to hide his smile. He's happy for no reason and it right after he made a woman cry. Crazy one, indeed.

Dara calms down just a little and then takes tissues out of his palm and he clearly can see tears streaming down her face.

He's so used to see her smiling. Jiwon just hasn't ever had an idea that she can be sad too.

- I didn't want to hurt you, for real. I'm sorry, - Jiwon feels bad. He really does. It's even funny how he nearly shitted his pants when she continued crying after his stupid joke.

- It's not you, it's okay, - she wipes her face carefully trying not to ruin that was left from make up that she had and Jiwon traces all of her movements, feeling like he's under some spell. It's almost soothing, - I just thought about how it's funny that I was trying to talk to you the whole event and end up ugly crying right in front of you.

Her smile is so sad and Jiwon is just silent. He doesn't know what to do, nor say. There is emptiness in his head and he tries to inhale fresh air deeper to make his brain work already.

He takes one of the tissues and slowly puts her hands down, with that strange dazing feeling inside still being present. Like all the smoke is now moved to his head.

Carefully wiping her cheeks, he follows now his fingers with a gaze and his main mistake is giving zero fucks about how shaking is she.

And she's going crazy.

- You look stunning, - he looks her in the eyes to finally realise that one of his hands is on the side of her neck, pressing firmly against now warm skin and with the other he tries to wipe mascara from her face.

And she blushes so fucking hard, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Jiwon has enough experience to say that that's where the kiss is happening. But judging by expression on Dara's face if he would even try to do it, she would fain.

First of all, he finds it shitless cute.

Second of all, what the fuck he's even thinking about?

Because he's suddenly not exhausted anymore. He forgot when he stopped thinking about himself and started caring about her.

- Thank you, - her tone is high-pitched and Jiwon smiles like crazy looking at her chin, nodding, silently saying that is no need to be thankful. It's an absolute truth.

Another tuth needs to be relieved - Jiwon is a sucker for moments like this. Yet he stopped paying attention to relationships quite a time ago, so now that long forgotten sensation is impossible to ignore.

He feels twenty years younger. And he was wild during that time.

- How can you still look attractive while crying? - making her blush is basically his favorite thing now. It's natural to be attracted to someone like her.

- Don't say that, oh my God, - Jiwon laughs when she turns her head on the side to not to look at him and smiles just so brightly, yet shy and.. happy. After seeing her drowning in tears, it feels amazing. And his hand still on her soft skin; her heart beat is erratic. Violent. Because of him.

Another heart attack for him.

- It's true tho, - she looks perfect. She was shining in front all that lights before; in front of everyone. It's not about expensive dress or make up. He knows that it's about her attitude. She's naturally beautiful. From the inside, as they like to describe it.

- You too, - she turns again to look at him and her lips are slightly pursed and.. He's going to die, how can a woman be looking that hot, stunning and pure at the same time? And she cried, like, two minutes before and now not even in her best state, - You also is very handsome today. I know that you don't like hearing it, but.. I'm..

She's panicking and Jiwon, being his bastard self, doesn't want to help her. Even tho he feels like his hands are getting colder like he's some teenager.

- You..? - he looks directly in her eyes, stepping a little bit closer, so close he can feel her breath on his skin; now looking at her with curiosity and open adoration. Jiwon adores her. And he didn't even drink today to have that type of feeling.

- I didn't mean that you look nice only today, you always do! - her embarrassment is written on confused flushing red face. Has he squeaked? Hopefully not.

- Okay, - smirk spreads by it's own will and he licks his lips, not caring about what's going on. Or how it looks. The only thing that's important for now is how she looks at him; he can swear no other woman had never had that pure interest in him in her eyes.

He's gone for. Thoroughly.

- Want me to give you a ride? - he proceeds what he said just after a moment she understands what he had just, in fact, said and now it's his turn to be in panic, - Fuck, no! Oh God.. home. I want to drive you home.

Or not.

Oh, God.

Dara giggles after a moment of silence and wide open shocked eyes; the next thing he feels is her tiny hand on top of his. Her delicate touch got him growling inside and he feels something that he wasn't actually physically ready to feel.

- I'd love to, - and she's elegant all of sudden. Dara plans a murderous assault on him or what? It's illegal, - Ask me that question again when we get home.

Because now she's gone for.

[myguccifiedwig]

•° In a tribe, 1270. °•

She's walking around the tribe, fulfilling her duty as a leader and making sure everything is going where it must be, pushing down every ounce of pain from the past month and letting life do its thing. Something like that.

"Mrs. Diana!"

She heard from her back. Oh god, what now?

"Hey! Um, how have you been?" The combatants' leader, Timothy, said with his best friend, Ben, at his heels.

"Um, could be worse," She replied truthfully, "how's the training going? Hopefully our little heroes are gaining their strength!"

"Oh, yeah, they're doing wonderfully! Big men, they are," He said, almost... Guardedly?

Her suspicions were answered when Tim started scratching the back of his neck and gave a quick glance at Ben, who hasn't spoken a word, Diana noticed.

"Um, are you free at the moment?" Tim asked slowly.

She looked at him quizzically before answering, "I'm just walking around, so, yes,"

"We have somewhere we want to take you," this time it was Ben who spoke up, "have to,"

"Oh..." She studied their faces for a second. Tim and Ben were um... Louis' best friends. Her now dead husband. Ex husband. Who no one knows where his corpse is, some believing that he was burnt to ashes while on a mission, which... Isn't something she necessarily likes to think about. They only found his ring, which she has now worn every single day of those two months of him being gone.

She trusts Tim and Ben. How could she not? They're what she likes to think as what she has left from Louis. So she follows her heart.

"Um, alright," she nods to herself and snaps up at them, "yeah, where do you want to take me?"

Timothy looks around with a serious look on his face before turning back to her, "We kind of can not tell you, you'll have to find out for yourself,"

"Should I be worried...?" She started getting very suspicious.

"We really have no time, this is really important, just get yourself and your horse ready, we're leaving in ten minutes," Tim excludes impatiently and throws his giant axe, that she has no idea how he lifts, over his shoulder and the two start walking towards horse stable.

She's left staring after them before she sighs,

"Okay..."

••••••••••••••••••••

"Guys, we have been on the road for three hours, where the fuck are you taking me?!"

She's getting impatient, if you can't tell.

"Nearly there, Di, just be patient," Ben answers with another frustrated sigh.

"Since when have I been So?!" She furrows her eyebrows at him.

"Louis never told me how annoying you are..." Ben whispers.

"Hey!" She quickly got riled up, "he-"

"we're here!" Timothy announces loudly, cutting them off.

"Um..." Diana looks around confusedly, "where?"

They ignore her question and get off their horses, to which she huffs exasperatedly before following their steps.

They tie their horses to a tree before Timothy turns to her.

"This is it, just go inside that cave over there." He points to where it is exactly.

"What, why?! Where are you guys going?!" She stares at them incredulously.

"Can you just go already?" Ben asks fake-sweetly.

She glowers at him before turning to Timothy, who was watching them tiredly before talking.

"we'll be right out here, we're not going anywhere."

"How do I know I'm not going to be killed?"

"Because you trust us,"

"No, I don't"

"What's going on here?"

A new voice joins in.

Ben grins, Diana freezes.

"Hey, man, she's right here. Tough to handle, that one is, don't know how you do it," Ben comments.

She doesn't have time to think of a comeback because the laugh she hears is so familiar.

So, so familiar.

She abruptly turns around and stares.

"Who is that?" She asks slowly. "Stop fucking with me, why am I here?"

"What do you mean, you don't know who that is?" It was Ben's turn to be confused.

She is fuming.

"You guys brought me all the way here, just to make me see a man who looks like my dead fucking husband? For what? Do you even know how cruel it is to-"

"Dee," The man frowns, "It's me, Louis,"

She looks around at everyone and tears pool in her eyes.

"Get away from me, who is this, it's not fair to play with someone's feelings like that,"

The guy finally comes close enough for her to see his features. Man, he looks just like Lou, she thinks.

She shakes her head and takes a step back when he got too close for her liking.

"Who are you?" She steadily keeps the eye contact.

A hand on her shoulder abruptly shakes her out of her trance, and she turns around to see Tim's pitying eyes,

"Trust him, trust us,"

She looks back ahead distrustfully and doesn't move when the man takes another step closer.

Not when he gets close enough to raise his hand and caress her cheek carefully.

To the point where she got cross eyed trying to keep eye contact.

"Figured it out yet?" He whispers.

She feels woozy.

Her once confused teary expression turns into an angry one in a split second and she abruptly moves away.

"You... How could you?!" She's mad.

"You made me think you were dead... You made us think you were dead! You know how much crying I've done these past two months?! They've all been for absolutely nothing! My heart feels like it's torn in half you bloody dick!" She gives his chest a strong push to express her anger even further.

"You have to listen to me, Dee, just give me a chance to-"

"You think you have the right?! I've been trying to manage double the work all on my own while you're hanging out in your bloody cave?!"

He sighs frustratedly.

"No, I've not just been hanging out in here, there's a lot to explain, just... Can I just hug you? I missed you an awful lot,"

Her face falls and she stands there limply before hugging him tightly, "of course I missed you, I just really hate you right now,"

He laughs and kisses the crown of her head before she adds, "But like, you told them but didn't tell me?! I have no idea how you even like that Ben guy, he's insufferable!"

"Hey, I'm right here!" Ben crosses his arms and huffs, but Tim was too busy grinning at the scene while patting Ben's back a little too hard.

"Let's go inside, there's a lot to explain to this feisty one," Louis smiles and beckons all of them inside.

"Nah, I'm saying here, I'm not gonna be close to her any longer," Ben refuses.

"We'll just go back, you guys make up for the missed time," Tim winks at Louis unsubtly, to which he laughs at.

"Alright, lads, see you tonight," He waves them good-bye while Diana stands there confused.

"Tonight?"

"Get inside, I have to clarify a lot of things."

•••••••••••••••••••••

"So they basically left my ring to make you guys believe I'm dead, which would obviously cause havoc,"

"I know we're in war, but... What do they get from that?"

"Me,"

She snorted, "Yeah, 'cause you're the best one out there, huh?"

He made an affronted noise and hit her shoulder jokingly, "You make me sound so selfish,"

She laughed at him and gestured for him to continue from her place next to him on the ground.

"They um..." He raised his right hand, "did this,"

She reached out to hold his bandaged hand but immediately retracted it when he winced.

"What did they do?" She frowned.

"Um..." He hesitated for a moment, "it doesn't matter,"

"Lou," she looked at him pointedly.

"They hit a nail into the middle of my palm," he squeezed his eyes and said it in one quick breath.

It was silent for a while.

"What...?" Tears pooled in her eyes as she picked up his hand, a lot more gingerly this time, "Lou, that's... I can't imagine that, I don't want to,"

He sighed, "You really wouldn't,"

"When was it?" She asked after giving it a little peck.

"About... Three weeks ago? I still need to reach out to Chris to make me something that can help me hold a sword without it hurting, that's Ben's mission for today, trying to get him to get him all this stuff without him knowing I'm still alive,"

"Why are you still hiding, love? I don't see the point,"

"I'm running away from them, still, I kind of escaped from the place with the help of another victim, they might have attacked the entire tribe if they knew I was there," he explained.

"Right..." She sighed.

He leaned his head back against the wall and smiled warmly at her.

"You okay?"

"I missed you..." She looks up at him, "Your mum is heartbroken, you sisters, everyone is, they think our tribe is going nowhere with just me in charge,"

"I know it could've went just fine if I were to pass away,"

"Shut up," she looked up from his hand on her lap to look him in the eye, "don't mention you dying anymore, I hate it,"

"Okay," he smiles before turning a little more sad, "and uhm, about my family, I miss them a whole lot and I feel so bad for doing this, but I can't have you telling anyone just yet. We need to keep this a secret until the coast is clear, we're going to attack their base tonight, Ben, Tim and I,"

"With this hand?!" She looked at him like he had two heads, "Lou, you can't just hold a sword with it,"

"I really wanna go home as soon as possible," he looked at her guiltily, "it's why Ben's getting me something to keep my hand in tact,"

"And if it doesn't work?"

"I... Guess I'll have to wait until it's safe to hold a sword,"

She thought silently for a moment and made a decision.

"I'll go instead of you,"

"What?! No! No way! This is my problem, I'm gonna fix it!"

"Ours, love, ours. I do know how to use a sword, you know that right?! It's what made you fall for me," she smiles.

"I fell for you because of so many things," he says, "either way, no,"

"It's safer, Lou, they don't know who I am, we could finish them off and none of them would know we're with you,"

"I made up my mind, it's a no," he looked to his side with a serious look on his face.

She sighed.

••••••••••••••••••••

"Alright, stay safe,"

"You're one to say,"

He sighs.

"I promise, we just need to finish off the big guy," he makes quotes with his hands, "then I'll be right back home,"

Her expression softens, "promise?"

"pinky promise," he loops his pinky around hers, a small gesture at which makes both of them smile wide.

"Horses are ready!"

"That's my cue, I guess," she gives him a disappointed smile.

He gives her forehead a small peck just because.

"Love you, don't do anything stupid," he gives her an accusatory finger but quickly retracts it because of course she's going to try to bite it.

"Love you more," she gives him a lopsided smile behind her back and heads off home with Ben and Tim, much to her dismay.

An hour into the trip, she turns to Ben.

"Hey, Ben?"

He keeps looking ahead, "Hm?"

"I want to ask something,"

"As long as it's not about tonight, sure,"

"Well..." She trails off, "what if it is?"

"Then I wouldn't really answer your question, anyway,"

"Ben," she whines, "I could help,"

"Louis gave us strict orders not to talk to you about it," he recites sternly.

"Look, I won't come on my own, I'm not that stupid," she explains, "I'll gather a good amount of combatants and we'll come as reinforcement,"

He seems to consider it for a moment, "I don't know..."

"Just tell me the base number, I promise, I won't do anything dumb," she insisted.

"Main base," he says after a moment and purses his lips when Tim gives him an unsure look, "Main base, just... Please don't get us in trouble for this,"

"You really think the three of you could attack a whole base? The main base? With Louis's fucked up hand?"

"We talked to him about it, stubborn as a mule, he is," Ben mutters.

She laughs knowingly, "The one trait we share,"

"Don't know how the two of you get along so well,"

"I still have no idea,"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

"You ready lads?" Louis announces.

"We sure are," Tim answers, "How're you and your hand doing?"

"Not the best," he purses his lips and tries to stretch his fingers out, "But we can do this, we have to,"

"Lou, you said you'd wait if it weren't healed enough," Tim tries, "you know this won't be easy,"

"It's not impossible to use it, so we're going for it," Louis becomes impatient, "I miss my tribe, gotta get back to my people,"

Tim sighs and heads towards his horse, "yeah, alright,"

He really hopes Diana stays to her word.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Alright, most of them are asleep, we can take them guards down," Louis whispers to his friends from where they're crouching down behind some bushes.

"What happens after that?" Ben whispers back.

"We just have to get to Noah's tent and do what we have to do,"

"Wow, great plan, Lou," Ben deadpans, "we won't kill him in his sleep, right?"

"If we have to, yeah, but I'd prefer not to either,"

"Alright," Tim looks at both of them, "Ben and I will take those two down, they're blocking the main entrance. We take them down and get in disguise with their clothes, it'll make it easier for us to blend in,"

"That's what I call a plan!" Ben grins.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Louis waves them off, "Just do everything without me,"

"You can't fight with this hand Lou," Tim explains quietly, "you will if we need you to, yeah?"

"Yeah, now go, we have no time,"

Ben and Tim share a nod and approach the guards from each side, elbowing the backs of their necks and succeeding in making them pass out.

They go through the process of changing into their clothes and hiding their bodies before turning back to Louis.

"We don't know what to expect behind that gate," Tim points out.

"We'll just have to find out, then," Louis stands up.

"Wait!" Ben grabs him behind, "You can't just get in like that, you don't even have the clothes on, they're gonna recognise straight away,"

"Right..." He realises, "Well you go in before me, I suppose, and call for me when the coast is clear,"

They nod before finally standing up and going inside.

It's been five minutes. Louis counted. He's worried.

That's why he stands up and peeks behind the gate doors.

"So what might two Turkish idiots want from a place like this, huh?"

Ben and Tim are cornered. Fuck.

"Answer me!"

"I'm not saying a word,"

"Now's not the time to act all heroic, Tim, please, you literally could've made up a good lie right here,"

Louis sighs. Idiots.

And so he does what a fellow idiot would do and joins them inside. They pretty much have nothing to lose, literally every guard is there.

He steps inside and immediately grabs all the attention, but what grabs all of his is the person standing on the side that he didn't see.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here,"

He narrows his eyes, "Noah,"

A guard grabbed him straight away and there he stood next to his friends with a sword to his neck. This isn't going well.

"I sometimes really question you Turks' stupidity, and honestly, this answers my question," Noah grins and steps forward until he's right in front of Louis, to the point where Louis had to cross his eyes to look at him.

"How dare you dishonour my people like that," Louis glares at him the best he could, considering the proximity of their faces.

Instead of an answer, Louis receives a kick to his stomach.

"How's you hand?" Noah smirks.

"Shut up," Louis just focuses on not crying out loud from the pain.

Noah takes a step back to pick Louis's limp hand covered in iron and laughs loud, "Wow, so efficient,"

He drops it to the floor next to where Louis is sat, which causes it to start throbbing bad.

It doesn't help that he steps on it after that. Louis screams from the agonising pain.

"Tie them to the gallows!" Noah walks back and forth, "It's been a while since we've had a party,"

Louis thinks hears everyone cheer, but he's too busy focusing on the crippling pain while being dragged to the bloody gallows.

••••••••••••••••••

"Fast guys, we have no time to waste! Tie you horses to the trees and move fast!"

Diana manages to gather thirty combatants I'm total without getting caught, although her mother in law was a bit suspicious.

"Where have you been dear? I haven't seen much of you today,"

"I have some work to do outside the tribe, I'll be back before you know it!"

She didn't actually lie, did she?

She's worried sick. They're forty minutes late for the time Tim and Ben gave her, and the possibilities are endless.

"Go, go, go!" She whisper-yells and beckons them on by one to surround the different gates and be ready to get inside as one.

She looks around to check, but she doesn't see anyone outside. That's not necessarily a good thing.

She sighs and turns to everyone around her.

"On the count of three, and soon as I put my hand into a fist, everyone with swords is going to jump out behind me and get in there. The ones with bows are gonna stay behind the bushes to cover us, have we got a deal?"

Everyone nods. That's enough, she guesses.

"Three... Two... One... Go!"

And the mission starts.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

All three of them are tied to gallows. How did they reach this point.

"The one and only, Louis William Tomlinson, the hero of the Turkish empire! Tied to gallows," Noah walks back and forth and Louis's eyes follow his moves coldly, "All because of me!"

Louis turns to his boys to find them watching the entrance nervously. Weird.

"Psst,"

"Hm?" Tim hums back.

"You waiting for someone? You didn't tell anyone did you?"

Tim snorts, "I wish I did,"

"Then-

Louis was cut off by Noah's words.

"Why let's start," He gets close to Louis's face again, always gets on his nerves, "shall we?"

Everyone cheers and Louis swallows nervously. Guess it was the right thing to make them think he was dead, then.

Pull! Pull! Pull! Pull!

He pulled.

He was losing consciousness. This was it, then.

Except, was it?

He saw... A flying sword?

He's definitely dying.

Cut.

In one swift move he falls to the ground with a thud.

"Go!"

What is going on?

He looks up to see Tim cutting the rope around his neck hastily with a knife and in seconds he felt the relief of it being off his neck.

He looked up and blinked a few times to try and figure out what's going on, and god damn it, that little shit.

He grins.

"Lou? You alright?"

"Yeah, Tim, I'm good, let me just," he tries to stand up, but putting the weight of his body on his hand failed him miserably as he fell right back to the ground, "yeah,"

"I'm gonna carry you out of here, just wait for us to be done with this, we'll be done in no time,"

"No!" Louis refuses, "no, I wanna help, just... Just help me up, please?"

"I don't think-"

"Fucking lift me up, Timothy, I chose to be here and I'm gonna fight,"

Tim sighs after a moment and helps him up.

"Please don't make me regret this,"

"You won't," Louis assures while looking at the scene in front of him with dark eyes. He missed this.

He opens and closes his hand around his sword handle, he can do this.

One last breath, and he's pulling it out of its scabbard.

And he fights. He kills two people but his hand feels tired so he stands to rest it, but-

"Watch out!"

He looks ahead and that same flying sword comes hitting a guy's skull.

[inlovewithmobtom]

Tainted Love (Ver. 2) - Chapter 6 ~ Part 1

Pairing: Mob!Tom x OC Reader AU

Word Count: 2.2k

Credit to: @thwiparkers who made the awesome moodboard to go with the Selene version perfectly. Love ya Rae and thanks so much!

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Selene’s P.O.V.

The next week…

As Selene woke up every morning, noticing that Tom's presence was always missing, meaning he didn't plan on coming back to the apartment the night before everyday.

Selene slowly got out of bed tiredly and made her way to the bathroom turning on the lights to see the state she was in.

Her eyes were dark and puffy having cried every night. Her face and body were incredibly pale from not seeing the sun for many days. But she always took a shower and brushed her teeth everyday because she couldn't let herself not do so.

After taking a shower and brushing her teeth, she dried off and got dressed. She then made her way into the kitchen and made herself some breakfast.

All of a sudden as she was making breakfast, she heard the front door open to see a disheveled Tom stumble in.

“Hi Babygirl! I've missed you so much.” Tom whispers softly as he attacks her in a bone-crushing hug and inhales her scent through her hair.

Selene immediately tenses up and stares at him in tears of frustration then sniffles and slowly removes herself from him.

Selene immediately felt repulsed by Tom. She couldn't even stand to look at him. “Where the fuck have you been Holland?” Selene looks at Tom in anger and frustration as tears stream down her cheeks.

“I had important stuff to do, I'm sorry I left you baby without telling you, I just didn't want to overwhelm you. Can you forgive me?” Tom wraps his arms around her waist and pouts playfully as he gazes his bloodshot eyes into her red eyes.

“Come on baby I don't want to fight, I wanna spend the whole day with you. What do you say?” Tom presses gentle kisses on the back of her neck tenderly and lays his head on her shoulder tiredly. Selene closes her eyes as she tries not to lose control of her emotions and nods quietly as tears stream down her face in anguish.

“You’re giving into his lies again, my love. What makes you think he means it this time? He’s only gonna hurt you even further.” Devlin whispers in Selene’s ear coldly causing her spine to shiver as Devlin gazes at him darkly then stares back at her.

Selene sighs softly shaking her away as she serves him in silence and then they both eat quietly on the couch watching tv.

Tom then finishes eating and sets his plate down on the coffee table before sitting back against the couch. He then begins to scoot closer to Selene and trace lines in her skin before he slowly starts to kiss her neck seductively.

“Tommy what are you doing?” Selene asked with a slight hint of annoyance as she gazed into the tv trying to concentrate.

“Nothing… unless you want me to go further.” Tom whispers seductively and begins to kiss her jawline as he watched her for a reaction.

Selene sighed and moaned in relief then immediately snapped out of it and pushed him lightly off her. “Not right now Tommy, we're supposed to be watching a movie.” Selene sighs softly as she ran her fingers through her hair then stared back at him.

Tom nodded then faced back towards the tv and went back to watching the movie.

In the middle of the movie, Tom gets up and stands behind the couch above Selene and begins massaging her shoulders and neck.

Selene moans lightly in pleasure as he massages her neck and shoulders. As she closing her eyes, she slowly feels his hands immediately go to her chest which causes her to gasp and pull away.

“Thomas! What is up with you?!” Selene shakes her head at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Baby I'm hungry please.” Tom whimpers as he comes over to her on the couch.

“Then go get something from the fridge. There's plenty of food here.” Selene points to the kitchen.

“That's not what I'm hungry for babygirl. Feel how hard I am for you baby.” Tom whimpers and grabs Selene’s hand, putting it on his massive hard-on which only causes her to blush hard.

“Oh my god, why?!” Selene groans and sighs in frustration. “Babygirl please, I need you so bad I'm gonna burst.” Tom whimpers more and begins to slide her into his pants as his eyes roll back in relief.

Selene gasped softly as she realized her hand was on his hard member and felt it twitch ever so often.

“Sellie, just fuck him and get it over with. My fucking god this guy is needy.” Devlin lights a cigarette and inhales deeply before blowing the smoke out in annoyance.

“Devlin don't pressure her!” Angelina growls at Devlin while Devlin blows smoke back into her face.

“My love if you don't want to do anything with him, don't. Have sex when you want to. You have sex when you feel more comfortable honey.” Angelina whispers gently as she caresses Selene’s cheek and holds it gently.

“Cut the shit Angelina! Selene do what you want, and I have a feeling that you wanna fuck him so just do it!” Devlin laughs as she smokes.

Selene snaps back into reality and decides to give into him by kissing him deeply and heatedly as she begins pumping him.

“Mmmm, babygirl keep going.” Tom breathes out and moans as he throws his head back in delight.

Selene smirks devilishly and continues to do so as she kisses his neck, but little did Tom know that her enticing vixen act was all a facade. Selene wanted sex, but not the way he wanted it.

She kept going acting like the sultry seductress she wished she could be until she eventually down on him. As she was taking him in, she acted like how she imagined what Ginger would act like but she hated doing this. But it got him off.

After going down on Tom till he eventually came in her mouth, Selene swallowed with no feeling. Soon after, they became naked and ended up fucking on the couch roughly and animalistic, but deep down Selene felt disgusted with herself and Tom by doing this. It didn’t feel natural and she didn’t love it.

Once they had finished, Tom was of course in awe of her “changed ways” and cherished her for the rest of the week....

———————————————————————————————————

Tom’s P.O.V.

Tom before coming back to Selene spent the week with Ginger, his ever so present vice that cripples him as much as the alcohol and drugs do regularly.

The funny thing is that it wasn't that Tom didn't mind or care about not seeing Selene… all he saw was the addictions he needed to just keep him going.

In all honesty, Tom knew he couldn't settle down, especially with Selene. Ginger was his perfect obedient girl who would stand by his side no matter what whereas with Selene, she was stronger than Tom and that scared him…

———————————————————————————————————

Tom slowly got up from Selene’s bed trying not to wake her as he quickly and quietly put on his clothes trying to leave as quickly as possible.

Tom’s guilt was slowly eating at him but on the darker side of him, he didn't care. He didn't care leaving her. It was always only him in his mind. His will to survive.

And before he knew it… He was right where he was a week ago, drunk and high as a kite fucking his sweet little redhead Ginger. Not caring about the consequences of his actions.

———————————————————————————————————

Seven weeks later...

Selene’s P.O.V.

Selene barely left the apartment for she was brought into a very dark place by Tom. She never thought she would ever return back to this place again after the last time. Selene barely ate nowadays to the point where all she did was shower and sleep.

Selene began to slowly hate and despise Tom as the days went by. Just the mention of his name made her blood boil and stomach churn.

At this point, he had been wiped off the face of the earth and not even Jamie or Harrison knew where he was. No one knew where he was and eventually everyone gave up.

As for Jamie and Harrison, they never gave up on Selene. Basically they were hawks on Selene watching over her making sure she didn't harm herself. But they saw how tarnished she was from him and that's what broke their hearts.

———————————————————————————————————

Selene immediately shot up out of bed as she felt herself drool which caused her to sprint in the bathroom and vomit harshly into the toilet. After she finished emptying her stomach, she began to cry hard knowing exactly what was up.

She was pregnant with Tom’s baby from their last intimate encounter. She had noticed her slowly growing belly and she didn't know what to do or how to feel. She knew she was gonna keep the baby but she knew she wanted her baby away from Tom and his toxicity.

“Oh my darling! I'm here my love. I'm here.” Angelina ran over to Selene and held her close as she wiped her mouth then stroked her hair.

Selene cried into Angelina chest gripping her close as she shook in fear and in pain.

“Words cannot express how sorry I am my love. You deserved so much better and do deserve better. But my love, you've been given a gift that'll change your life for the better. This baby is an absolute miracle. Because once you have this baby, you'll have and feel a love you've never had before.” Angelina whispers softly as she strokes Selene’s hair gently.

“I don't want him to ever see me again. I don't ever want him near me or my baby ever again. He'll only bring us pain.” Selene cried out rubbing her belly that would soon grow.

“You're better off without him love. He never deserved your heart or time of day. And he doesn't deserve to get to know your baby.” Angelina caresses Selene’s cheek tenderly and lovingly as Selene tearfully nods quietly.

“How am I gonna tell Jamie or Harrison. Or even Tom's family? What am I gonna do? I'm gonna be raising my baby all on my own.” Selene gasps and cries hard covering her face. “What am I gonna do Angelina?” She shook uncontrollably while tears ran down her face.

“You're so incredibly strong my love and you have people who love you. Don't worry my love. Help will be with you along the way.” Angelina whispers softly as she holds Selene close into her.”

Selene nodded in tears as she slowly got up to her cabinet to get a pregnancy test out and decided to use it to make sure. Even though she knew she was pregnant for sure.

After she pees on the test, she sets the timer and waits till it goes off. As it goes off, she picks up the test and right off the bat, it said what she already knew. Pregnant. This only made her cry even harder because knowing that if and when she brought her baby into this world, there's only one of two ways as to how their life will go. Running away from the mob life, or living within the mob life.

———————————————————————————————————

A few hours later…

Selene stared at her phone for a straight 5 minutes at Jamie's number, contemplating on calling him or not.

Selene had distanced herself somewhat from them all as her depression worsened from Tom's actions.

But out of nowhere, suddenly her phone began to ring and she saw that it was Sam. Selene was immediately hesitant to answer the call but she picked it up and breathed out shakily.

“Hello?” Selene asks shakily into the phone as she begins to feel her body tremble in anxiety.

“Selene love how are you? It's been so long since I've last heard your voice. I barely heard what happened and I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you sooner.” Sam breathes out into the phone which causes Selene to stifle a cry as tears streamed down her face.

“It's alright my love. At least you still called.” Selene sniffles softly and wipes her tears.

“What's wrong love? Is there something else?” Sam asks curiously with a gentle voice.

“Sammie I'm scared.” Selene whispers shakily into the phone as tears stream down her face.

“Why love? What's wrong?” Sam presses in concern as he becomes worried.

“I-I'm pregnant Sammie...and I'm so scared for my baby.” Selene whispers shakily then breaks down crying into the phone.

Sam on the other end becomes shell-shocked and speechless.

“Sammie how am I gonna tell Harry, Nikki and Dom? Or even Paddy? Even Jamie, Wendy and Harrison?” Selene cries into the phone as she trembles.

“Love, we're gonna be there for you every step of the way. We're not gonna abandon you like that fucker did. You deserve all the love in world, including your baby. So I promise you Sel, you're not alone.” Sam whispers softly through the phone and Selene instantly felt comforted.

Taglist for Tainted Love:  @hazhasmycoffee @superholland @lolpeterparker @fairydustparker @lilyholland  @tom-hollands-eyelash @thwiparkers @hollanderwritings

[ratilyn]

I had such a wonderful night last night but I couldn't sleep. Lately, I've been having these.. I dunno? Panic attacks in my sleep? I can't explain it. My body twitches and basically has a fit. And my heart skips beats every second and it makes me think I'm going to die. I didn't want to wake them up but I couldn't stop panicking. I was so tired, I'd fall asleep and then wake up seconds later, twitching. Apparently they didn't notice but I definitely did. It was so horrible. I used to have nights like these when I was stressed about school and my living situation but now I'm stressed about so much more and the twitches are so much worse. They're actually painful and I didn't get to sleep until 5:30am this morning. And when I did, I had the most awful dreams... I dreamt I was with Caspian and he was just trying to use me, then I dreamt I lost my job because last week (in reality) I only went in for a few hours each day because I was so fucking unwell. Hopefully this week will be better. I had the best weekend. But anyways, then I dreamt a guy was following me in the street and I went to punch him but he pulled out a gun and then his partner in crime had a Minigun and started shooting up the entire place. I was in Rundle mall leaving a bar or something... And I had to jump through a window and I got a bunch of glass stuck in my arms and they were bleeding like crazy so I ran down the street to get to safety and the person who I was staying with in reality was somehow a doctor??? And he said he'd help me pick out all the glass and bandage my arms up but instead we went and got hot chips with these alternative people (who I obviously took a huge disliking to, y'know the ones who roam around Rundle mall and bark at people...) And my dream ended and I woke up to the sun shining through the window and I was so glad I didn't die in my sleep because I seriously have never felt so worried about me dying. Not because I didn't want to do, I did not care. I just didn't want to traumatize this poor person who's bed I was in. Imagine waking up to a dead body who you took out drinking that night. I would feel so fucking horrible. Anyway, I didn't die but currently, at 9:44pm, I am shaking and I know I'm going to twitch and shake and stop breathing in my sleep tonight and I'll feel so fucking shitty for work tomorrow and I swear to god if I get fired, that is it. I've been through SO much shit in my life. This was the best it's been, even after the hospital and... Yeah... I still had a job. And if that's gone, nobody else will want to hire me so I might as well end it all and I'm okay with that. Buddha's say that the reason why the baby comes out crying, is because it just died and remembers it's death and it's old life. We're new again. I learn that last night. I learnt so many beautiful things last night and I am so okay with dying. Living is hell. Like, I finally know what I believe. We are all in purgatory. This is why everyone has a shitty life. That's why karma exists. They're points to get you into heaven, or maybe this is hell and we're trying to redeem ourselves. I know this doesn't make sense but one needs to be at a busy, loud bar with a few drinks in to discuss this with me. It's fucking brilliant. I'm so glad things have happened but I'm also not. I was so happy. Now I don't know what to expect. I guess we'll see. If I die, maybe that might be the best thing.