#the face of someone who's lost everything yet still clings to life

[charulein]

Stubborn looks so fucking handsome in this screenshot jfc

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[ficnation]

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

Main Masterlist

NEXT CHAPTER

Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

[actuallysaiyan]

The First Time(Aka How Nanami Kento Lost His Virginity)Chapter Six: Telephone Call

Chapter Six: Telephone Call

warnings: smoking, angst, phone sex, male and female masturbation pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: after the party, you and Kento find yourselves almost too nervous to talk to one another, yet at your last chance meeting before the summer he drops a bomb on you. despite this, you two find yourselves getting busy over the phone a/n: sorry for the delay...but I found my inspiration for this chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

taglist: @cherryblossombankai @seireiteihellbutterfly @kenpachisbrat @marikuchanxo

@harlekin6 @entirelysein-e @brokennerdalert

@sugurusprettygirl @hazzelle-kento @pixelcafe-network

Masterlist

The week that followed the disaster of that party, you decided to try and cry it all out. The memories were still so fresh in your mind. The look on his face; the betrayal and hatred for you. It hurt so goddamn much. You wondered if you’d ever be able to get out of this funk.

The promise of a summer vacation seemed nice, and possibly would be a bandage for the pain that was still seared deep into your heart. Knowing you’d have to come back to school at the end of the break didn’t seem very promising either. Knowing you’d have to face him again.

Your pride had been so wounded. He continued to act as if you didn’t mean anything to him, and you wondered every time you two crossed paths if you’d be able to face him like you once did. Kento seems to be perfectly content with not talking to you.

In fact, the rumors of him hating you have been spreading like wildfire. So your friends decide to spin it all around and make you see the positive in all of this.

“He was just one guy! You can meet all kinds of cute guys when you come out with us to the beach this summer!”

“Yeah! You’ll see, lots of fish in the sea!”

Still you were clinging to empty promises and tender wounds. By the end of the semester, you found yourself wanting to find the man who stole your heart and to tell him off. You wanted to scream in his face, punch him a few times and leave him discarded on the ground. Just as he had done to you, you would gladly do to him. You would find yourself feeling much better if you were able to feed him the same poison he had fed you.

Your mind kept thinking about all the fun you two had together during the school year. It wasn’t just hooking up and fooling around either; it was deeper than that. It was getting to know him, to know what made him tick, what made him laugh. Cracking the outer layers of the man who was Kento Nanami.

As much as you wanted to discard him and leave him be for the rest of eternity, you found yourself at an impasse. You were madly in love with him. You wanted to go all the way that night too. Everything had been hinging on him returning from getting those damn waters and him just fucking kissing you.

Since that night, you were dreaming of his lips on yours. You missed the way he made your stomach flip with just the sound of his voice. You longed for the all-nighters you two spent together. The sounds of the old N64 and the cursing from the AVGN videos playing in the background on your old and clunky laptop.

And while you suffered in silence, Kento was living his life as if you weren’t even a part of it at one point. You wondered if maybe he even cared that you were suffering. You wondered if he even thought of you. Given the way he doesn’t even look in your direction, you think you know the answer.

Behind those cruel hazel eyes, there was something else there that most people couldn’t see. Kento was wracking his mind with a way to get you back.

He was sure you hated him, so he didn’t even bother to try and talk to you since that night. But the days were counting down and soon you’d be gone for the summer vacation. Soon you’d be gone for a while and maybe when you came back you’d have a new man.

The thought of you kissing someone else pissed him off. It made him angry and jealous and fuck he was seeing green. Every time you wouldn’t even glance in his direction, his heart was breaking even more.

There was just nothing he could do to bring you back into his arms. He thought of every opportunity and every single action of kindness he could bestow upon you. And none of them could ever come close to show you just how terribly sorry he was.

It was killing him inside. It was tearing him apart completely. The thought of you leaving school and coming back with hickies on your neck, or wearing someone’s sweater, or even just having that look in your eyes from a new love, that would be the death of Kento.

Then the final day of school comes and everyone’s getting ready to leave for summer vacation. He’s been thinking about this day over and over. He keeps thinking about how he’s going to catch you right before you leave and tell you he’s sorry.

The words sound so good in his mind. They sound perfect. He can hear it all so clearly. So why does he feel like his tongue is overly tied and his brain is a fog when he approaches you near your friend’s car?

The giggling and talks of summer vacation stop when your friend notices him lurking nearby. Your eyes widen suddenly when you see Kento so close. The butterflies multiply a thousandfold when he comes up to you.

“K-Kento?” you ask, your voice trembling.

Your friends all move aside, making sure he’s not about to attack you or anything like that. They want to see that he’s here to make amends and not break your heart even further. Some of them even think maybe you two could remain friends.

“I…I need to talk to you,” his own voice doesn’t sound strong.

With a nod from your friends, you make your way over to him. They all lean against the car, ready to intervene if they need to. Then you turn your attention back to Kento.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Kento notices the way you cross your arms over your chest when you ask him this.

“I wanted to talk about what happened the other night.”

There was a beat of silence before you both looked at each other. You could see all the words he wanted to say in his eyes. He looks away bashfully before he fishes out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He offers you one, but you decline. Then he brings the cigarette to his lips and lights it. You note that the smell is so comforting to you. 

“I was being such a shithead, alright? It was stupid of me. Those damn girls’ words had gotten to me.” He says between drags of the smoke.

You tilt your head to the side, “What girls?”

He looks away, and you’re starting to put the pieces together. Someone said something bad to him that night. Someone had made him feel like you weren’t completely in love with him. 

“Those damn girls we saw when we arrived. I guess they must have felt entitled to tell me that you were using me.”

Your heart feels broken. This was the cause of the rift between you two. The words of some dumb girl and her posse of bimbos. People who had no idea that you and Kento were more connected and bonded than most people are with their parents, their pets or even their good friends.

“Wait…you saw them? What the hell did they say to you?”

Kento shakes his head, “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. I just wanted to apologize to you. I was stupid to leave you like that.”

You wanted to reach out to him. To hug him. To kiss him. You were desperate to hold him against your body once more. You wanted to hear his voice whisper sweet nothings in your ear once again.

And all too soon, your friends were ushering you into the car. You wanted to run back to him, but they were telling you that they needed to get a move on. Then you hear those three words from his lips…

I love you.

The drive back to your hometown was awkward and quiet. All your friends felt bad for driving off without giving you a chance to answer Kento. He would be thinking about this moment for the rest of the summer and you wouldn't know how to deal with it.

His heart clenched as he watched you get into the car and he desperately called out to you. Saying those three words, they weren’t supposed to come out just yet. No, they were supposed to stay deep inside of him until the perfect moment came. If it ever came.

He was silently cursing himself for messing it all up. How would you ever want to talk to him again? You were probably telling your friends just how stupid all of this was. And with this, he leaves to go stay at his friend’s place for the summer.

The text message comes later. Then the phone call. He’s happy to see you messaging him. You ask him how he’s doing. It’s a few days after summer vacation started. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about leaving you hanging. My friends are jerks,” you say on the other line.

Kento is hanging out on his bed, his head feeling fuzzy from just hearing your voice. “Nah, don’t even worry about it.”

The two of you have so much to talk about. Neither of you mention the party nor do you mention what he said on the last day you saw each other. You two just spend time talking on the phone and enjoying one another.

And with each day, you two find even more conversations to have. Until one day you send him a picture. It’s a picture of you in bed, wearing just an oversized shirt. It makes his heart race and his cock hardens immediately. He finds the courage to call you up.

“Tell me what you’d want to do with me if I was there,” his voice sounds so husky like this.

You’re barely awake but you feel the need growing inside of you, “Kento…I want you to kiss me.”

Just hearing you wanting him to kiss you excites him even more. He’s fisting his cock, moaning into the receiver. You hear the slick sounds of his precum coating his cock. You let one of your hands dip down under your shirt and you begin to play with your aching clit.

“What else? Come on…talk to me.”

“Want you to kiss me, touch me…need your fingers in my pussy.”

This causes him to squeeze his cock to prevent himself from cumming too fast. This was going to have to be enough until you two saw each other again next semester.

“Yeah? You want me to lick that cute little pussy?” He doesn’t understand where he’s getting the courage to talk like this.

You whimper, “I wanna cum all over your tongue.”

This makes it even harder for him to slow down. You’re both working towards a similar goal, moaning and panting for one another. Kento growls softly.

“I’m gonna cum,”

You groan, “Me too.”

Tighter and tighter becomes the coil in your stomach. You see stars when you fall off the edge with a quiet call of his name. Kento is right behind you, biting his lip so he doesn’t yell too loud as he spills his cum all over his fist and his abdomen.

Both of you are panting as you catch your breath. Kento is the first to say something, coupled with a breathy chuckle.

“Hope that’ll keep you happy until we can see each other again.”

You smile, “I’ll be counting down the days.”

[baby-tini]

May I ask for Mikey x fem oc or reader, in the last arc scenario when mikey goes back to the past with his memories intact and tries to find her but couldn't, and only finds her again when both of them are adults with their own jobs and everything...(Also just for it to be a little angsty maybe she died before the last time).... I'm sorry I'm so bad at this 😭

A/N- You're all good, sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy it nonetheless.\ TW- Readers death and Manjiros attempted suicide in the Bonten timeline. He looked for you, he looked everywhere for you, but you weren't anywhere too be found. He searched for you for days, then those days turned into weeks and unfortunately months. The last image he has of you, is when you died in his arms, during his Bonten days. He remembered he didn't eat or sleep for days. You were the only light in his dark life. The only thing that actually kept him going. The only reason he even thought about getting up in the morning, that's the main reason he tried too jump off that building in the first place, but then, Takemichi had saved him and promised everything would be better for him and everyone, including you. But as he went through his life, happy to have all of his friends and family alive he was grateful, don't get him wrong, but he missed you, deeply he missed you. He's never loved and cared about someone so deeply and intimately before. He never forgot about you, not even once, you were always stuck in his head as the same questions continuously ran through his mind. Where were you? Were you okay? Were you thinking about him too? If you were, were you thinking about him nearly as much as he thought of you every. single. day. It was a chance meeting in all honesty, your friend was really into motorcycles so, of course she wanted too watch the races, so when she bought tickets, and her boyfriend wasn't available, she asked you too go with her instead. You really didn't want too go at first, given motorcycles weren't really your thing, but in true bestfriend fashion, she had pleaded with you until gave in. Giving you the little puppy dog eyes as she clung to your arm with a multitude of pleas. Then demanding you get ready when you finally gave into her. When you did finally get to the racing stadium, she went crazy, telling you all about the racers and who they were. How skilled they were and what type of motorcycles they were driving. Again, being someone who really wasn't into motorcycles, you weren't really listening, just watching the bikes speed around the track until they were done and finally announced their winner, but you didn't really stay for that, instead quickly leaving too busy yourself at the taiyaki stand. You've always liked taiyaki, it being your favorite snack and all. Especially when you think about the memories you'd occasionally get, eating it with a man that you couldn't give a face or a name. "Hey, just make double and I'll pay for it." That voice... sounded so familiar, the deep rasp hitting your ears as it sent your brain into deja vu. A man, with a black undercut walked towards the stand as he pulled out his card, still dressed in a racing uniform. As he turned to look at you and your eyes locked on his, you both froze. There was a feeling of electricity that shot through the both you, as your eyes met his. The beautiful obsidian that felt so familiar yet so.. distant. "...Baby?" The mans eyes held a recognition in them as those lost memories of yours came back, clearer then before. Finally giving the man a face and a name, "Manjiro..?" The way his name fell from your lips sent a shiver up his back, as though he had been dunked in ice water. It was quick, more on instinct then anything really, as you both grabbed at each other. Clinging to the other as you ran your hands over the other. His hands running through your hair, then grabbing at your face and staring deep into your eyes while his watered.

Quickly pulling you away from the crowded area, he led you into a back alley. Quickly trapping you in his arms, chest-to-chest, he held you as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. Wrapping your arms around his waist you held him tightly, taking in the smell of his cologne, Hugo Boss, you'd never forget that smell, it would always drive you crazy whenever he wore. The smell nearly as comforting as his arms, the tan, muscular limbs wrapping around you in a vice. You both pulled back after long minutes of the tight embrace, before you could say anything though, his lips were already on yours as he buried his hands deep into your hair. Your hands coming up to run up under his shirt, feeling the hard muscle of his chest and abs, trying too recite everything to memory as he pulled closer. Only pulling back too catch his breath before diving back in and holding your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks, as if, too also recite everything to memory. Reluctantly pulling away, he leaned his forehead against yours as he panted against your lips, your breath mixing with his as he stared you down with those wide black eyes, no longer empty and cold. Instead they were warm and loving, his pupils dilated as he took you in, the image of you dying in his arms coming back as he held you closer while he felt his eyes got wet, the salty liquid dripping down his cheeks. "Don't ever leave me again... I can't be without you baby, you're all I ever think about, I need you, I love you so much."

[danieyells]

Taiga's mental deterioration is awful. It's terrible. To lose parts of oneself, for Romeo to lose parts of someone he loves so dearly, it's painful and terrifying and if he could make a wish with another demon he might just wish for him to be healed. He was never normal in the time that he knew him. But once upon a time Taiga spoke and looked around the world with coherency, Taiga took interest in things beyond hunger and sporadic, violent fascination. Once upon a time Taiga did more than eat and gamble and sleep in a cycle that he sometimes was very aware of.

And yet.

And yet one of the things Taiga never seemed to forget was Romeo himself. Others' faces and names faded away or never told hold to begin with, other parts of his life were gone to the neverending hunger within him, but Lulu, Lulu remained. If Taiga heard Romeo's name, even without his nickname, there was never any question who he was. His face was always as beautiful as he last saw him. His voice was always so loud and he always said too much. He was as naïve as the day they met and as greedy as he'd ever been. Taiga knew Romeo. He always knew Romeo.

It was awful, in his eyes. That whoever Taiga has been before he met him had been washed away. That Taiga could barely remember who he was and where he'd come from and what brought him joy beyond risk and profit and blood in his mouth and the presence of someone who'd stayed with him so long that Romeo used to wonder if no one had ever done so before.

And yet.

Romeo had always been a greedy bastard. No one knew that like Taiga did.

And as much as he hated to see Taiga fade into something almost beastial, the part of him he buried down tight, the part of him which would have rather cling to valuables even if they would get him killed, the vicious, hungering greed watched on with delight.

The greed held its hand out to this slowly forming monster to be sniffed and remembered and relied on and loved and wanted and needed and to be the only thing left in his head.

Part of him saw Taiga forget everything but remember him with such clarity it was as if Romeo's existence was his own and wished he could help him tear everything else away. Faster, forget faster. Forget more. Care about less.

Until all that Taiga knew or saw or desired or remembered or lived for what Romeo Scorpius Lucci.

Isn't it what he deserved? And isn't it what would make Taiga happy, too?

It was inevitable, as he saw it.

It was inevitable, as Taiga had told him he would never, ever forget him.

If Taiga ever forgot Romeo, what would be left would simply not be Taiga, and Romeo should take it out.

Perhaps Taiga had meant it as a warning, for fear that he would harm Romeo if he ever forgot his face. He had trained him to be able to hold a gun to him, to be ready to pull the trigger in case there was no recognition in Taiga's eyes and he bore teeth at him. To shoot for his heart. To think he should protect himself from whatever took over and used Taiga's face to threaten Romeo's wellbeing.

But to Romeo it was something more. Not about what would become of Taiga but who he was now.

Romeo mourned every memory and thought Taiga lost. Even if Taiga didn't care to do so, every lost bit of someone he loved so dearly was worth mourning.

And yet he watched. Closely. What was left. How much was left. How much was him--and how much was not--and how much would still be him in the end.

Someday, perhaps, if they could not reverse what had become of Taiga's mind, all that would be left for him would be Romeo. And perhaps to continue to love him and to hold him would be to take advantage of that.

But Romeo had killed and stolen and manipulated and more. He was not a man of morals, but of profits and a great deal of sickening, clawing love in the form of greed.

Perhaps someday Taiga would become empty of anything but Romeo, and Romeo would hold him and care for him and love him regardless, in spite of it, for it. Why shouldn't he love someone who thought only of him and felt only for him, whose heart beat and mind buzzed and body moved for him and nothing else? Even if Taiga's sense of self eroded, if his sense of Romeo remained what was not to be loved?

Perhaps after that he would begin to forget Romeo as well. And until then Romeo would love him and use him. Until then he was still valuable. Until then he was still Taiga.

Until he was no longer Taiga, who lived for Romeo according to the greed that made his love into a room full of gilded cages, Romeo would keep him for himself.

And the moment he stopped being Taiga would be when Romeo's heart truly broke.

And what choice would he have, before he lost more attachment to the one person who would attached to nothing but him, to use the gift he'd been given?

That attachment would be so strong, that love so intense, that there wouldn't be blood or gore or anything at all.

There wouldn't even be a world left to mourn Taiga or Romeo or to suffer an existence without them. That love, that passion, would be enough to end everything there ever was or would be in this world. Or maybe that was just Romeo's delightful fantasy, that the world would be reduced to rubble shooting off in a million brilliant directions in space because he simply loved one idiot too much.

One idiot who loved him too much.

If not for him. None of this would have ever happened. He followed Taiga to Darkwick and if he had any direction when they left he would follow him in that direction too.

And if Taiga died, who would he be if he didn't go with him?

And Romeo, in all of his greed, would simply have to take everything with them.

Everything.

[love-toxin]

i finally got around to watching a play through of RE4 separate ways and now i just wanna be a pitiful research assistant abandoned by my team that ada stumbles across,,,,

imagine just hitting all her soft spots. a naive, good hearted, timid thing who she can’t resist helping. she tries to act all aloof and uncaring but she Loves the feeling having someone cling to her more than anything.

she has this one line after she sees ashley being kidnapped that’s like “babysitting is tough huh?” and she’s all mocking towards leon, but she totally loves mother henning you, making sure you’re not too tired or lagging behind. she goes out her way to keep you out of danger whenever there are any plagas around. and if you even so much as scrape your knee she is dropping everything to make you feel better.

omg and when her infection flares up and you’re worrying all over her it takes everything in her not to pull you into a random room in the castle to absolutely wreck you for being so cute and concerned about her 🤭

unnnggghhh.....ada..... (<- hasn't played separate ways yet)

You're so gentle and meek. You're not really working under Saddler, are you? That's what she thinks when she first meets you, and she's partially right. You don't really have any idea what you've gotten yourself into....and yet you've still been abandoned by your team. The only one that even tried to help you was Luis, the charmer. But then you got separated, and you got lost and scared, and Ada came to rescue you because...well, she's not really sure why. Maybe because she just couldn't stand to listen to your cries anymore, or maybe because there's a little piece inside her that still wants to help the weak and the guileless.

And it's for the better for her, it turns out, because you actually can be pretty useful to her. You might be delicate and fragile, but you can point her in the directions she needs to go, decipher the landscape with familiarity she doesn't possess, and you do it with such a cute, eager insistence because Ada saved your life and it's the least you can do to help her back. Doing the heavy lifting isn't so hard when she's got someone on her side, even if it means she feels responsible for saving you from the plagas, the island, Saddler, and Wesker.

With Leon in the mix, however, it complicates things further. He's like you: a goody two shoes. He could very easily convince you to join him, to follow his lead, and he could put you in so much danger on this little suicide mission to save the president's daughter. And though Ada can try her best to keep you away from each other, there are times when you just end up....falling into Leon's arms. Like what happened about an hour ago, when she lost sight of you during Leon's assault on Salazar's castle--and she still hasn't managed to get you back. Well, not until you got separated from Leon in one of those trapped hallways and went running into another room to hide, only to find that you've ducked into the bookbinding tower.

It's a miracle she even gets to you in time, slinging herself around on that hookshot to fly through the already-opened window, just in time to launch herself feet-first into one of those possessed knights and send it squealing and flailing into the fireplace. But when you look at her with those soft eyes and that teary face, she just melts, and it reminds her of why she picked you up off your knees and saved you in the first place.

"Adaaaa!" You sob and scramble to your feet, running for her in your stained lab coat and hugging her tight enough to bruise. Usually you're the one fussing over her and her parasite, but now you're like a child wailing for their mummy--and it's so cute, god it's so cute.

"There, there." She gets to croon, stroking your hair with a gentle hand and smiling softly as you bury your face in her shoulder. "I'm here, now." You don't have to be scared. God, she's getting soft. Getting all melty and gentle with some whimpering little cupcake. But at the same time, her grip on you tightens because she knows she's never leaving you by yourself again. She can't take such a precious little thing like you getting hurt....no, it's not that bad to keep her eye on you. Can't leave you alone, can't leave you behind, certainly can't hand you over to Wesker--it looks like you might just become her new mission partner after all. Or maybe you can be a pretty new piece in her apartment to welcome her home after these long, long days. Who knows what the future holds for you and her...together?

[knightofmidnightsun]

When I go, bury me six feet in snow [1] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You, Bucky, Sam and Helmut had a simple plan and yet… It all went wrong. Now you're in the middle of an unknown land, surrounded by snow and with Zemo as your only company. What could be worse than that?

Warnings: Description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. description of and violence, injury/pain, description of burning wounds, description of hypothermia and drowning in cold water, self-blame/guilt

Word count: 9K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2]

The sudden, searing pain in your back snapped your eyes open. It took a full minute for the blurriness in your vision to fade, allowing you to comprehend your surroundings.

Snow. It blanketed everything around you, a vast, desolate whiteness. The sun glared down, its blinding rays almost too intense to bear. For a moment, you couldn't remember why you were there, in the middle of this unknown land. But as the pain in your back spread to your legs, the memories began to creep back in.

You had been on an aircraft. Chaos had erupted, a blur of violence that left you disoriented, unable to distinguish friend from foe. You recalled familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all intent on knocking you down, with James, Sam, and…

Then it hit you—the plan.

The fucking stupid plan. You kept repeating the phrase to yourself as you got strength to stand up. For a moment, you almost fell before deciding to continue where you were and embraced your knees, the tiredness filled your bones and nerves. It was impossible to get up without feeling like the bones in your legs would break in any second.

When you finally thought you were ready to try standing again, you choked on a mouthful of icy water. Yeah, maybe it was better to stay put for now.

"Cap," you pressed a trembling finger to the earpiece, trying to contact Sam, but were met with silence. "Sam? Are you there? James?"

Again, nothing, you groaned. Where the fuck they were? Why Sam and James weren't answering you?

"We lost their signal" The voice made your skin crawl. You knew exactly who he was.

A flood of memories from the aircraft surged back: clinging to the edge as the wind howled around you, your fingers gripping the metal as if your life depended on it—because it did. You had seen Zemo, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back from the brink, only to be shoved by another attacker, falling with you into the icy sea below.

It wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

You and Zemo had fallen from the aircraft. Sam and James were still up there, as far as you knew, but now they were outnumbered. Anything could have happened to them… Even…

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for how badly you’d botched the mission.

As you fell, you had prayed for an end, for the sea to swallow you whole and let your body vanish into the abyss. But here you were, still breathing.

Both of you, alive. On a frozen beach, soaked to the bone after nearly drowning.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zemo approaching, brushing snow off his clothes. His purple mask was gone, likely lost in the water, or perhaps he had discarded it, deeming it unnecessary now that the fight was over.

At least he wasn’t in any better shape than you. That was some consolation.

"Do you know where we are?" You asked him, forcing yourself not to shiver as the cold gnawed at your bones.

"I… No, I do not," His voice carried a note of discontent, a rare admission of uncertainty from someone who usually exuded control, "Perhaps Antarctica, if I recall the aircraft’s route… But I can’t be sure."

Even Zemo, with his fur coat and multiple layers, was shivering. His clothes were as soaked as yours, and it did nothing to help your situation.

“Great,” you muttered, scanning the endless expanse of snow. There was nothing—no buildings, no signs of life, just an infinite white void. “I can’t believe I’m going to die of hypothermia in the middle of nowhere with you. If you hadn’t held me back…”

“Hold on,” Zemo interrupted, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp. “Who was the one who got distracted and was the first to be thrown off the ship? That was you, as I recall.” He took a step closer, scrutinizing you as you struggled to stay upright. “I was trying to help you, and look where it got me, hm? You should be thanking me.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the desolate landscape around you.

You were tempted to ignore the pain in your legs just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, turning your head away. Your hands cracked as you clenched them into fists, the cold seeping into your bones. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I was ready to fall and die or get back to the aircraft and plan an escape.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was silent for a moment, as if weighing your words.

“Neither of those things happened,” he said finally, a plume of cold breath escaping his lips. “Our priority now is finding shelter before we freeze to death.”

“But what about Sam? Or James? They’re still up there, as far as we know.” You pressed your hands into the snow, trying to summon the strength to stand. “We need to think of a plan to help them.”

“We can’t help them if we’re dead,” Zemo replied flatly, resting his hands on his hips. “Finding shelter is our only option.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the baron was right. There was no way to survive the journey back to Sam and James if you froze to death first.

Your limbs trembled uncontrollably as the cold invaded every nerve, turning them to ice. It was a pain sharper than any burn.

“Alright,” you conceded, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Just… Give me a second.”

You took a deep breath and pushed against the icy ground, trying to stand. The moment you put pressure on your legs, searing pain shot up from your calves to your thighs, as if your very bones were being torn apart. Your muscles screamed in agony, nearly knocking you back to the ground.

You bit your lip, stifling a cry, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and your feet slipped on the ice.

For a moment, everything went black. The world narrowed to the sheer, overwhelming pain in your legs, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. But then, you felt a firm grip on your arms, steadying you, holding you up.

Zemo’s hands were surprisingly gentle yet strong. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his breath visible in the frigid air as he rushed to your side.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or worry—before his expression returned to its usual guarded blankness. His brows furrowed as he studied you, trying to assess the situation.

You were too focused on the pain to care what the baron was thinking.

“Oh mein Gott,” he whispered, his voice low but laced with concern. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Well, you could tell the pain wasn’t because of the sea dragging you to the coast. Despite the coldness, if that was the case, your arms and torso would hold the same pain.

The damage had been done long before you hit the water.

Your mind drifted back to the fight on the aircraft. James had been battling Max Fury, Sam had been trading blows with Lightmaster, and Helmut had been deflecting attacks from Doctor Octopus. That left you facing the Tin Man—now known as Crimson Cowl, though he was still Ultron in all but name.

Despite being an android, you had been holding your own against him. You weren’t a super soldier, but your mutation gave you agility and elasticity. You could leap high, dodge quickly, and move with a fluidity that made you hard to pin down.

Your friends used to say you were like sand slipping through their fingers—impossible to catch.

You had been doing well against Ultron… Until you weren’t.

The android had grown impatient with your dodges and the minor annoyances you threw his way. Your goal wasn’t to defeat him—you knew that was impossible—but to buy time until James or Sam could deliver the final blow.

But Ultron was a machine, built by Tony Stark, and smarter than most people. You should have known that eventually, he would memorize your pattern and anticipate your next move.

It happened in an instant. As you prepared to leap to your next position, a blinding blue light seared through the air. The next thing you knew, your legs were on fire. You screamed, the agony tearing through your lungs as the laser burned through flesh and bone.

You faintly heard someone call your name, but it was distant, the words muffled. The last thing you remembered was one of Doctor Octopus’ robotic arms slamming into you, knocking you off the aircraft. The rest was a blur.

“My regeneration won’t work with both the burn and the hypothermia at the same time,” you muttered, daring to look at your legs, still covered by the remnants of your uniform.

The damage was bad. Worse than you had imagined.

“All the more reason to start moving,” Zemo said, raising his brows as if to emphasize his point. “Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll try to do something about your legs to buy us some time.”

“You don’t need to,” you muttered, your jaw trembling from the cold. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Zemo replied, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “I can see that.”

Before you could protest, he tore a strip of fabric from his coat and knelt down beside you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind too numb with cold, until he began wrapping the cloth around one of your burns, tying it tightly.

He repeated the process on your other leg, his movements quick.

“Since our clothes are soaked with cold water, it’ll help cool down your wounds,” Zemo explained, rising from where he was and taking your arms so he could help you walk properly. “Before we go, we’ll need to shed some of our clothing as well. Despite the temperature, it’s better to carry as little soaked fabric as possible.”

You shuddered at the thought, your teeth chattering uncontrollably. The idea of removing any layer of warmth, no matter how wet, felt like a death sentence. It got worse when you imagined you had to go through this with Zemo from all the people.

But you knew he was right. The waterlogged clothing clung to your skin like icy shackles, draining what little warmth you had left.

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting Zemo’s hands guide yours to the clasps of your jacket. It took all your concentration just to undo the first one, your fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold. Faintly, you could feel his cold fingers against your skin, bringing a little to almost nothing of warmth, his hands moved with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused on the task at hand.

In a way, his calm demeanor in the face of such dire circumstances was almost comforting. But it was fleeting—a brief, circumstantial comfort in a ride-or-die situation.

The moment your jacket fell to the snow, the cold hit you like a slap. You gasped, hugging yourself instinctively as if your arms could shield you from the elements. The wind cut through your remaining layers, turning your skin to ice.

Zemo didn’t flinch. He shed his coat and outer layers with the same methodical precision, his movements devoid of hesitation, as if the cold tormenting you barely registered with him.

When he finished, he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your condition. For a second, you thought he would jest.

“We’ll move as quickly as we can,” he said instead, more to himself than to you, “Lean on me. I’ll support your weight.”

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you focused on his shoulders. “I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine.”

“As fine as when you first got up?” he asked, and your lips pressed together in silence, refusing to answer. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Without further hesitation, he took one of your arms and draped it over his shoulder. You noticed that his skin, though chilled, still radiated some warmth. The baron wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to rely on, but as you clung to him, you realized he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the snow.

“You will thank me later,” Zemo smirked down at you.

Despite your will to punch him, you prioritize your life.

Each step was a struggle, your legs barely cooperating as you trudged through the drifts. Zemo’s grip on you was firm, almost too tight, as if he feared you might slip away at any moment. Your feet felt numb, each movement sending jolts of pain up your calves, but you forced yourself to keep going. The thought of stopping, of giving in to the cold, terrified you more than anything.

You glanced at the baron, time and time again, remembering what happened in the mission. What went wrong and triggered the fight, Sam and James trying to fight as they planned for a solution that would save all of you from dying, Zemo buying time and you… Well, you were trying to do your best to think about an escape plan as you dealt with the android. In the end, you were trying to help, in some way, to not be a burden.

And that was exactly what brought you in that situation. You and Zemo, your gaze locked at him again. You recalled the feeling of his fingers clasping your wrist, trying with all his might to pull you back to the ground but falling with you instead.

After that, all was a blur, you felt the air lack your lungs as you screamed. You felt arms holding you tight and a breath next to your ear. You really thought you would die after that. Except that, you didn’t.

“Do you think we’ll find anything out here?” you asked Zemo through chattering teeth, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, to keep your mind off the cold and the pain.

Zemo didn’t answer right away. He was focused on the horizon, scanning the endless white expanse for any sign of shelter or civilization. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke.

“There must be something. A research station, perhaps, or a temporary base. This region isn’t entirely uninhabited.”

It was a slim hope, but you clung to it, letting his words push you forward. You had to believe there was something out there—a place where you could rest, recover, and find a way back to the others.

But with each passing minute, that hope began to fade. The snow stretched on endlessly, the landscape unchanging. Your legs ached, muscles screaming with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. The cold was relentless, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for you to falter.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the airship, about your friends, and what could have become of them. By now, they could be prisoners, tortured, or worse… dead. All because of that stupid plan—it was doomed from the start, but still…

If something had happened to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d rather die here and tell Zemo to go on without you.

“Keep moving,” Zemo urged, his voice sharp. He gave you a slight tug, pulling you closer as if to share what little warmth he had. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“I’m tired, Zemo,” you groaned, your voice trembling as the cold seemed to freeze the tears in the corners of your eyes. “The cold… It’s draining me. Maybe we’ve finally found my real weakness.”

“Don’t say that,” Helmut shook his head, his tone firm. “You’re insufferable, but I won’t let you die here.”

“Maybe you should,” you closed your eyes, your feet dragging through the snow as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault after all. It’d be better if you leave me here and go by yourself, find some shelter, and try to save the rest of our crew.”

Zemo stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. His grip on your arm tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you could afford to acknowledge.

“I’ve lost too many people on my account already,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something deeper, something almost vulnerable in his tone. “I won’t lose you as well. Especially not because of your self-pity.”

The words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they were sincere. Zemo’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. This mission was flawed from the start, but we’re in this together now,” he said, moving closer, his breath visible in the frigid air. “So, stop blaming yourself. That won’t solve anything.”

“How could it not be my fault?” you asked in a strained whisper, “Do you remember how the plan started to go south? I brought this on us. Who knows what’s happened to Sam and James? What could they be doing to them? By the time we find somewhere safe, they could already be dead. You’ll find shelter faster without having to drag me along as dead weight.”

Zemo’s eyes hardened, his grip on your arm tightening. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and bringing you more shivers than the cold.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold air with a sharpness that made you flinch, “We all made choices that led to what happened. Blaming yourself won’t change the past, and giving up now certainly won’t help your friends.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, forcing you to meet his gaze. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, no condescension—just a raw, unyielding determination.

“Don’t you ever suggest me to do such a thing again.” Zemo whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Understand?”

Despite everything, you could see a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We still have a chance. But only if we keep moving.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. Zemo’s words were harsh, but they were the slap of reality you needed. He was right—giving up wouldn’t save Sam or James. It wouldn’t change anything.

With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting the painful truth. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zemo’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, and he gave you a small nod of approval. Together, you started walking again, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but you pushed through, determined not to slow him down.

The cold was relentless, but so was Zemo, his presence beside you reminding you to not stop no matter what. You kept your focus on the horizon, refusing to let your mind wander back to the guilt, carving its way into your chest.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the silence was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The world around you was eerily quiet, the storm having passed but leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland.

Suddenly, Zemo halted. You almost stumbled, but his arm shot out, steadying you once more. Looking up, you noticed his eyes narrowing as he focused intently ahead.

“What are y—”

Before you could finish, Zemo pulled you down with him, pressing you into the snow behind a small drift. The cold burned against your already frigid skin, and you struggled to suppress the groan of pain that threatened to escape your lips. Your burns flared with agony, the icy ground amplifying the sharp, relentless pain. But you swallowed it, forcing yourself to stay quiet as Zemo leaned closer, his hand firmly covering your mouth.

He nodded towards the snowy expanse ahead, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a single point in the distance. Your vision was still hazy from the pain, but you squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing.

There, amidst the endless white, was a figure—a person dressed in a suit that was all too familiar. Dark blue, red stripes, a white star… Shit.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and your blood ran cold.

“Of all people,” you muttered, dread coiling in your stomach.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent signal to stay alert. “This complicates things,” he said under his breath.

There was John Walker, the U.S. Agent, his uniform enhanced for the freezing conditions, standing out starkly against the snow. The sight of him sent a jolt of fear through you. If he was out here, that meant they were already searching for you, and they hadn’t found your bodies yet. They knew you were still alive.

He wasn’t too far from you and Zemo. He intently watched his surroundings with narrowed eyes, inching closer in your direction. That wasn’t a good thing.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle tensing as Walker’s gaze swept over the area. Zemo’s hand remained on your mouth, a silent reminder to stay quiet, to not make a sound. You could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

Both of you hid back to the small drift, you’d need to start your prayers.

Walker’s steps were deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where you and Zemo were hidden. The snow crunched under his boots, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound almost drowning out everything else.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression cold and calculating. He slowly moved his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a finger to his lips. The message was clear: stay silent.

You nodded slightly, barely daring to breathe as Walker came dangerously close. The snow drift that hid you wasn’t large, and if Walker got too close, he would easily spot you. The weight of Zemo’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you, keeping you from bolting out of sheer panic.

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Walker’s footsteps, the crunch of snow, the biting cold, and the tension between you and Zemo as you both held your breath, praying that he would pass by without noticing you.

You could almost sense his presence looming over the snow drift that hid you and Zemo.

Then, just as it seemed Walker was about to discover your hiding spot, you heard another set of footsteps crunching through the snow, approaching Walker from behind. Your heart raced as you strained to listen.

“Walker,” a gruff voice called out, and you recognized it immediately—Abner Jenkins, better known as the Beetle. The sound of his mechanical suit hummed lowly as he approached.

You heard Walker’s steps pause, followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “What is it, Jenkins?” His voice was tense, betraying his frustration at being interrupted.

“We’ve got orders,” Abner replied, his tone clipped. “Madame Hydra wants them alive. We’re to take them back to her—no exceptions.”

Then, you and Zemo heard the distinct sound of a shield being stowed. It took a moment for you both to realize that Walker had been holding it the entire time. God knew what his intentions were if he had found you before Beetle stopped him.

Zemo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of Madame Hydra. You could feel the unspoken understanding between the two of you: this was far more dangerous than you had anticipated.

“And what about the others?” Walker asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were wary of being overheard by anyone else in the area.

“They’re searching too. We’ve spread out to cover more ground, but the baron and the girl likely headed this way. We need to find them before we are met with a storm.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air thickening. You could hear Walker’s heavy breathing, followed by a begrudging sigh. “Fine. Let’s move. We’ll search further ahead.”

The sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow grew more distant, fading away into the howling wind. You and Zemo stayed perfectly still, not daring to move until you were sure they were gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Zemo finally released the breath he’d been holding and carefully removed his hand from your shoulder. “They’re hunting us,” he murmured, his voice low and cold. “And it seems they’re not the only ones.”

You nodded, your thoughts racing. “But that means Sam and James are alive too. They said Madame Hydra needs us all alive, they already have them or they escaped as well.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating the situation. “True, but that also means we’re walking into a trap if we continue in that direction. They’re likely covering the area ahead.”

“So we go the other way,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “It’ll take longer, and it’s more dangerous in this weather, but it’s better than facing Walker and Jenkins head-on.”

With the decision made, the two of you began to carefully backtrack, moving away from where Walker and Abner had gone. The cold bit into your skin, but the sense of urgency kept you moving. You couldn’t afford to be caught, not by them.

Not when you knew there was so much more at stake.

The biting cold gnawed at your exposed skin, a relentless reminder of just how perilous your situation had become. Each step you took away from the place where Walker and Abner had nearly discovered you felt like a small victory, but the fear gnawing at your insides refused to subside. The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the dread coiling in your gut.

Zemo's presence beside you, his arm supporting you, was the only thing grounding you in the moment. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as if every step was a move in a larger game. He seemed impervious to the cold, his expression calm and focused, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. You knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around him. Zemo was as dangerous as the environment itself, maybe even more so.

After all, this was Zemo, Helmut Zemo—the man who had manipulated and deceived some of the most powerful people you once knew. But out here, in this frozen wasteland, what choice did you have left?

The burn wound on your side throbbed with every movement, a constant reminder of the injury you had barely survived. The pain was sharp, radiating from the angry, blistered skin, but it had dulled to a persistent ache, almost as if it had become a part of you. Zemo had helped bandage it, his hands steady and sure as he worked. He had saved you, in his own way, but the trust between you was fragile, a thin layer of ice over treacherous waters.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your mind kept cycling back to Madame Hydra.

Her name alone sent a tremor through your already trembling form. You didn’t know much about her—few did—but what you had heard was enough to fill you with a cold dread that rivaled the harsh weather. The fact that she was involved meant that things were far more complicated than a simple mission gone wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all part of some larger plan, that you were pieces on a chessboard in a game only she knew how to play.

Zemo had to know more than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. Not when every moment of delay could mean Walker, Abner or any other member of the Master of Evil catching up with you. Not when the only thing standing between you and certain death was the man whose arm was currently draped over your shoulders, keeping you upright.

“Keep moving,” Zemo’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but there was an urgency to it that snapped you back to reality.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, labored gasps, each one stinging your lungs with the frigid air. The pain in your side flared again, but you bit down on a cry of pain. You wouldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance.

The idea of seeing Sam and James again was the only thing that kept you from collapsing in the snow. You pictured their faces in your mind, the way they had always been there for you when everything else had fallen apart. They were your family, the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The thought of them out there, possibly alive, was the small flame that kept burning inside you, refusing to be extinguished by the cold or the fear.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as you stumbled, bringing you back to the present. You glanced at him, catching the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. It was hard to tell with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t cruelty. Not yet.

You were still useful to him, and for now, that was enough. It was what was keeping you alive, right? You were Sam and James’s friend, you were a mutant with good abilities when not injured by burns, you knew a thing or two that he didn’t yet. He needed you as you needed him.

It was the only reason for him to had chose to reach for you when you were hanging by the edge of the airship. His eyes wide open when they met yours, without any hesitation cowering over the edge and reaching his hand to grip your wrist, in an attempt to stop you from falling off the ship. Someone like him wouldn’t do such a thing for her.

If you died, none of your friends would forgive him, that had to be the reason for him to be so kind to you so far. Helping you to get up, taking care of your wounds, sustaining her body as you walked together…

There was any other logical explanation.

The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, covering the landscape in a white blanket that stretched out as far as you could see. The world had been reduced to shades of white and gray, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky above. It was easy to lose your sense of direction out here, easy to give in to the overwhelming feeling of isolation.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, something called your attention.

An orange glow appeared on the horizon, faint at first, almost imperceptible through the swirling snow. You squinted, trying to make it out, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

Fire. Light. Shelter.

“Zemo,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “there, do you see it?”

He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant glow. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “It could be a fire. Perhaps someone is there.”

A glimmer of hope ignited within you, though it was intertwined with anxiety. A fire could mean warmth, safety, or a place to rest—yet it could just as easily signal danger, another trap in Madame Hydra's web, waiting to ensnare you... Another peril to complicate your situation.

Zemo seemed to sense your hesitation. “We have to investigate,” he said firmly. “It may be our only chance. But we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though the word felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything that could go wrong.

The two of you pressed on, your steps slow and cautious as you moved toward the distant glow. The snow continued to fall, thickening the air around you, muffling the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Each step felt like a battle against the elements, your muscles aching from the strain, your body screaming for rest. But you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you reached that fire, that glimmer of hope in the endless white.

As you trudged forward, the glow on the horizon grew brighter, more distinct. It wasn’t just a trick of the light—there was something there, something real. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through you, giving you the strength to push forward despite the pain in your legs and the exhaustion that threatened to drag you down.

But as you drew closer, something else came into view, something that made your heart sink. A large, dark expanse stretched out before you, the snow-covered surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was a lake, frozen solid under a thick sheet of ice.

The fire you had seen was on the other side, inside a small wooden house taunting you with its proximity.

Zemo stopped beside you, his gaze fixed on the frozen lake.

“What do we do now?” you asked in a low voice, you glanced at the baron, “If we go through the lake, we might fall into the water but if we try to contour it, we could never find another way there or any other place for the matter”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the options, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities. The frozen lake stretched out before you like a vast, treacherous barrier, its surface deceptive in its stillness. The fire’s warmth seemed tantalizingly close, yet the journey across the ice was fraught with danger.

“We can’t afford to lose time,” Zemo finally said, his voice edged with urgency. “The cold will kill us if we stay out here much longer.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of crossing that ice sent a chill down your spine. One misstep, and you could end up submerged in the freezing water below, with no chance of escape. It would be a slow, agonizing death.

“But if the ice breaks…” Your voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air.

Zemo glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of resolve in his gaze. “We’ll move slowly, test every step. If the ice shows any sign of giving way, we’ll retreat. But we don’t have the luxury of finding another way. Not in this weather.”

You forced yourself to nod, there was no real alternative, you had no other choice. The idea of backtracking and trying to find a way around the lake seemed impossible, especially with the storm worsening by the minute. The cold was biting, seeping into your bones, and you knew that any delay could be deadly.

Zemo's face was a mask of stern resolve, his features composed into a calm that bordered on the unsettling. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he assessed the situation. The line of his mouth was tight, giving nothing away, but if you looked closer—if you dared to search beyond the surface—you could see it.

A faint crease at the corner of his eye, a subtle tension in his jaw that hinted at something more. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but a glimmer of concern that he couldn’t entirely hide. It was the kind of worry that didn’t scream out, but whispered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Whatever he was thinking, it was enough to push him forward, enough to make him the first to step onto the uncertain ice, determined to lead the way despite the risks.

You released your grip on Zemo's shoulder, realizing that both of you together would put too much strain on the ice. The weight concentrated in one spot was a risk neither of you could afford.

The separation made each step harder, more uncertain. With each inch of distance that grew between you, the more vulnerable you felt, the bitter cold gnawing at your strength.

Zemo, sensing the need for caution, took a step ahead, then stopped to look back at you, his gaze never wavering until you caught up. Only then did he move forward again, the pattern repeating with each careful step.

The wind howled around you, whipping snow across the frozen lake, and your heart pounded with each delicate movement. You matched Zemo’s rhythm, taking your time to ensure the ice held beneath your feet. But your progress was slower, your body weighed down not only by exhaustion and pain but by the growing fear that the ice might not hold.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed across the lake, splitting the silence. Your eyes widened with alarm and Zemo froze, as the ice beneath his feet began to fracture. Quickly, he shifted his weight, moving to a more stable section before the crack could spread further.

“Don’t step here!” he warned, his voice cutting through the wind.

It wasn’t like you were planning to do so.

You avoided the spot, carefully navigating around it as your pulse quickened. At first, it looked fine, you both were going well so far. You didn’t take your eyes off Zemo's back, not for one second, just like he didn’t stop looking back at you time and time again. Not at all.

Then, from afar, a distant voice reached your ears. The voice was very far from you both, you couldn’t discern for sure who was and what the person was saying, but it came from where both of you were before. So, it wasn’t difficult to not assume the worst.

“We have to be quick,” you whispered to the baron. Even knowing it would be a difficult task to you, you knew that there was no better alternative.

Zemo nodded, it wasn’t the time to disagree with you.

You picked up your pace, each step a calculated risk on the treacherous ice. The cold air bit at your exposed skin, your breath visible in the frigid air. The ice groaned under the weight of your footsteps, each sound sending a shiver down your spine. The memory of the crack beneath Helmut's feet was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

As you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of impending doom hanging heavy over you. The distant voice continued to echo in your mind, urging you to move faster, to escape whatever threat loomed behind you. But the ice was unpredictable, each step requiring your full attention, leaving little room for anything else.

You glanced back at Zemo, his determined expression mirroring your own. He was focused, his eyes scanning the ice for any signs of weakness. You could see the strain in his features, the tension in his body as he led the way.

As you hurried across the ice, the ominous crack beneath Helmut's feet earlier seemed to chase you with relentless determination. The fissure, which had once seemed distant and harmless, now raced towards you with terrifying speed.

Then, it happened. Of course, it would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the crack reached your feet, and before you could react, the ice gave way entirely, plunging you into the frigid abyss below.

The icy water enveloped you, its cold grip a thousand needles stabbing into your skin, seizing your lungs in a vice of unbearable agony. It was a pain more excruciating than the searing flames that had scarred you, a sensation of burning from within as water replaced the air in your lungs. Panic set in as you thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the water was disorienting, pulling you down into its dark depths.

Your vision blurry, the world above a distorted, unreachable realm.

You could feel the burn in your chest as you struggled to hold your breath, the cold seeping into your very core. It was like being on fire, the water a cruel, icy inferno. You fought harder, desperate for air, for warmth, for life.

In a snap of fingers, you didn’t want to die anymore and were fighting to live.

Just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, through the haze of your despair, you felt it—a strong hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back from the brink before the waters guided you away. The touch was firm, reassuring, and it brought you back to the present. You remembered Helmut's concerned eyes, searching for yours when you were suspended in the air, holding the edge of the airship with all your might.

You would never dare admit it, but at first, you had thought he would take your hands off the edge and let you fall. But you were surprised when he started to pull you back before being hit and falling with you out of the ship. The determination to save you was what doomed him to be there with you but the glint in his eyes reassured you that he didn’t regret it.

You clung to that memory as you were dragged from the water. The relief of knowing that perhaps he did care for you. Perhaps.

You broke the surface, gasping for air, coughing up the icy liquid that had filled your lungs. Helmut's voice cut through the haze of your shock, steady and grounding. "Are you alright?" he asked, his grip on your wrist unyielding as you trembled violently.

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped deeper. You felt as though you might succumb to death at any moment.

Helmut's eyes scanned the area, calculating the distance to the shore and assessing the condition of the ice. His jaw tightened with resolve as he realized the urgency of the situation. He seemed to be weighing the risks, determining if you could make it across before the cold claimed you. Obviously, you’d start to see your nails following in the middle of the way and when you reached the land… God knows what would be of you.

You saw a flash of determination in his eyes, despite the odds, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. It was as if he had already decided what needed to be done, even if it seemed reckless. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the likelihood of success and the potential for disaster.

Before you could ask what he was thinking, without hesitation, Helmut tightened his hold on your wrist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Cradling you against his chest, he simply took off across the unstable ice, each step a gamble as the surface threatened to give way beneath you.

“Stop it,” you shouted, your eyes open wide when met by the crack in the ice left by every heavy step that Zemo took, “You will kill us both, stop it.”

Your protests and screams of defiance fell on deaf ears as he ran, the ice cracking ominously but miraculously holding until you reached solid ground on the other side.

What the…?

Once safe, you could only stare at the baron in stunned silence, your mind grappling with the whirlwind of events. It was difficult to process what had just happened with you, what you saw and what could have been of both of you.

Zemo was insane, but he was a smart type of insane.

Helmut's voice broke through your daze, "We need to get you warm.”

He continued to carry you until you reached the hut.

The hut was small and rough, built from weathered timber and stone, tucked away as if nature itself had hidden it. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood smoke and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of recently cooked meat. Animal pelts, a sign of a hunter's presence for sure, were strewn across the floor and draped over the few pieces of rough-hewn furniture. A rack of hunting rifles and a collection of traps hung on one wall, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.

The fire in the stone hearth was still smoldering, the embers glowing a dull red, suggesting it hadn't been long since it was tended. A pot of stew, now cold, sat to one side, its contents barely touched. The hunter had likely left in a hurry, not more than ten minutes before your arrival. Helmut's eyes swept the room, taking in the details, his mind working quickly.

He set you down gently on a sturdy wooden chair covered with a thick fur, moving swiftly to restart the fire. The cold had seeped into your bones, and you shivered uncontrollably as you watched him work. He shrugged off his coat and your shirt, hanging them nearby on an iron hook to dry. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, as if he had done this many times before.

You knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t in his record anything about almost dying in a cold environment.

Helmut found a few logs of wood stacked neatly in the corner and added them to the dying embers, coaxing the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth began to spread slowly through the room, providing a small but welcome relief from the biting cold.

You watched him through a haze of shivers, he found a heavy wool blanket and wrapped it around you, then knelt to remove your boots and wet socks. The initial sting of the cold was sharp, but as the warmth from the fire began to reach you, the agony of hypothermia started to ease. Your body was wracked with shivers, muscles spasming as they fought to generate heat.

Helmut stopped to watch you, gauging your condition. Seeing you still trembling uncontrollably, he didn't think twice before stripping off his own shirt, the last layer on his torso. He settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around you to share his body warmth.

You protested, your voice a shaky whisper, "You'll get cold too... Why are you doing this?"

"It's the quickest way to warm you up," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "Skin-to-skin contact will help raise your body temperature and save you from hypothermia faster."

For the first time since the fall, you felt your regeneration slowly starting to act, trying to push the cold away from your nerves. So, you didn’t argue with him about that, letting him hug you and hid beneath the blanket by your side.

You shared a strange but comforting silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of you. Gradually, the cold receded, no longer an unbearable ache in your bones. You still felt the chill, but it was no longer the paralyzing freeze that had gripped you before. You began to feel far better than before, your body responding to the warmth, your movements less restricted by the cold.

The warmth also reminded you of the burn wounds on your legs, the pain a dull throb now instead of the sharp agony it had been. You flinched at the sensation, letting your legs drop completely to the floor instead of hugging them.

Zemo noticed, of course.

"We'll take care of those burns properly," he said, taking a look at them beneath the tears of his coat, "Once I'm sure you're alright, I'll find a medical kit around here."

You knitted your brows, watching his face beneath your eyelashes. He remained with the same eyes full of uncertainty, concern, clearer than before. The ones you had met in the airship and found when he held you close before colliding to the cold sea.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked again, your voice laced with confusion and low.

Helmut looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "It's important to treat burn wounds properly to prevent infection and promote healing. You need to stay hydrated, keep the—."

"No, I mean…” You interrupted him, pressing your lips in a thin line, “why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire, the crackling of the wood as it burned. Helmut's eyes met yours, and you saw something there—something unspoken but deeply felt.

“What do you mean?” he asked you back, furrowing his brows.

“You could had ignored me when I was at the edge of that airship, instead you chose to ignore that Doctor Octo-something and came to me, tried to help me even if it meant you going down with me as well,” you shook your head, bewildered by your own words, neither you believed they were true, “Then, when I couldn’t even get up because of these burns, you helped me move forward, without questions or hesitation”

“I—” Zemo opened his mouth, but you were quick to stop him from saying anything.

“The same thing in that lake, there could be John or one of the others when we heard that voice, the smarter thing you could had done when I fell, was to go without me and survive alone,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again, “But you didn’t do it, instead you risked your own life to get me back and ran with me on your arms until we arrived here”

Helmut didn’t look away from you, his lips sealed as he processed what you had just said.

“I still don’t understand your point,” finally, he says, taking a tighter hold of the blanket.

“Why?” you asked again, “Why did you do all of those things for me? I thought you hated me.”

Zemo’s eyes held yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The firelight danced in his gaze, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unreadable than usual. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he was carefully weighing every word he was about to say.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice quieter than you expected. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

You frowned, yes, you did know that, “It doesn’t explain why you’ve risked so much for me.”

He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of more than just this conversation. “You’re part of this mission. And as much as I disagree with your methods, or your allies,” he paused, almost as if choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen your commitment. Your… Hm, courage. I respect that.”

His words were measured, calculated, but there was something underneath them—something that felt almost... Personal. But before you could dissect it, he continued.

“We’ve all made sacrifices. This mission, these battles—it’s taken something from each of us. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. It wouldn’t make sense to leave you behind when we’re so close to the end.”

The logical reasoning made sense, and you wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But there was an undercurrent in his words that tugged at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You trust me,” you said, more a statement than a question.

It… It couldn’t be it, right?

Zemo’s expression softened just slightly, but it was enough for you to notice.

“I do,” the confession sounded like a sacrifice for Helmut, but he kept going, “You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk, how untrusting it would be. Despite that, you did, time and time again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you said, looking away, “I was the first to get exposed by John and the others, he instantly noticed me and that’s why the whole fight started.”

“But he wasn’t going to attack until I fired at him, before he could think about hitting you,” he pointed out in response, “Is that really why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? I thought you had changed your mind after I talked to you there. I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Zemo had a way of cutting through your defenses, making you question the very things you were sure of. You had been blaming yourself, replaying the events in your mind, searching for the moment you could have done something to keep everyone safe. But here he was, taking part of the burden, as if he, too, felt the weight of every choice made.

It was unnerving, this sudden realization that maybe you weren’t alone in this guilt.

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you confessed quietly, the words escaping before you could stop it.

Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—something almost vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Because leaving you behind wasn’t an option,” he replied, his voice steady, resolute.

The room felt smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing in on the two of you. The tension hung between you, thick and heavy, but neither of you made a move to break it. You studied his face, trying to find the exact moment when the man who had once been your enemy had started caring about you—really caring. But all you saw was that same enigmatic expression, guarding whatever he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t even know himself.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Not at all”.

But he heard you, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he teased lightly, though there was no real bite to his words.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. The moment passed, and as you both settled into a more comfortable silence, you felt a strange sort of contentment—a realization that somehow, amidst all the chaos.

“I trust you too,” you whispered to the silence, a quiet confession.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally took hold. The thought of Helmut didn’t leave you as you drifted into sleep, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold.

Neither you left his mind when he watched you closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulders. He looked away, not able to hold back a smile.

next chapter: Wasting our chances >>

[the-dork-urge]

Worth loving - Rolan ||BG3||

Short little drabble. Mention of abuse.

You had been so young when you first fell for him. His ambition and drive were mesmerizing, especially to someone as lost as you were back then. Lorroakan had seemed to have it all figured out—steady, purposeful, the very embodiment of what you wanted to be. You admired him deeply, maybe even envied that sense of purpose, which only made you cling to him more, hoping that some of his confidence would become yours.

But the years had changed him. He was colder now, less a man and more a statue of what he once was, sculpted and polished yet hollow. The warmth you’d once felt from him had faded, replaced by control and manipulation that seemed to touch every corner of your life. The boy you’d loved was gone.

And yet, you told yourself you still loved him. You held tight to the fleeting moments that did feel genuine, those rare times when he touched you with something like tenderness or looked at you as though you were everything to him. In those seconds, the years melted away, and it felt like you’d found your way back to him, back to the love you’d once had.

But those moments were always temporary, slipping through your fingers like sand. You’d search for them, try to make them last, but they’d dissolve into the reality of who he had become. And each time, you found yourself trapped in the same cycle, seeking solace in him, only to be left feeling emptier, more lost than before. But leaving him? That terrified you. Without him, who were you?

Then there was Rolan.. At first, he was just another student of Lorroakan’s, caught up in the same orbit, unaware of the traps laid out before him. Like you, he’d fallen into Lorroakan’s pattern of affection and neglect, and you watched as he was praised one moment only to be cast aside the next. And then there was the violence—the way Lorroakan’s frustrations manifested in blows. You knew those moments all too well, the scars they left. Now, they barely fazed you, as if you’d become immune to them.

You tended to Rolan’s wounds in secret, hiding in the shadows, whispering reassurances as you cared for his bruises. You told him to be strong, even as you quietly pleaded for him to leave. But as the words left your lips, you realized the plea wasn’t just for him—it was for you, too. Why didn’t you leave? The answer felt like a weight you couldn’t lift: One day, it would all be worth it.

So when you lay beside Lorroakan, a man who had become a stranger to you, your thoughts wandered to Rolan. Rolan, with his curiosity, his passion, his thirst for knowledge that came from a genuine desire to understand the world. He was nothing like Lorroakan. There was no arrogance in him, no need to control others—just a quiet brilliance and a warmth that ran beneath his wit, something gentle and pure. He listened to you, not as a formality, but because he genuinely cared. His gaze, the way it drifted to you when Lorroakan was near, held a quiet promise of protection, a reassurance that you weren’t alone.

And in Rolan, you saw someone worth loving. Worth fighting for.

That’s when you realized you couldn’t keep pretending. You deserved more than to wither in someone else’s shadow. You deserved a love that wasn’t twisted into something you barely recognized. So, in the quiet of the tower, you found yourself drawn to him, his face softened, his eyes filled with a gentleness that took your breath away.

You leaned in. All the lies, the manipulation, the twisted love you’d clung to melted away in that moment. This was what you wanted—a heart fluttering with hope, a choice that was entirely yours. And in Rolan’s arms, you felt it: the warmth of a love you had waited far too long to find.

[bunnakit]

last twilight episode 6 thoughts, feelings, etc.

it's that time again and i've decided to be very extra for this episode because, well, it deserves it. what a ride that was. fair warning i was feeling fucking romantic and wistful for this.

we have August showing up, trying to integrate himself into their daily routine, and then disrupting that routine entirely. and when he suggests running with Day Mhok seems defensive, jealous and probably concerned that August has seemed unreliable before - and currently is operating with more information than Day, leaving them on unequal footing. August knows about Day's feelings for him, but Day has no idea August knows, and that's not really fair. but Mhok doesn't want to say anything because maybe, just maybe, August could make Day happy. maybe Day could finally get what he wants for the first time in a long while.

so Mhok watches. because Mhok will never put himself first, it's not who he is.

Day clings to these broken and battered shoes, a connection to a past life he thought he had to leave behind. he clings to familiarity and comfort. all things Mhok has become to him.

and so maybe Mhok sees himself in these battered, rough around the edges shoes. maybe Mhok believes he can be fixed, just like the splitting sole. maybe Day is fixing him every day, not in a stupid fucking 'he saved me' bullshit like the crying guy at the interview, but in a genuine, he's changed my outlook on life, my perspective, my everything, and made me a better person. maybe these scuffed shoes can be better if someone helps them.

and so he fixes the shoes, just as he's been fixing himself ever since he walked through Day's front door, and he gives Day the sunflower he couldn't give him before. Day asks him what it is but again Mhok doesn't have the heart to say. he doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain, only moves past the moment because this isn't for him, isn't about him, this is about Day reclaiming something he thought he lost.

How can I throw them away? I love them so much.

Maybe if he loves these broken and scuffed shoes he could love me too.

and here's where we have a story narrating for us again, my absolute favorite thing about this entire series. i love the narration from the books they read - and i love that the boys are both simultaneously the character represented. the words always have a way of applying to both of them and it's fucking gorgeous.

and with this narration we've been so seamlessly slotted into Mhok's POV. everything up until now has focused pretty strongly on Day's struggles and adjustments, we've seen everything from the lens of Day and what he's facing, but suddenly we're so perfectly slotted into Mhok's body, something we haven't focused too hard on yet. sure, we've seen his pain and his grief, but we're seeing so much more now, so many little intricacies and inner thoughts. i absolutely love how this was done.

Do you think I fell in love with him without realizing it?

and as he has this love blooming in his chest, this realization of the magnitude of his feelings - that he doesn't just want Day to be happy but wants to be the source of that happiness - Mhok begins to become invisible again. it's a place he's familiar with and it doesn't come as a surprise. just with a mournful resignation. this is how it always is, and how it was always going to be.

and just like with Porjai he decides to step back. it's worth it as long as the people he loves are happy; even if that means he's not by their side.

like the scuffed shoes, Mhok is replaced with something better. Day put in his eye drops and no longer looks to Mhok but to August instead.

and as Mee and Day's fear grows smaller Mhok's grows larger. the fear of being left behind and the fear of being forgotten. the fear that Day no longer needs him, will no longer look to him for help or seek him out. the fear that he's lost his place as Day's friend, slid back into the role of only a caretaker, and perhaps even further back still into a stranger.

Mhok's shirt reads: IF LOST, DROP IN ANY MAILBOX. Return Postage Guaranteed.

because Mhok is lost. he doesn't know where he stands anymore, where he fits into Day's life. but he knows he'll always return to Day's side for as long as he needs him.

the scuffed shoes are left on the shelf, just as Mhok has tucked away his feelings for Day. they'll always be there, familiar and reliable, and maybe someday Day will need them again. maybe someday.

and then we learn that Night smokes, and maybe Day never hated the smell of cigarettes.

I think his voice is like the scent of cigarettes.

maybe Day just hated the way the smell reminded him of Night.

and we learn Day had fully resigned himself to spending his birthday alone.

his mother would be out of town, spending it with Night is out of the question, August has practice, and it's Mhok's day off. as if Mhok would rather be anywhere else. Day is used to not being a priority.

as Day peers at Mhok's chest maybe it feels like he can see into him. Mhok has always felt invisible, but somehow Day saw him in spite of all of that. maybe he wonders if Day can see into his chest, see that his heart is made of sunflowers, tucked away and kept in secret as to not inconvenience Day. and maybe Mhok wonders: can you see them? can you see the way they bloom and turn towards your light?

and for a moment Mhok is weak. he takes Day's hand and places it back on his chest as if to say: my heart is here and it belongs to you, can't you feel it?

and here is where i will begin to cry and not stop crying until the end of the episode - so if you're crying don't worry, i'm here with you.

because Day sprays Mhok with Tiwa cologne. fucking Tiwa cologne.

Tiwa means day time. the cologne was created to mimic the atmosphere of the Thai countryside during the day.

suddenly, Mhok is bathed in the scent of Day. both the concept and the man.

it's Day's favorite scent.

It smells both like toughness and aggression.

At first, you want to flee from it.

But after you scent it for a while, it makes you feel warm.

and Mhok's face falls at first because is that how Day sees him? he thought Day saw him, he thought Day understood that he's not all the things people say he is and - oh.

oh.

you can see the palpable relief across Mhok's face because Day does see him, does understand him.

(the cologne also shows us once again Day's privilege. Tiwa costs $140 a bottle, or ฿‎4884)

again Day asks what Mhok is going to this dinner as, and then asks why Mhok is so secretive.

and maybe for a moment, for just those fleeting few minutes they spent getting ready together, Mhok was able to pretend this was real. he was able to pretend Day was going to dinner with him, would stay by his side and enjoy his birthday with him, create new memories with him.

but that's not for him. it's just another sunflower he tucks away in his chest.

they arrive at the party and there's no place for Mhok; not at Day's side, not at the table, not anywhere. he's never acknowledged again by anyone there, no one offers him a spot because he's an outsider, this place isn't for him. when the sun no longer shines on Mhok he is invisible once again.

suddenly, Mhok is back in his own fish tank - because it's not only Little Day that freed himself of the cloying miasma of his environment but Big Mhok had as well. his tank was clean, he could breathe and see clearly again.

but now he's back there, as smoke fills his lungs and regret tastes like ash on his tongue. he can't smell the jasmine blooms anymore.

Day still looks for him, still seeks him out because Mhok has always stayed, has always been around even when Day didn't know he needed him. Mhok's been there at every step of this journey and now suddenly Day is adrift on his own. what do you do when the person that has always been there is suddenly gone?

it probably feels as if Day has been robbed of yet another one of his senses.

and we see Day get overwhelmed again, the narrative has shifted away from Mhok now and we're nestled back in Day's body where things are so loud and so much, too much, and he doesn't have the one person he can find comfort in there. everyone is trying too hard, treating him like glass, and he's still a fucking human being, he's still an adult man, he's not a fucking child -

and so he escapes. he finds a moment of peace and collects himself. he hears someone approach and who else could it be but Mhok? it's always Mhok, it's always been Mhok.

but Mhok's not here.

August is.

and suddenly August is kissing him but it's not right, it doesn't feel like he thought it would, and maybe he realizes he liked the idea of August more than August himself. maybe he clung to memories made fond and soft with time.

because this? this is not the kiss of a man full of hope and love. if Bad Buddy taught me anything, this is a kiss goodbye.

the hero is coming and it's time for the villain to go.

Mhok knows better than anyone that the one thing Day doesn't want from anyone, the one thing he fears the most in all of this, is receiving pity. he's never wanted to be pitied for any of this, but August has just pitied him in the worst possible way. and of course Mhok is here to see it.

of course Mhok would come back, now of all times.

and we see Mhok speak in a way we haven't before. his rage becomes incandescent, beyond the limits of just shouting, and it's the quiet of his rage that becomes far more terrifying. it's the quiet calm before the storm. Day has never seen Mhok enraged, not really, he's never been there when Mhok has hit someone, but he must hear the control slipping from Mhok's voice.

because August held everything Mhok had ever wanted in his hands and played with it, pitied it, and tossed it away. how can he be anything but full of bitter fury?

but as Day holds Mhok's hand he stops. he reluctantly releases his hold and curls his fingers around Day's hand. he'd do anything for Day, now more than ever.

Mhok speaks softly to Day and holds him close, the hug as much for Day as it is for him. they're both broken, both trying to hold on to the withered petals of their hearts. if they hold on tight enough maybe they can hold each other together.

and now we're to my absolute favorite recurring thing Mhok does.

Mhok takes Day away, he doesn't let him retreat into that tiny fish tank. Mhok brings Day out into the world, to breathe the fresh air.

and each time he's brought Day somewhere he can enjoy without his sight - yes, even this rooftop.

on the porch, Day could smell the jasmine blossoms.

Day could smell the flowers at the market, was surrounded by their scent.

now he's bathed in the light of the rising sun, in the warmth it has to offer.

the world feels different in the early hours of the morning. the air is a little colder, a little thinner, everything is more quiet and subdued. you can feel the sun start to thaw out the Earth, can feel as it glides over your face and warms your cheeks.

this place is special to Mhok, a small sanctuary he's tucked away for himself, and now he's sharing it - and a shard of his past - with Day. in exchange, Day opens up. he explains that no one really liked him before, that each person (Gee not withstanding) at that party pitied him and were only there as some sort of act of charity.

I'm just so damn lucky to be blind.

because people are looking at him now, right? he has everyone's attention now. he got to kiss his crush. people would fall at his feet to help him.

but it's all wrong, tainted with pity and charity. he has their pity but not their affection.

Is there anyone else in this world who doesn't feel pity for me?

Do you still think I feel pity for you? Mhok asks after kissing Day in the light of the rising sun, because Mhok has never pitied Day, not for a single moment in time. it's not pity that he feels housed in his chest but love, overwhelming and all consuming.

just as the moon represented the hearts of Moonlight Chicken so does the sun represent the hearts of Last Twilight. this is the dawn of something new for both of them, fragile but hopeful.

I'M JUST FEELING SO FUCKING MUCH. do you think p'aof will be my best friend? if you've read this far i'm smooching you and also here's a dumb little surprise.

tag loves: @benkaaoi @callipigio @lookwhatihave

[chilahh16]

"I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime."

What would you do when you lost the very person that stood beside you all throughout everything? When things became shitty and the world seems to grapple you into failure anytime it gets.

Charles Leclerc was lost. The world seems to spin in black and white - toying with him as it continue its motion. The he now found no real happiness in the times where a smile and laugh should be there. He's a way into the dark and cannot find a light to guide him back.

He was no fool to not know when it all started - when everything came crashing down; and when he felt drowned. Who was he to forget when almost everyone that witness their story has yet to let go, and when everything reminded him of her. That beyond the talks of Formula 1, people still whisper of her name, the kindness, the warmth, and being the iconic woman that she is.

Everything's still etched in his memories. 2019 was a year where his hard work has paid off - all the sweat and tears poured in order to win on that fateful day was worth it. But it was her who made it all complete. Y/n L/n did not only cry for him as his car blazed along the finish line, she cheered for him loudly, repeating his name again and again as she jump in exhilaration. She yelled the words " He did it", "He's a race winner", and " He won, my Charles won". She ran towards parc ferme alongside his team exuberating elation and pride as he triumph. And as he exit his car, he ran towards them, hugging his team with her in it as they bask in his glory. But it was not the highlight of his win, it was when she guide his face-covered helmet toward her and kissed the place where his lips would be. They stood there, envelop in a bubble, as the circuit cheered for him. All Charles felt at that time was the pure burst of love he has for Y/n. He relish in the feel of her touch as her hands found their place on either side of his neck. It was not visible to others but Y/n saw the tears that ran down his cheeks as he stood victorious on that day's race. His eyes spoke volumes of what his quivering lips cannot and she smiled for him, understanding what he would like to convey.

" You're a race winner, Char. I am so proud of you." she whispered amongst the loud cheers but Charles heard her, causing his smile to widen.

" Thanks to you. I am here because you're with me. So, thank you for sticking by my side." he uttered though muffled by his racing helmet but, Y/n did not mind. She'll hear every single words coming from him as she finds his voice a cacophony of melody that somehow lulls her soul to calm.

" Go up there, Champ. Claim that top step." she urged as someone called Charles to the cool down room.

The hesitation was evident on those forest green orbs of his as he cling on her - hands tightly holding her in place. Gripping her waist and settling his face in the crook of her neck like his life depended on it. Y/n chuckled before she kissed the forehead of his helmet.

" I'll stay here so you can see me. You'll hear my voice cheering for you from that top step. Now go. You still have a trophy to get."

Reluctantly Charles let go as the determination in her eyes says everything. He walked backwards toward the room, eyes staring deep into hers as their distance widen. Even when the congratulatory pats and cheers echoed around him, his eyes never stray as he mouthed his declaration of love which she smiled at - his antics never failing to amuse her, before a fond look settled in her feature, answering him with utmost honesty and love.

' And I love you.'

It was after the celebrations that he was made aware of how proud and happy Y/n is of him winning. His teammates had teased him all throughout the night of how lucky he was. That no other driver has their woman jumping and cheering so loud that it can be heard from the grandstand. Charles can only smile and laugh to their stories but it was when Arthur showed him a video of Y/n hyping up and jumping inside his garage as he neared the finish line that he placed credit to the truthfulness of his teams statement. He truly is lucky to have her. And seeing how she is with everyone, doubled the love he has for the woman. He believed in God but is not one to pray. However, in that moment as he watched her walk towards him, an endearing smile set on her lips, he prayed that she'll stay beside him, always.

As he raced in his home circuit for the 6th time, it was her face that he sees. The conversations that they had before echoed in his mind as he pushed the car to its limit. To every turn, memories of her came and when he speed past the finish line, he saw her jumping proudly for him as her hands waved in the air knowing that he triumph not only in any race but in his home race. He exit his car and a wild smile showed as he raised his arms, further solidifying that he indeed won. He ran to his team clad in red and that is when his smile fell.

No longer was there a woman waiting beyond the barrier shouting his name and yelling as she proudly relish in his victory. No longer was there a kiss on his helmet nor the familiar warmth that came only with her. His first win in his home country did not taste as sweet as he had imagined before. Try as it may, she no longer stand beside him. A new figure occupied her space and no matter what he reasoned himself, he envy her. It is Y/n's rightful place, always has, always will be. But what is he to do?

The kiss he earned that day felt bitter as much as he would like to love it.

Charles indeed was right when he said he was stupid. Because looking at the now, he wish more than anything to once again hear her proudly cheer his name, see her jumping and exude happiness upon seeing him. He would of given anything just to get her back and see her with him as he came as the victor but, it has already been lost. That even attempting to follow her and get her back would prolly incur her wrath. Was it selfish to want her to be angry just so he could see and feel her again? Because he does not know what to do anymore. He had lost the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with. He had lost her. Lost her to death.

And as he stands on the top step that day, he let himself cry and crumble. With the country's anthem on the background, he remember his days with her. And as he raised the winner's trophy, his eyes did not linger on the people below, he stared through the sky hoping, praying that she can see him that day. It was a first that people of the world saw the vulnerability in Charles. Everyone know even without uttering anything. The win was for Herve and Jules but, it was Y/n's as well. It was hers and so much more.

Everyone realized, it may be that their love was fleeting but, it was a love of a lifetime. Hence, Charles will love her even when death parted them in this life. He'll continue loving her until they are together again. Because no matter what, she is for him as he is for her. Always.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Five (The End)

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors note: The ending! The final chapter of Matty and Mouse's story, my heart is actually breaking. Honestly loved writing these two, as well as baby Teds, and I hope you lot loved them too because all the love this series has gotten means so much, it feels surreal. Hopefully I can write a few blurbs of them or something in the future but this is it for now. So thank you for all the support!

Warnings: EMOTIONS, Matty and Mouse way of thinking, little bit of angst, referencing to past hurts (such as not making it to a certain age), smut, unprotected sex, self-conscious characters?

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Matty wouldn’t have been able to say what the time must have been if anyone had dared ask. He’d been propped up against the headboard, still in his t-shirt and jeans, his hand never having fallen from the top of her head even after she’d finally worn herself out and drifted to sleep.

His stomach churned pitifully at the reminder, at how hard she had cried. Gasping and sobbing into that fucking pillow she still held onto, all whilst clinging to the skin of his wrist with an unforeseen strength. As though she’d been pleading in her grip of him, asking him not to go just yet.

That hold had diminished a tad during the night, she’d always been a fitful sleeper– had kneed him one too many times between the legs for him to not know that fact– but this time around… She’d been almost deathly still, aside from the frowning expressions that clouded her face whilst she’d dreamt.

He continued to sit there though, watching on as the moon sunk so that the sun could slowly climb its way into the irradiating sky, giving way to that first hint of morning.

He hadn’t slept a wink, not really. Nodded off for a second or two once or twice before he’d found himself jerking awake again. Couldn’t seem to stay down for much longer than that.

And why would he? When he’d all but destroyed the woman laying beside him. This proud, strong and resilient woman that he’d been so idolised by, so enraptured with. The one person in his fucking forsaken life that had appeared so utterly invincible.

She was a survivor. A mother. A friend. 

And she was kind. Funny. Resilient.

Then she’d gone and met him, hadn’t she?

And he’d ruined her like he did everything else.

Practically broken her. 

Torn the last pieces of her further apart.

The thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach. Aching with this unbound need to grovel and cry at her very feet, to make her see enough sense so that she could understand just how much she didn’t need someone like him. That she was strong enough to do it all alone. That she didn’t need to cling to him as she had, like rust to a buoy long lost at sea.

Guilt.

That was what that sticky feeling growing in his gut was. That overwhelming malady that was eating him up from the inside out, making him feel so utterly sick.

He had come over to see her. So that they might be able to talk things out. He’d come to apologise. To make things right between them. But instead, what had he done?

Pushed.

He’d pushed and fucking pushed, forcing her hand enough so that she had cracked and he’d been able to slip past those high guarded walls of hers.

And now here they were.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though– not all of it at least. 

To have held her again… It had calmed some sick twisted part of him. 

To have just seen her and heard her voice, no matter how pained and angry it had been. It was like the world around him had softened for a split second. Become all grainy.

Matty glanced back over to her sleeping form, to the way she had bundled the duvet high up over her head so that the tip of her nose could bury itself in the slight curve it made, her chin tucked away. 

His hand was still lost somewhere in her hair, thumb cascading out over her temple every now and then, but he didn’t dare pull away. Not until he had no other choice in the matter. 

So he carried on, staying there and lying awake. Thinking over the night before. Thinking back to her devastated expression, to the wary look her eyes had held. To the way she hadn’t spoken a word. To how she had simply forced her cries into silent sobs.

Suddenly, he was stuck on the very realisation that she hadn’t been reacting to it all, to everything she’d been feeling, to what had happened, but rather retreating. Hiding away whilst, somehow, still allowing him to be near. To stay. To watch over her.

A soft sniff had him blinking, regaining composure quick enough so that he could catch the scene play out before him. 

…

I was embarrassed by the previous night's events. By the fact that I had been so determined to keep Matty at arms length and then failed entirely. That he had seen me so weak and well– broken.

But it had all come to a head, I supposed.

I’d been keeping up appearances ever since everything had fallen out, putting on a brave face and a smile for anyone and everyone who could see. It was only ironic, I guessed, for Matty to have been the one to shatter that image completely. 

Still, I swallowed at the sight of him still sitting there beside me the next morning, seeming as though he hadn’t moved an inch throughout the whole night, and shoved all that shame back down. 

“Thought you’d be gone by now.” I heard myself say as I flipped over onto my back so that I could stare up at the ceiling and at the sun drawn lines that stretched out across it.

I listened to his quiet laugh, to the way he shuffled slightly on the mattress, though I didn’t dare look back at him. It was too early and I already felt as though he’d seen enough of me. “Was just hoping for a chance at one of your brews, is all.”

Something in me shifted at his easy words. At the fact that he’d chosen to try and make me smile, instead of calling me out on all my messy bullshit.

“And if I’ve got no milk?” I replied, just because this was easier than arguing anymore.

I felt him shift, probably shrugging if I knew him as well as I thought I did. “Shops open soon enough.”

The corner of my mouth twitched, although I continued my staring contest with the blank space sat high above us. 

“Who says I’ll let you back in?”

He did laugh then, a deep rumble of a chuckle that was rough from disuse and a lack of sleep. Matty sniffed, “Just gonna have to try my luck then, I ‘spose.”

It was only in that next second that I realised something, something that had me inhaling sharply as Matty’s fingers dragged their way through my hair to tuck a frizzy strand behind my ear, before then pulling away entirely.

My eyes slipped closed at the sudden loss and my hands curled into tight fists beneath the duvet at the very thought of him having stayed that way throughout the night. Of having held me in the only way he’d been able to, as though he believed it might have kept some small part of me together. Only pulling away now that he could see that I wasn’t going to crack beneath the weight of everything I still held.

The bed shifted and the sound of his feet hit the floor.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him as he stood.

Matty moved throughout my bedroom with an ease I didn’t even own, picking up the hoodie he’d thrown over my desk chair all those days ago, the same one I hadn’t allowed myself to touch, let alone wear. 

I almost told him not to take it, but withheld. Only just managing to bite down on my tongue as I watched him shrug it on. It was his afterall.

“Gonna nick your keys,” He told me whilst he shook the hood out around his neck and dragged it up over his tousled curls, “Only be about ten minutes. You can shower or whatever, not worry about letting me back in.”

I could only nod in return and he smiled, pausing in the doorway to look back at me for a second or two before he nodded, almost fretfully, and turned away.

I waited, lying there still enough that I was surprised I didn’t go stiff from how tightly I was wound, until I heard the familiar rattle of keys and then the squeaking hinges of the front door. It closed behind him so quietly that had I not been holding my breath I might not have even heard it. 

I was rubbing at my face not a minute later, hauling back tears leftover from last night's show, before I heaved an anguished scream that was more air than actual sound from my lungs.

Forcing myself to calm– and not dissolve into fucking hysterics– I willed myself up, noting that I was still naked as I kicked the covers away. Another thing I’d gone and bared for him, I supposed. As though it wasn’t enough that I had already cried myself to sleep with him just sitting a hand’s stretch away, but that we’d actually gone and slept together. After everything.

My head was warring with my heart as I dragged myself up out of the dirtied sheets, throwing on an old tee so that I could shove them into the washer before he got back. I forced myself into the shower quickly after, letting the hot water roll off my skin.

I must’ve been stood there for a long while, drowning under the heavy spray, because it was the sound of the door that broke me from the faraway place I’d found myself in whilst staring at the tiled walls.

Blinking, I wiped the water from out of my eyes and forced myself to wash, lathering up my hair and going through the motions, before I finally stepped out. 

I didn’t dare peer into the mirror, not all too desperate to see the state I’d worked myself into on my way out. Choosing to head back into the bedroom instead, padding over towards the dresser to pull out some clean clothes and only noticing the fresh sheets that had been pulled onto the bed when I’d finally dressed.

The towel I’d been holding to lightly dry my hair slowly dropped to my side at the sight. I opened my mouth to call out and probably ask– But I stopped myself before I could. Ask what? I wondered. Why? Then shook my head at the very idea.

Doing the smart thing by shutting my mouth, I dumped the towel in the hamper and pulled on a pair of socks, taking a deep breath before deciding to venture further out into the flat. 

I found him in the kitchen.

He didn’t peer over his shoulder but he must’ve heard me putter in because he greeted me: “I know I said I’d be quick but I passed by that little bakery on my way back– that hidden gem we liked that one time? Anyway, it just smelt fuckin’ devine.” He accentuated that last bit, making me smile slightly, “And I just couldn’t not, you know? Been a while, but they had those danishes you like in the window. Got a couple to share as well as some other bits.” Matty explained, head still halfway in the bag he’d obviously brought back with him, a pint of milk sat alone on the side, “And a sausage roll for Teds– kid was eating them like he was gonna starve a while ago. So I just thought...”

Matty shrugged, as though that in itself was no big deal, him thinking of my son, and turned around to glance my way with a display case of baked-goods now lining my kitchen counter.

I snorted softly at the sight, jerking my chin out towards the lot of them, “Just thought you’d bring back half the shop?” I teased and was all too pleased when he chuckled around the beginnings of a smirk.

He was quick with his quip, “So I’m guessin’ you don’t want one of these danishes then?” 

I narrowed my eyes at the sheer nerve. “I never said that.”

Matty’s nose scrunched with his next shrug before he moved to snap one up for himself. “Sort of sounded like it, sweetheart.”

I shook my head, biting down on my growing grin as I slid across the kitchen to grab at one too. 

I hummed around the first bite I took and all but moaned at the flavour of it, blinking my eyes back open only to find Matty wearing the most delighted little grin. I rolled my eyes but didn’t grant him the gift of an actual reply, though it didn’t seem to waver him either way.

We seemed to move seamlessly around one another after that; him filling up the kettle whilst I placed two mugs down on the countertop; the clink of a teaspoon being shot into one cup as I moved to grab the tin of tea bags; Matty switching the radio on like it was second nature and me smiling away to myself as I poured the milk.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek once we’d finally settled, he’d chosen to take up room at the table whilst I carefully stored the remaining pastries away for later.

I wanted to talk, to try and hash things out again, because this felt right to me. Him being here. In my dingy little kitchen, small but still so crowded with all sorts of bits and bobs, as well as a plethora of crayon coloured drawings. And he just, well, Matty just fit here. Or maybe that was just me hoping. Ignoring the bigger warning signs so that I wouldn’t have to feel so alone again.

Was he lying to me?

Had he relapsed?

Did he cheat?

It didn’t seem like he’d done any of those things. There was no guilt in his gaze and yesterday… I’d never seen him like that. Even whilst stressed or overwhelmed, Matty had never cried. He’d never looked at me like that either, as though he was slowly breaking before my eyes.

He’d said his piece, he’d promised, and then he’d apologised. 

But.

What if I was just making a bigger mug of myself here?

Letting him back in. Giving him my forgiveness. Having him in my bed.

Was I saying that it was okay? Was that the impression I’d be giving? That he could lie and walk all over me and that everything would still be fine.

It left the world feeling a little more tilted than it had been only moments before. It left me questioning everything, once again.

…

“What are we doing, Matty?”

Matty was slow in looking back over at her, fingers tapping aimlessly away on the kitchen table to some song that had been playing on the radio. 

“What do you mean?”

She huffed, a quiet chuckle full of disbelief rippling through the air, “I mean, what are we doing here?” 

“The fuck if I know.” Matty replied, just as soft as that laughter she’d given him, shrugging at her from across the kitchen. Because what was he meant to say to that?

She just shook her head in turn though, completely unaware to the way he was now watching her. Taking her all in. The way the outline of her body glowed whilst bathed in the morning light that shone in through the windows. Of how her slowly drying hair curled at parts in the easy breeze that crept by. And how endeared he was by the way she never failed to tuck her joggers, or pyjama bottoms, or whatever else she’d decided to throw on whilst at home into her socks. It made her who she was, all these mindless little tidbits that he’d gathered over the last year, that he had observed. 

“We can’t just– move on. Carry on like nothing’s happened.” She sounded frustrated. Sad.

“Why not?” It was almost sarcastic, the way he said it, but his voice held a whole lot of truth to it. He wanted this and he wanted her. And he’d be a fucking fool to deny it. 

And what would the world make of the two of them anyway? Cause she’d gone and claimed the very same thing last night, hadn’t she? 

The pair of them, fools.

“‘Cause everything’s a mess.” She answered back, staring at him now, almost defeated. 

Her shoulders were slumped and she wore that sad smile she often favoured when she was at a loss, slowly being eaten away by a horde of thoughts she couldn’t seem to control. 

He watched her fidget with the hem of her sleeve, peering down at it. 

“Because after everything, Matty,” She breathed, voice soft even in the quiet of the kitchen, “I know that I love you and I don’t want to lose what we have left here. I don’t want that ruined.”

Matty’s mouth worked itself into a small smile as his eyes dragged between her own, trailing over the short scar that crossed the bridge of her nose, remembering the night she’d teared up when he’d reached out to caress it. 

“I’d rather be ruined by you than not have you at all, Mouse.”

She blew air from out of her nose in a soundless chuckle, cheeks rounding around an amused grin for the briefest of seconds before her eyes skittered away from him again. “That meant to be all poetic?”

He gave her a curt nod and then just grinned, legs fanned out before him. “In the job description. Musician, remember?”

“Oh, do I.” She quipped back just as sarkily, leaning against the counter as she continued to watch him from under dark lashes. Matty reckoned he’d let her shove him under a microscope if it got her to let him stick around. If only for a while longer.

A silence passed between them. 

“I love you.” Matty murmured, so sure of that fact, “That much I know. But I won’t ask you for anything more than I already have, you make the choice. You can hold the cards. And whatever you decide, I’ll accept.”

Her face hardened a fraction, as though she were steeling herself for an argument or something other. Hiding how underprepared she’d been for his words perhaps. Matty only hoped that she’d heard the truth in them.

“No fight? You’ll just accept it and leave?”

Matty didn’t dare blink but dipped his head in slight acknowledgement. “If that’s what you want.”

The woman before him just continued to stare him down and for once, Matty couldn’t read her face. Had no idea what the hell she might’ve been thinking. Or feeling. Or what plans she was currently devising in that clever head of hers.

“Okay.”

It took all of his sheer effort not to react to that one simple word, even though she had practically just gone and ripped his fucking heart out of his chest. 

Actually, he supposed that was another lie he’d told. She’d done that months ago, on the day they’d met and went and ruined him for good.

I’d rather be ruined by you.

It’s what he’d said.

He couldn’t go back on it now. 

“Okay.” He answered her, voice just barely above a whisper that he wasn’t sure she heard over the squeaking of his chair legs.

And then he was standing in her kitchen for what he supposed would be the last time. He saw her grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening, gaze unstraying, but she didn’t say another word. 

They stared at one another for what felt like the longest minute on Earth and Matty could practically feel the ground shifting beneath the soles of his feet as he realised that now everything would really change.

His breath caught, the thought hitting him like a shit ton of bricks and he knew then that he had to leave before he broke down and took it all back. Before he was a fucking mess of a man on her kitchen floor. 

He turned on his heel and made for the door.

“Where’re you going?”

Matty froze, entirely rooted to the floor.

He continued to stare resolutely ahead, scared to move in case she had changed her mind. In case she was saying what he thought she was.

“Your tea’s gonna go cold… and I thought you could pick Teds up with me later.” She was going for nonchalant, aiming and almost hitting, but she missed the mark by just a hair. “He was with Ads yesterday, you know, and she dropped him off at nursery this morning for me. Just figured.”

Matty pivoted on his heel, slow going and hardly daring to steal a breath as he did, before he was looking straight at her. At the way her teeth had sunk into her lower lip, the careful sheen her eyes had taken on, and then the singular strand of hair which had fallen from behind her ear. He was across the room and on her in a second. 

Firm hands held her face, thumbs guarding either cheek as he bored everything he couldn’t seem to say into the next look he gave to her. Wanting her to see it all. To know, or simply understand.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

She laughed.

“Wanna bet…” Her words trailed off into a heavy breath and Matty could feel the strength of his grin as he leaned in close, nose bumping against hers, his eyes flickering over the entirety of her face, attempting to take her in all at once.

There was buzzing under his skin, he could feel it in the tips of his fingers, all the way down to his toes, and heard the way it hummed throughout his chest. 

It was then that he realised he couldn’t see an end without her in it.

He wanted everything with this woman. 

Everything.

And that should’ve been the most terrifying thought.

Because once he had believed he would never see the end of sixteen, puking into the bushes outside his bedroom window and not having the strength to make it that extra mile. To let mum know that he was alright.

Then it had been nineteen, that first real stint in hospital. He’d been scared to shit and alone, the darkness hiding all the groans and upset of the other patients with real issues.

But nineteen had come and gone, so then he figured twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two? Definitely twenty-five… Had to be.

Twenty-eight had been both the end and the beginning for him. 

But even without everything that had been holding him back after that, the drugs, the people, the money. After he’d gotten clean– proper clean– he’d never really thought far enough ahead. 

To a point where he might feel settled or want to start building a place for himself in the world. A real place, one amongst family and friends, not just amongst admiration and music– as much as it had helped shape him.

He’d never once pictured this. A person. 

Girlfriends? Yeah. Flings and one night stands? Sure. But a person that would be his. Completely. That he could share half of himself with?

No, he couldn’t say that he’d ever seen that coming, that something like this would have one day been in the cards for him.

And Matty wanted so badly to sink his claws in and cling on for as long as he possibly could, for as long as she’d be willing, and then even more so. Until somebody else came along and inevitably unhooked him. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Because this was too perfect to go and destroy like that. 

He’d always claimed to be a selfish man, but in this regard, all the love he had worth giving would be spent on her. On the days they’d spend together. On meals and dates. On flowers and apologies for when he eventually messed up again, because he knew himself too well to deny that fact. He’d spend it on giving her security, on rebuilding her trust. He’d spend it on her son. On the little boy he’d become so besotted by.

And if it ruined him, if it killed him? He reckoned he’d be okay with that.

He’d be content. Finally having something to be proud of.

“What are you waiting for?”

Matty eyes tracked the length of her face, fingers tangled in her hair whilst his thumbs pressed into the grooves of her temples. What was he waiting for? 

As soon as he thought it, Matty was pressing against her once more, stealing all the breath from her lungs in his haste to answer her.

It was slow, the kiss; soft in the way his lips captured hers for only a few seconds before he was pulling away again, hands shaking where he still cupped her cheeks.

He wanted to make sure that this was what she wanted, but he could see it in her face, that surety, the warmth. And he wouldn’t question that, maybe in some regards he’d be willing to give her anything, but here and now, with this, with wanting her, he would as selfish as he fucking could be. He’d take all that she would give him.

The next kiss was full and deep– urgent.

Matty’s tongue slid into her mouth, hands falling aimlessly away from her face to whatever part of her he could touch, feeling no ounce of remorse over it seeing as she was on the exact same journey, her fingers winding their way up and over every inch of him. 

She kissed back with just as much force, colliding with him in a way that almost felt tortured, as though trying to make up for all the time they had wasted. Not just over the past few days, but the weeks and months they’d spent dancing around one another, pushing and pulling. Despairing this game of tug of war they had started. 

It ended here.

Matty continued to lean up into her, pressing her into the counter as she clawed at the hoodie he wore. Matty felt her nails catch on the skin of his back, whilst he wrapped his arms around her hips.

“Baby,” He whispered breathlessly and then moaned when her mouth closed around his bottom lip, teeth grazing against the flesh before they then bit down. She rocked into him and Matty swore his eyes rolled into the back of his head. 

He reached up a hand to cup the back of her neck so that he could mouth his way across her jaw and down her collar, favouring the skin just beneath her ear. “Need you.”

It was both an admission and a plea.

And then she was grabbing at his face too, forcing his mouth back up to meet hers, breath sweeping over the cut of his jaw. She tangled her fingers in his curls and Matty had the barest second to register that he was actually staying. That she was letting him back in.

His body jolted forward on impulse, arms snaking their way around her waist to splay out over her lower back, pulling her that much closer. Her hold tightened too, hand moving down his neck, thumb pressing lightly against the pulse point there. 

Matty stepped nearer and she welcomed him in, legs parting to let him step between them, kiss turning hungrier as she arched her back up and away from the countertop. He wanted all of her.

She let go of his hair to press in harder, pulling back only so that she could lick his mouth back open and drive her tongue inside. She murmured his name against his lips, once, twice. And then Matty’s hand was between the blades of her shoulders and holding fast. He moved, spinning them outwards, over towards the kitchen door.

She let out a sharp sound that was half gasp and half moan, but all love and desire when they knocked into the arm of the sofa in the living-room and fell back against the soft cushions. 

When they broke apart it was only out of necessity, the need to catch back the breath that had been forced out of them on their tumble down. They shared an airy chuckle.

Then he watched on as she stretched out further up the settee, fingers caught on his wrist so that she could tug him along with her. Their hips aligned as Matty crowded her again, elbow digging into the chair's arm to hold him up above her. He hovered there, their faces and foreheads pressed together, noses lined up side by side. Matty wished to savour every detail of her.

He kissed her again, slower, softer. His lips moved against hers so gently that it was almost reverent, worship-like, and she matched him toe for toe, pouring her whole soul into it, gifting him all the sweetness that she possibly could. 

Matty prayed to whoever might’ve been listening that he could have this.

He supposed someone must’ve heard him because she said, “Stay,” in this careless whisper, in a tone that was more breath than anything else. And his heart stopped.

And then he was nodding. Almost frantically.

He kissed her, the tip of his nose brushing the underneath of hers as he lifted his head to nod one more time. “Long as you’ll let me.”

She whimpered and he groaned, forehead pushing against hers once more as she lifted her hips up to meet his. 

Then they were both lunging for clothes in the same instant, nearly laughing at their clumsy eagerness to get undressed, the sofa being of no help.

Matty pushed back to sit up for a moment, luring her up gently with him so that he could slide her shirt off over her head. She returned the favour, letting him trail a finger over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm once they were done before she was on her back once more. 

“So beautiful.” He felt the need to whisper, even though there was no one else around to hear it. She glanced away.

Matty wouldn’t have that though, a careful hand coming up to coax her eyes back to him, hoping that she would hear the sincerity in his words. She was the best thing he’d ever seen, no matter the time of day. No matter how horrible she felt. He’d never been so enamoured by another person, or so utterly lost in his desperate need to make it known. 

His thumb caught on the corner of her mouth and he smiled. “I meant it.” He assured her and felt her shiver beneath him as his words fanned the skin of her cheek, “Beautiful.”

She swallowed thickly, he saw the bob of her throat before he slid his palms down her sides to unhook her bra, dropping it off to the side so that he could mouth along the length of her torso.

He continued to murmur, tone so full of admiration as he attempted to press the words into her skin, hoping that this way they would somehow sink in.

By the time he reached the hem of her trousers she was writhing beneath him, eyes pleading, so Matty made quick work of ridding them, allowing himself to look her over for just a second. She truly was beautiful. 

“Matty,” The sound of his name forced his eyes back up and he was thrown by the dazzling smile she then wore. She took one of his hands in hers, linking their fingers, “I don't have all day, baby.”

He merely shook his head and laughed, figuring that she must’ve seen the many emotions that played out across his face afterwards because she tightened her hold on his hand and motioned him closer so that she could kiss him again.

He took her there on the settee. Worked her over slow and hard, his gaze only ever wavering when they slipped shut or he buried his face alongside the skin of her neck. His hands wandered whilst hers clung tight, leaving him marked and gasping. She murmured the whole while, legs wrapped around his middle to keep him as close as she possibly could, so that he could drive that bit deeper. Matty had never heard her so vocal, just muttering on and on, only ever stopping to cry out or jolt. But even then her words would either come out all warped or in a sharp shout. It only proved to spur him on though, fingers digging in and bruising the soft sides of her hips and thighs.

He could hardly think, listening to her pleads and commands. Such a demanding little thing. 

The heels of her feet dug into his flesh as her arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, holding on, sinking her nails into his skin deep enough to have him hissing. He didn’t dare tell her to let up, just attempted to pick up his pace, hand falling away from the crease of her thigh to drag along her folds, needing her to let go before he could.

“Close?”

He was met with a choked gasp: “Yeah.” Followed by a cascade of assent, breath wetting the cut of his jaw as her hands jumped up to curl themselves along his shoulders.

Matt felt himself nod, but was hardly even aware of it, gaze trained on her face, the watering of her eyes, the pink swell of her lips. “So good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

His words just made her strengthen her already too tight hold and then she was writhing beneath him, tear sliding down the side of her face just as her head tilted far back against the cushions and she moaned.

He wasn’t far behind her, but she continued to work her hips to the best of her ability whilst his thrusts became more and more desperate. He only noticed that he was clenching his teeth when her fingers came up to thread through his hair, slackening the muscles there in his face just as his head fell forward, hovering a centimetre or two above the dip in her collar.

Matty felt lips press against the side of his head, soft but there. “I love you.” She said, and he couldn’t even respond, lost in the sensations that overwhelmed him as he jolted forward, every muscle in his legs tensing as his eyes slammed close. 

His breathing was harsh and laboured when he finally managed to pull out, falling into the little space she created for him on the side of the sofa. He draped an arm over her middle, not giving much thought to the damp sheen on their skin or the mess between her thighs. They could have this for a little while longer.

Matty hid a smile, nosing along her shoulder as he better settled into his position before he kissed the sweet skin there. Her back was to him now, him wrapped up around her body, their legs entangled, and he thought back to those few words of hers. 

Back to that night she’d first said them. 

To when she had last said them.

He started to trail a finger over her side, up and then down before he decided to trace each letter one by one. He heard her huff a laugh when she finally caught on, but he pressed on, writing more.

When she patted his hand and shifted, he frowned, wondering if he’d pushed too far, too quickly, even though she’d been the one to say it first. But she just rolled around to face him and grinned at the face he must’ve worn.

“You’re an idiot.”

His brow pinched but he still felt himself smile, “What?”

She laughed all lovelylike and he blinked at the sweetness of it, wondering when he’d gotten so used to hearing such a pretty fucking sound. 

He poked at her side, prodding, “Go on, tell me.”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Matty watched the stretch of her smile  soften before he stilled slightly at her slow touch, the drag of her finger which trailed over his stubbled cheek. “Just such a you thing to do.” She teased him quietly, fingertip reaching up to skim over the bridge of his nose and then his eyelids.

Matty shrugged, narrowing his eyes a tad but unable to truly hide the small smirk he was wearing. He moved his hand back to her hip, tracing another word that had her huffing and shaking her head in sudden exasperation. Then another. And another.

Her eyes were wide when he chanced a glance up at her and she swallowed at the earnest expression he gifted her. “I mean it.” He whispered into the tiny slot of space that rested between their heads.

He watched as her stare tracked along his face, flicking from one eye to the other. “How can you be so sure?”

Matty shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed up against the settee, a small smile dancing on his mouth. “Never been sure of much, but I know this.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “This your way of askin’?”

Chuckling lightly, he shook his head in turn. “Nah, gotta think of something good. Big.” He grinned at the snort she gave, but continued on anyway, fingers simply brushing against her hip now, “Figure we need time to get there again, sort through this mess.”

“Again?”

Matty hummed, thinking back to the bout of songs he’d been working on over the last few months, to the days G had smirked and asked about some of the lyrics he’d written down. “Been playing on my mind.”

There was a small curve to her brow now, an almost frown but not, Matty knew her well enough to know that she was just a little thrown by his answer.

“How long?”

Her whispered ask had him thinking, but he couldn’t really give her an exact time span. He’d hardly even realised it himself. “I don’t know, but for a while.”

She breathed out a quiet little laugh, eyes darting between his own once more, “So one day then?”

Matty hummed happily, face breaking into a slow going grin as one of his hands came up to cup her face, thumb soothing her cheek. “One day, Squeaks,” He murmured to her, “I’m gonna marry the shit out of you.”

Her cheek warmed beneath his touch but she laughed, shaking her head ever so slightly whilst her eyes looked down before shooting right back up again. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Wrinkling his nose a tad and curling his upper lip, Matty just shook his head, “Nah, don’t reckon so.”

“You say that,” She all but sang before she was kicking up a storm in his hold, quickly trying to get away from the hand that had come up to run a rhythm down her side, tickling her into shutting that daft mouth of hers.

“Yeah, I do fuckin’ say.” Matty chuckled, grinning madly as he continued to grab at her, teasing her bare skin with his tormenting touch. It was with that in which Mouse went sailing, rolling away from him in an attempt to escape, and dragging Matty with, him still so caught up in her that the pair of them went tumbling to the living-room floor.

Matty felt as though all the air in his lungs had been kicked from his chest once the world had stopped spinning and finally righted itself. He realised all too quickly what had happened, a heap of hair splayed over his face as he spluttered. 

“Fuck.” He managed to drag out, forcing a huffy laugh from his chest.

He watched on as she struggled for a second, him having cushioned her fall, and she pushed up onto her palms so that she could glare down at him, not entirely unhappy. Matty snorted and raised his arms in defence.

“Don’t blame me.”

If it was at all possible, her eyes cut sharper. “The fuck I won’t! Why’d you start tickling me?”

“Because you never know when to shut up!” Matty laughed, wheezing a little as he did and bending a knee so that he could plant one foot firmly on the floor, his hand rested on his chest.

She just rolled her eyes though as she battled to sit up, spine curving once she had. Matty reached out to trail the length of it, pulse jumping at the shiver he watched run through her.

“How’d we even go from you being such a sap to us on the floor?” Mouse huffed, reaching up to grab at a throw that had been resting on the nearby armchair. Matty watched through a lazy gaze as she bundled it into an oddly shaped ball of sorts before turning back to him. “Fucking all sticky now too.”

He smiled stupidly, folding his hands behind his head, unashamed as he was, to better protect it from the hardwood floors.

She stood with a roll of her eyes, on unsteady legs mind– something Matty felt all too pleased with– and caught sight of his smirk, and before he could even see it coming the bundled blanket was being thrown at his head. He yelped girlishly and floundered to shield himself from it but it still managed to catch the side of his face with just enough force. 

He listened to her hearty laugh as he tossed the thing back at her legs, frowning when it missed and her footsteps began to trail away. “Oi, where do you think you’re goin’?”

“To shower!” She called out from over her shoulder just before she could disappear through the doorway, “Again!”

Matty huffed a small snicker to himself and resorted to simply staring up at the ceiling whilst he waited, but before he could get too comfortable there she was calling out to him again.

“So you coming or what, Healy?”

And fuck if that didn’t have him scrambling up off of the floor to join her. He smiled when she merely laughed at the eager sight of him rounding the hallway and he found himself wondering how the fuck he’d managed this as she turned on the tap and pulled him under the water with her.

He must’ve seemed a little out of it though because she was tilting her head at him when he peered over at her, her hands at his hips. “You good?” 

Matty hummed quietly, dipping his head to kiss her once more because he could. “Yeah, just happy.”

And wasn’t that a thought. Him happy.

Mouse grinned at him, eyes lighting up with it as he stepped on closer. Her hold tightened, “Me too.”

Me too.

[obriengf]

velvet touches, indelible scars - w/dylan

he made you smile, and that's all it took for you to fall so hopelessly devoted to him. how could you not? every laugh was a breath of fresh air that you craved to breathe, derived of oxygen until he unknowingly allowed you to inhale all the good that kept you going. it was addictive, a necessity, the desire to be close to him made your heart ache and scream and thump - and for a moment, you would feel your chest tighten, but it was simply because he left you gasping on held breath over his tenderness and gentle eyes. his words were always soft, even when they held such mischief and a boyish cheekiness that made his cheeks dimple delectably. they made you feel good, always, without fault, as if you could believe any nonsense that fell so beautifully from those lips. and trust me, you would. over and over again.

his friendship was a staple that kept you clinging. and even though he would never let go, it still kelp you holding on for dear life, like it was a permanence in your life; something you didn't want to lose, you simply couldn't. and yet, the day you nearly did left a shadow of 'what ifs' that still clouded your dreams and captured your heart in an anxious strangle.

he had you mesmerised - probably without realising, not completely, at least. every single word, every sound, had you hanging and teetering on the edge of a cliff for no sane reason. you just loved him, is all. your eyes gleamed as they showed you listening so intently to his stories, encapsulated in the tales that held such domesticity, but he knew that you would like them. you would understand. you always had gotten him, from the first day that you met. it's what drew him to you.

you grinned widely, your shoulder pressed into the cushioning of his couch as you sat sideways, facing the man next to you. his position was mirrored perfectly- in sync, such comfortability. his elbow had dug in at the top and his cheek balanced on the soft curl of his fist, face turning slightly as he released a heavy laugh straight from the belly, embodied by pureness and authenticity.

it wasn't until your eyes fell slightly, your focus leaving the handsome creases of happiness that pulled at his eyes, and instead landing on the small mark that made you feel as if time was only borrowed. your smile dropped with your gaze, effortlessly, too quick for you to handle. and before you knew it, your fingers reached out.

his laughter stopped as he felt such softness - movements made solely to prevent damage, an approach to handle with care. he watched as your finger danced lightly over the side of his nose, only to pull back suddenly as if you were to touch an open flame. he frowned.

"what is it?" his voice was quiet, barely heard if you hadn't been so close. he was scared that if he spoke any louder then he would break the bubble you have found yourselves buried deep within.

your reply was just as hushed, barely breathed out as a gentle huff left your lips, "just this little guy."

dylan knew that you meant and it pained him that after all these years, all the time you had to move past it, and it still affected you in such a way that it left your poor soul with a broken heart.

he hummed, "what about it?" he was moving now as his hand covered yours, holding it against the side of his face. he could feel you relax instantly but your thumb dragged over the scar as a reminder that it lived. and that after the accident, he did too.

" i nearly lost you." there was a crack in your voice - barely present, just a minor bump, a possible cough to someone who wasn't paying as much attention. but dylan was too engrossed with everything that made you, you, that he couldn't help but feel the fracture as it settled within his chest.

his scar was an in-built memory, a permanent token, an unwanted souvenir. it reminded him of a time where he felt utterly useless and devestated. it followed him whereever he went, but it was a part of him now. and it represented how he made it out of the woods and back into the daylight.

"hey, look at me." he beckoned, watching as you were getting lost in the moments of seeing him in his hospital bed, absolutely destroyed. it was the stuff of nightmares, simply disturbing with just how fluently you could fall in and out of that memory as if you were back in that sterile white room with the beeping machines and your broken friend. dylan pressed again, "sweetheart, look at me. i'm here, i'm alive. we're okay, i promise you."

his coo was a saviour, like all the times before. you were stuck in a foggy daze, and he was the lighthouse that guided you safely to the shore. you awoke from a terrible dream and dylan still had his hand entagled with yours, and matching tears that threatened to fall from wet lash lines. your breathing stopped again - settling in your chest as words weighed on your tongue. you couldn't breathe until you felt his lips brush over your knuckles, making your words jump with emotion, "i will never let you feel pain again, if it's the last thing i do."

dylan's lips lifted, curled, gathered into a grin that felt like much needed rebirth.

he knew in that moment that he loved you, really loved you. like he did when he saw you in that hospital room all those years ago - how love shone so brightly from your eyes despite their devastated sadness. he was a man that was reduced to nothing but you never left his side. you fell in love with him at his lowest and because of you, he raised valiently from the ashes.

you would always be by his side, as he yours, never daring to look back for a a single second - especially, not when it came to that damn smile, that got you every single time.

[beauttifullife]

A Daughter.

In that instant, I was captivated. The baby blinked up at us, her wide eyes absorbing the world for the first time, and an overwhelming wave of emotion surged through me.

Visenya.

My daughter.

From the moment I first felt her stir within me, I knew she was a girl. The boys had always moved with a roughness, quick and bold, but Visenya danced within me—soft, subtle, like a whisper of hope. I carried her, cherishing each day as my anticipation grew. The thought of raising her, teaching her, molding her into a strong Targaryen woman filled me with joy. I envisioned the pride she would carry, the strength she would showcase to the world.

But before she could even take her first breath, before I could gaze into her eyes and see the colors that lay within, she was taken from me. The cruel hands of fate snatched her away, leaving a chasm where love should have blossomed. I still couldn’t comprehend it—the random cruelty of the world, the unseen force that pulled the strings of life, deciding who should live and who should die.

I grieved in silence, mourning for the daughter I could hold only for a fleeting few hours before placing her upon the pyre. The ache in my heart still echoed, a constant reminder of a wound that would never fully heal. Each day since her loss felt impossibly heavy, weighed down by a sorrow that whispered of all that could have been.

I often found myself lost in thought, imagining the sound of her laughter dancing through our halls, the warmth of her spirit filling the spaces around me. I pictured her as she might have grown—curly hair bouncing as she ran, the light in her eyes as she discovered the world, the joy she would have brought to our family. Every dream I spun around her felt both a comfort and a torment, each bright vision tinged with the sharp sting of her absence.

In quiet moments, I would find myself reaching for the memories, clinging to the idea of her, as if that could somehow fill the void she left behind. I saw her in the faces of the children around me, in the soft giggles of my boys as they played, and in the fleeting moments when I would catch a glimpse of innocence in them. It was both a blessing and a reminder of the life that had been taken from me.

And yet, within the pain, there was also a flicker of hope—a chance to honor her memory through this child, to give her the love and protection I had vowed to provide Visenya. I could not change the past, but perhaps I could shape the future, nurturing this new life with all the love I had once reserved for my daughter.

As I looked down at the sleeping girl in Elizabeth’s arms, the resemblance struck me, igniting a flicker of longing and heartache. This child—this innocent life—was a chance at the future I had dreamed of, yet it was tainted by the shadow of my loss.

I reached out, brushing my fingers gently against the girl’s cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from her. In that moment, I realized that this was not merely an echo of my grief; it was also an opportunity for hope. Perhaps I could honor Visenya through this child, nurturing her with the love and strength I had always wanted to share.

"Do you want to hold her?" Elizabeth asked, her voice breaking through my reverie, laced with both tenderness and understanding.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I knew what I would see in her eyes—the compassion, the quiet understanding of someone who had seen through my mask of strength. If I met her gaze, if I let myself see that look, it would undo me. The floodgates I had kept sealed for so long—the ones that had barely held since Visenya’s loss, since the war, since the weight of everything that had been thrust upon me—would surely shatter. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to gather the pieces of myself again.

I stood there, frozen, torn between the raw ache of my grief and the tentative hope stirring inside me. This child was so fragile, so innocent, and yet holding her felt like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff. One wrong step, one moment of vulnerability, and I could tumble into the abyss of my own emotions.

“I…” The words lodged in my throat, tangled in the weight of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. I wanted to say yes, to cradle the child against me, to feel her warmth again. But the fear—the overwhelming fear of unraveling, of collapsing under the grief I had spent so long burying—held me back. I had been strong for so long, but this moment, this simple act of holding her, threatened to undo me.

Yesterday had been different. I held this little girl for hours, carrying her through the village as I saw to the wounded, moving from one life to the next, trying to save what I could. She had been a constant presence, nestled in my arms as we flew on dragonback to Harrenhal, her small body pressed close to mine, shielding her from the biting wind and the cold of the night. She had grounded me, an anchor keeping me steady, keeping the fury and chaos swirling inside me from spilling out into the world.

But now… now was different. My fury still simmered beneath the surface, but it was tempered, controlled. And in this moment, holding her wouldn’t be about finding balance or keeping my rage at bay. It would be about something else—something deeper. I would be holding her as a mother would, cradling her with the tenderness that came from protecting, nurturing, loving.

And that terrified me.

The thought of holding her that way no longer felt like an anchor keeping me grounded. It felt like the very thing that could pull me under, drag me beneath the waves of grief, and drown me in it. The overwhelming loss of Visenya was too fresh, too raw, and holding this child now brought it all back. The helplessness, the longing, the sorrow that had no outlet, no release. Could I bear the weight of that again?

“I don’t know if I can,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the admission.

Elizabeth stood silently beside me, her gaze unwavering. She knew. She always knew. She saw through the cracks in my armor, saw the struggle beneath the surface. But she didn’t push, didn’t press for more than I was ready to give. Instead, she simply waited, offering me the space I needed to confront the war raging within me.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look at the child in her arms. She was so small, so fragile, and yet… she represented something I had thought I lost forever.

A future.

A chance.

Slowly, with hesitation still clinging to me, I reached out. My hands trembled as Elizabeth gently transferred the baby into my arms. The weight of her, so small and warm, settled against me, and it was as if something inside me broke apart—but instead of shattering, I felt a piece of myself come back together.

Her tiny hand twitched, her fingers reaching for my hair, curling around a lose strand, and in that moment, something shifted inside me. The anchor that had once threatened to drag me down now felt different, lighter.

I wasn’t sinking—I was rising. This child wasn’t pulling me beneath the sea; she was helping me stay afloat.

I cradled her closer, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her small body pressed against mine. The fears and doubts still lingered, but now, they didn’t seem so insurmountable. In that moment, something else became clear: perhaps in protecting her, in giving her the love and care that had been stolen from Visenya, I could finally begin to heal.

Not just for her sake, but for mine.

[thursdayinspace]

I'm lost in the truth kiss again. Just in case you want to write some beautiful words about it that help me see the light. Like about how he just saunters up and grab her face. There's no holding back there, no hesitation. I can't stop watching it lol

Oh man, I’m always so excited to be asked for words I will never say no. I don’t know if I have beautiful ones in me, but I love that kiss in The Truth, so here is my take.

There is no hesitation, there is no doubt. He’d been gone for so long – was it easier this time, knowing that he was alive? Or had it been easier when he was dead, when there had been an end, when the challenge had been moving on instead of constant longing, endless nights of knowing he could be there with her if things were different? Are the two even comparable? Does someone’s absence sit in a different part of your soul when they’re gone completely?

He didn’t want to be away from her. He didn’t want to be away from her and their son. After all that time with the barriers finally fallen and their hearts exposed to each other at last, happiness so close, all they wanted was a future, but again the world had other plans for them. Knowing she was missing him, knowing she was loving him from so far away – how did he cope? Loving her from so far away, knowing now what it felt like to kiss her, to hold her, to share a life not just Monday to Friday but always? And then coming back and still being apart from her, being kept in that prison, being brainwashed, facing the threat of death once again; he wants to be with her but he already knows it’s not that simple.

She walks into his cell not sure what to expect, and . . . of course he makes a joke. He wouldn’t be Mulder if he didn’t. It’s not funny no matter what he says, she is right about that, but nothing about any of it is funny. And Mulder makes jokes when it’s all too overwhelming. Mulder comes back from the dead and asks “Who are you?” and her face falls. He asks “Anybody miss me?” and she laughs. She doesn’t laugh this time. Because he’s not back from the dead. There is, in fact, a good chance he might join the dead again soon. He’s not in that prison for stealing someone’s wallet. Things are serious. Really fucking serious. So no, his joke is not funny. But he’s Mulder. And he’s been through hell. So let’s forgive him, okay? She has been through hell too though. She has no reason to laugh. But he doesn’t know what else to say. And she isn’t sure either. He tries to explain – “What’s not funny is what they do to you in here if you don’t put on that act,” – but he knows and she knows too that all of it is too much for words. There are no words they could say. But touch? Touch is something they can do.

From the beginning, from their first case together, touch is something they can do: They barely know each other when she seeks comfort in his hug in a motel room in Oregon. After Donnie Pfaster, she finally lets herself break in his arms. At his mother’s hospital bed, she reaches for him and he cries into her shoulder. He escapes from a Russian prison camp and returns to put his arms around her – both of them. Scully in the hospital, deciding to keep fighting, and they hold each other so tight; his lips against her forehead an “I love you more than anything” that has no words yet. She tells him she’s only ever held him back, she tries to leave, he tells her she’s saved him – what else is there but to hold each other, to lean in for a kiss when all the words are spoken but the love is bigger than everything words can contain? Scully clinging to him in Milagro, Mulder wrapped around her as he teaches her about baseball, a lingering forehead kiss in Amor Fati, Mulder holding her on that bed when she’s feeling sick, no idea yet that she’s pregnant. Touch is something they can do when words fail.

And they have missed each other so much, so much. It doesn’t matter that Skinner is standing right there. It doesn’t matter that they have no idea what’s going to happen. They’re in love. They love each other. And he needs her, and she needs him. So no, there is no hesitation. There is only one thing to do. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her, and she kisses him back, and there’s relief and love and desperation and the lingering pain of separation and the looming fear of being separated again. All they want is each other, and here they are, together, but not really, not yet, maybe not ever. It’s a few seconds of complete closeness that hold so much past and only a possible future, but all of the present. Anything else doesn’t matter for those few seconds. They let themselves want and they let themselves have, everything they haven’t had for all this time. They hold each other, just exist together, just for the little time it lasts, and the relief of being close mixes with the grief of having been apart.

They don’t know what will happen, they don’t know how and when they’ll be together again, just the two of them, home, happy. But they have touch. He doesn’t let go of her hand even afterwards, kisses it, holds it to his chest. Not able to let go. Never able to let go. There is love, there will always be love, no matter what happens. That is one immutable fact. One thing they promise each other, without words, because there are none for a truth of that magnitude. But they know. They know. A kiss without any hesitation, without any doubt. Just this pull between them, a connection that transcends language and conscious decision. They’ve gone too long without touch. And in that moment, it’s the best way they have to say “I’ve loved you all this time, I love you now, and I always will.”

[feinforyakk]

falling leaves, fleeting moments

it had been months since you’d first met toji fushiguro.

it wasn’t love at first sight, not the kind from the fairy tales. no, toji was a complicated man, a shadow of the broken world he lived in. he wasn't charming or romantic, not in the conventional sense. but there was something about him that made it hard for you to walk away. maybe it was the loneliness behind his sharp eyes, or the way he carried himself like a man who had already lost everything. something about him pulled you in, even when you knew better.

and then there was megumi.

the first time you’d seen the little boy, he’d been sitting on the ground, quietly watching the world with his wide eyes. he couldn’t have been older than two, his tiny hands clinging to a worn-out stuffed dog. you hadn’t expected to find a child in toji’s life—someone who seemed so indifferent to everything, so disconnected. yet, there he was, this little boy, so quiet and still, like he was afraid to disturb the world around him.

it was through megumi that your relationship with toji deepened. slowly, cautiously, like two wounded animals finding solace in each other. you had no illusions about what your life together would be. toji was a mercenary, a man driven by money and survival. but there were moments, rare and fleeting, where he let his guard down, where he allowed you to see the man beneath the scars.

you had come to love him, in your own way. and, more surprisingly, you had come to love megumi.

you’d never thought about being a mother. not at this point in your life. you were still young, only in your early twenties, trying to figure out the world for yourself. but here you were, with a baby boy who wasn’t yours, who never would be, and yet, in so many ways, he felt like he was.

“mama,” megumi’s voice was soft, his small hand tugging at your sleeve as you knelt by him, helping him pick up his toys. your heart skipped at the word, your chest tightening.

you never corrected him. you couldn’t.

you had no right to the title, but it still brought a warmth you couldn’t explain. every time he said it, it was as if he was giving you a piece of his trust, a piece of his love. and that was something you couldn’t take lightly.

“what is it, baby?” you asked, ruffling his dark hair with a smile.

“play?” he mumbled, holding out a toy car for you.

you laughed softly, taking the car and pretending to drive it around the floor. “of course, we can play.”

and for a while, that was enough. moments like these, where you could pretend this was your life, that this was your family. where toji wasn’t off doing god-knows-what for god-knows-who. where it was just you, megumi, and the simple joy of playing together on the living room floor.

but the peaceful moments were always short-lived with toji.

he came home late that night, blood staining his clothes, his face worn with exhaustion. he barely acknowledged you as he stepped into the apartment, dropping his things by the door.

you rose from the couch, concern lacing your features. “toji—”

“it’s fine,” he cut you off, not meeting your eyes. “just a job.”

you bit your lip, knowing better than to push him when he was like this. but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart clenched seeing him like this—tired, beaten down, barely holding himself together.

he made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a drink, and leaned against the counter, finally looking at you. “megumi asleep?”

you nodded, your arms folding across your chest. “yeah, he went down a little while ago.”

toji grunted in acknowledgment, taking a sip of his drink. the silence between you stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. you wanted to reach out, to tell him that he didn’t have to do this alone, that he didn’t have to keep pushing you away. but you knew that wouldn’t work with him. toji didn’t know how to let people in. not anymore.

“you should go to bed,” he said after a moment, his voice gruff. “i’ll be in later.”

you sighed, knowing this was his way of shutting you out again. “toji, you don’t have to—”

“i said, i’ll be in later,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time.

you flinched, the sting of his words hitting harder than you wanted to admit. but you just nodded, turning away before he could see the hurt in your eyes. you made your way to the bedroom, the weight of his distance settling heavily on your shoulders.

---

the next morning, things were better—at least, marginally. toji wasn’t one for apologies, but his actions spoke louder than words. when you woke, he was already up, sitting at the kitchen table with megumi in his lap, the two of them eating breakfast in silence.

“morning,” you greeted, your voice still soft from sleep.

toji glanced up at you, a subtle nod in acknowledgment. “morning.”

megumi’s face lit up when he saw you, his small hand waving excitedly. “mama!”

you couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight. “good morning, baby,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to his head as you passed by to grab your own breakfast.

as you sat down, you noticed toji watching you out of the corner of his eye. it wasn’t the cold, distant stare he usually had when he was in one of his moods. there was something softer there, something that made your chest ache with hope.

“you’re good with him,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked up, surprised by the rare compliment. “i just… i want him to have a good life, toji.”

he grunted, his eyes drifting to megumi, who was happily munching on his food. “he deserves better than me.”

the admission was so soft you almost didn’t hear it. but you did, and it made your heart ache.

“you’re not as bad as you think you are,” you said, reaching out to place your hand on his. “megumi loves you. and… so do i.”

toji tensed under your touch, his eyes darkening. for a moment, you thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. instead, he squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he muttered, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place.

“what do you mean?” you asked, frowning.

toji sighed, his eyes falling to the table. “i’m not… i can’t give you what you want. i can’t give him what he needs. this life, it’s not for you. it’s not for anyone.”

you felt your chest tighten, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. “toji, don’t—”

“it’s not going to last,” he interrupted, his voice hardening again. “you should go. before it gets worse.”

you shook your head, refusing to believe what he was saying. “i’m not going anywhere, toji. i love you. i love megumi. we can make this work—”

“no, we can’t,” he snapped, his fist clenching on the table. “i’m a dead man walking. it’s only a matter of time before someone takes me out. i’m not gonna drag you down with me.”

you swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. he was pushing you away again, trying to protect you in the only way he knew how—by shutting you out. but you couldn’t just walk away. not now. not when you’d come to care for him, for megumi, so much.

“i’m not afraid,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i don’t care about the risks, toji. i just want to be with you. with both of you.”

for a moment, toji’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to find something. but whatever it was, he couldn’t let himself believe it.

“you’re a fool,” he muttered, standing up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “you deserve better.”

you watched as he left the room, your heart aching with the weight of the truth he refused to accept.

---

the days passed in a blur after that. toji came and went, disappearing for hours or even days at a time, leaving you to care for megumi. it wasn’t easy, but you managed. megumi was a quiet child, but he had his moments, his small smiles and soft laughter filling the silence of the apartment. it was enough to keep you going, enough to remind you why you stayed.

but the more time passed, the more you felt the distance growing between you and toji. he was pulling away, little by little, closing himself off in a way that made it impossible to reach him. you tried to be patient, tried to understand that this was his way of protecting you, but it hurt all the same.

one night, as you were tucking megumi into bed, you heard the door open, followed by the familiar sound of toji’s footsteps. your heart leaped in your chest, hope fluttering weakly.

“you’re back,” you said softly, stepping out of megumi