#and i clicked on her to see if she was scared

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[jaderabbitt]

Mirrored in Darkness

WARNING: BIG FAT THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!!! DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU WANT TO STAY UNSPOILED!!!

consider yourselves warned. do not cry to me if you didn't listen.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

tags: angst, angst with happy ending, love confessions, time loop, no use of y/n

warnings: canon-typical violence, child death (unrelated to pairing), descriptions of blood, she/her pronouns used, changing of POVs denoted by text style

summary: You and Bucky enter the Void, trying to find Yelena. Neither of you knew what to expect, but it hadn't been this.

word count: 1.3k

note: someone somewhere had asked for what Bucky would find in reader's void, and so I combined the two hehe. i'll probably go see thunderbolts again soon, so expect more fics as I flesh out my memory of the movie!! please god send me asks or ideas relating to it.

song for this fic is: exit in darkness by A.A. Williams

When you opened your eyes…

When he opened his eyes…

You saw the acrid halls of a villa. You blinked the awareness back into your eyes as you studied your surroundings. The hallway was familiar, but it wasn’t until you saw your own form, stalking through it, that you recognized it truly. You watched with a growing dread as your needle focused eyes sought out their target, pistol in hand. The door at the end of the hall was half ajar, lamplight seeping through the cracks.

He saw a familiar body, crouched atop a hillside that had a vantage point over the villa. Large, high-caliber Soviet rifle in hand. The Winter Soldier. His scope was trained on the figure within the study, but his finger lay prone, parallel to the trigger. This wasn’t his target to take.

“No…”

“No…”

Your memory figure didn’t hear your gasp, didn’t acknowledge how you covered your mouth with your hand to silence your cries. Your feet planted themselves into the ground as if you had roots spreading beneath you. Your eyes couldn’t look away as your body slinked into the room, a single shot letting out. Another one added for good measure.

Bucky watched your figure move into the study silently, not giving the man within the time to register your presence before you put a bullet in between his eyes. You shot a second one into his heart to ensure the kill. The Soldier moved away from his scope, choosing to watch you from his perch with his own enhanced eyes. You looked up to where you knew he was, even if you couldn’t actually see the Soldier’s hulking form amongst the darkness. He clicked his laser sight twice, a code meaning ‘kill confirmed’.

You knew what came next.

He knew what came next.

She was supposed to be with her mom this weekend. She wasn’t supposed to be here—

Intel had said her mother had custody this weekend. The villa was supposed to be empty, except for the target.

The little girl’s pigtails bounced precariously as she made her way to her father’s study at the end of the hall. The purple cotton of her little nightie swished at her knees, her teddy bear hugged close to her chest. She had heard the shots, saw the rapid light that came from the muzzle, and assumed it had been lightning.

She was scared.

You followed into the room, unable to turn your eyes away from the sight before you. Your memory turned around swiftly at the sound of the door creaking and pointed her gun at you, but your mirrored eyes did not register a being there. Instead, your gaze drifted down, and so did your gun.

The Soldier’s jaw had clenched as he realigned his eye to the scope of the rifle, his mask making a clinking sound as it hit the side of his gun. Bucky’s breathing hitched, his enhanced hearing filtering out the noise of the forest surrounding, listening to the small voice within the villa. 

“Qui es-tu ? Où est papa ?” (Who are you? Where is papa?)

The young girl, no older than four or five, hugged her bear impossibly closer to herself.

Your shaking hand mirrored the motions of yourself from the past, as if you knew the script by heart. Tears stained your cheeks, a mimicry of the little girl in front of you. Your arm raised, hand pressed into your ear for a comms device.

Bucky didn’t register that he was seeing double of you. His mind had sunk too far into the memory, hearing the uncertain voice from your past self. 

“Soldat… I’ve been compromised.”

You didn’t need to see the shine of his scope through the floor to ceiling windows to know he was watching the entire situation play out. You didn’t need to have his rasped voice sound within your ear to know what he said.

Your mind spoke it for you, anyways.

“нет свидетелей.” (No witnesses.)

Your eyes shut and your head turned, not wanting to see the high caliber shot pierce through the little girl’s heart. If you didn’t see it happen here, you could ignore the fact that you had watched it happen. You did know what it looked like. Your mirrored visage stood stock still, blood spattered against her neck and jaw.

Bucky fell to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut as he pounded his vibranium hand against his head. He had enough nightmares of this memory. He couldn’t bear to relive it again. The shot that rang out from the sniper echoed in his mind, the cold and indifferent tone of his own voice haunted him. How could he take that shot? Even as the Soldier. 

You blinked, left in confusion as you were back in the hallway. When it registered what was happening, your sobs echoed throughout the villa.

You were stalking the halls again, pistol raised.

The Soldier was adjusting his scope again, following the man in the study with the rifle.

—

Two shots rang out again. You were hyperventilating and cowering against the wall of the hallway, covering your ears to avoid the sounds. You rocked back and forth, trying to remind yourself that it wasn’t real.

But it was. This happened. This wasn’t just some trick of the mind, this was a memory.  Your worst nightmare.

It took you until the third shake of your body to realize that something was too intense to be the self-soothing rocking back and forth you were doing. You opened your clenched eyes and lifted your hands from your ears slowly as your gaze met Bucky’s blues.

Your Bucky. Not the Soldier, but the man.

His hands cupped your face, pressing his temple against yours. He whispered your name like a mantra, supplemented with “I’m here, sweetheart, we can get through this.”

You nodded in reply, too afraid of your own shadow at this point to risk your voice coming out as anything else but a choked sob. His thumbs wiped at your tear streaks gently, as if you were the most delicate creature he’s laid eyes on. Your hands moved to mirror his own, feeling his loose hair tickle your knuckles.

The urge to let out what was always unsaid between you overcame your willpower, and you muttered those three short words that somehow meant the world. 

It was an unspoken rule between you two, having gone on for years. If neither of you said it, you could ignore the implications of what being together would have in store. But, being in here—in your darkest hour—you realized that you couldn’t keep living like you had.

It was never truly living, denying yourself your greatest boon. Even in your hellish nightmare, there he was. 

Taking the shots you couldn’t bear to. Taking the pain you could never shoulder. 

And, so, you broke the rule.

So did he.

He buried his face into your neck and wrapped his arms around your torso, clinging to your body as if he was afraid it would be taken from him any moment now. Sobs wracked through his body, his shoulders betraying his attempt to hide his gasps for air.

You fared no better, pressing his head further into your skin as if you were afraid he’d leave you any moment now, a near perfect parallel. 

The lights in each other’s void.

Both too broken to find it within themselves, so they sought it out within the other—souls mirrored, but aligned.

You both lifted your heads at the sound of a door creaking, turning to see within the room of that misfortunate little girl.

What stared back at you was the end of this trial. There was always another fight. Another war.

But, this time?

This time, you held each other’s light. The darkness would no longer be ventured alone.

Dividers by @cafekitsune | xoxo

[nhmkhnh]

i just wanna spend the night—fuckin' in your bed tonight.

pairings: dom!top!vi x sub!bot!fem!reader

author's note: another piece was made from listening the outro of track 10. enjoy!

rating: explicit (minors & men dni) | words: 1.5k list: amab!vi ;; pitfighter!vi ;; desperate!vi ;; possessive!vi ;; angst with comfort ;; make up sex ;; rough sex ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; praise kink ;; "say you don't want me and i will go" trope ;; vi is down catastrophic ;; exes to lovers (?) again.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

the city never sleeps. not when it’s this broken.

vi stood outside your apartment building, soaked in sweat and rain, fists clenched at her sides like they still had something to punch. her breath steamed in the cold air as she stared up at your window—the only one still lit this late at night. of course it was. you never did sleep much after her.

she’d been fighting again. same underground rings, same blood under her nails. the crowd screamed her name like it meant something, like it filled the hole she carved in herself the day she let you go.

she never should’ve let you go.

the whiskey bottle in her coat clinked against her thigh as she moved. sloppy. she hadn’t meant to drink this much. but she kept hearing your voice in her head. the way it cracked that last night when you said, “you don’t even know how to love me right.”

and she hadn’t. not then.

but fuck, she wants to now.

vi buzzed your apartment. once. twice. nothing. then again, harder, like her thumb was trying to break the button.

“please,” she muttered under her breath. “just open the damn door.”

and like a miracle—or a curse—you did.

you stood in the doorway of your unit, eyes puffy and guarded. wearing one of those threadbare tees vi used to pull off you with her teeth, bare thighs peeking beneath. you looked at her like a ghost. like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

“vi?”

her heart twisted. you still said her name like it meant something.

“you’re drunk.” flat. tired. but your voice cracked on the last syllable, and that gave her life.

“let me in,” she rasped. “please, baby.”

you blinked. “it’s almost midnight.”

“i know.” her voice was hoarse. raw. “but i couldn’t stop thinking about you. i—i can’t anymore.”

you hesitated. you always had a soft spot for her when she sounded broken.

and tonight, she was nothing but broken.

you stepped aside.

the door shut behind her with a heavy click. the room was warm, cozy in that soft domestic way she used to hate and now aches for. she hadn’t been inside this space since you told her to leave six months ago. and now every corner felt like it echoed your laugh, your tears, your moans. her fists clenched.

you folded your arms, kept your distance. “so, what, you just show up like this after everything?”

vi ran a hand through her wet hair, jaw tightening. “i’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“good. because i haven’t.”

her chest caved a little. “i know.”

silence stretched. you stared at her like you were trying not to feel anything, and she stared back like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

“i’ve been going crazy,” she whispered. “every fucking day. every fight, every bruise—i keep seeing your face. i thought i could drown it out. get rid of you. but i can’t.”

you scoffed, but your voice cracked. “you don’t get to say that now. not after you disappeared. not after you chose that life over me.”

“i didn’t choose it,” she growled. “i didn’t know how to be anything but angry. i was scared. scared that i’d ruin you.”

“you did,” you said, tears suddenly brimming. “you already did, vi.”

she stepped closer, breath hitching. “then let me fix it. please. let me try.”

you looked away, but her hand found your wrist. gentle. hesitant.

“i miss you,” she whispered. “i miss your laugh. i miss the way you looked at me like i wasn’t a monster. i miss your hands on me. i miss everything.”

you swallowed hard. her fingers were warm. rough. familiar.

“say you don’t want me, and i’ll go,” she murmured. “say it.”

you didn’t.

instead, your mouth opened—and a sob slipped out. and then you were grabbing her collar, pulling her in, crashing your lips to hers like they owed you something.

it was filthy. desperate. your mouth tasted like old wounds and want, and vi devoured it like a starving thing. her hands cupped your jaw, then slid down to your waist, holding you like she could anchor herself to your skin.

you pulled away, panting. “this doesn’t mean anything.”

“liar,” she breathed, before kissing you again.

you clawed her shirt off, nails raking her toned stomach, trailing up the brutal bruises along her ribs. she hissed, but didn’t stop you. instead, she kissed you harder, teeth and tongue and every ounce of pain she hadn’t said aloud.

you shoved her onto the couch.

she groaned, low and guttural, head falling back as you climbed into her lap, your thighs straddling hers like muscle memory.

“you don’t get to be soft,” you spat, even as your hands trembled on her shoulders. “you don’t get to pretend you’re still mine.”

vi grabbed your hips, grinding you down against her, her jaw clenched tight. “i’m not pretending,” she growled. “i’ve always been yours.”

you whimpered, and that sound split her in two.

her hands slid under your shirt—her shirt—and dragged it up, baring your chest to her greedy eyes. she cupped your breasts, rough thumbs brushing your nipples until you gasped, arching into her touch.

“still so sensitive,” she rasped. “fuck, i missed this. missed you.”

you bit your lip. “shut up and touch me.”

oh, she would.

vi flipped you, laying you back against the cushions. her mouth dragged down your neck, biting and sucking bruises she wanted everyone to see. her fingers pushed between your thighs, rubbing over your panties—already wet.

she chuckled darkly. “still lie like this?”

you glared. “fuck you.”

“working on it.”

then her mouth was there, tongue dragging over the damp fabric, nosing against the heat of you until you squirmed. she tore the panties aside, spread you open with her thumbs, and moaned.

“look at you, baby. dripping.”

her tongue slid between your folds, slow and possessive. you cried out, hand tangling in her hair as she sucked your clit just the way you liked—like she still remembered every sound you made.

“vi—fuck—don’t stop—”

she didn’t. she licked you through it, fingers pumping into you deep and firm, curling just right. you came with a sob, legs shaking, thighs clamped around her head like you never wanted to let her go.

she kissed her way up your stomach, licking her fingers clean like a goddamn sinner, then kissed you—letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“you’re mine,” she murmured against your mouth. “say it.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t. but you kissed her like you were.

and that was enough—for now.

she carried you to your bedroom.

you gasped as she pushed you against the wall, kissing you like she was trying to make up for months of silence. her hips rutted against yours, cock hard beneath her boxers, dragging against your bare cunt with maddening friction.

“please,” you whispered. “i need you.”

she nodded, almost breathless. “i got you, baby. i got you.”

vi stripped her boxers down, grabbed a condom from her coat—habit she never lost—then lifted your thigh, lined herself up, and pushed in.

you cried out—so full, so deep, so fucking good. her hands gripped your thighs, your ass, everything she could reach. she buried herself to the hilt and held there, trembling.

“fuck,” she gasped, forehead pressed to yours. “you feel like home.”

then she moved.

slow at first—grinding into you, letting you feel every inch. your nails dug into her back, legs wrapped tight around her waist. her thrusts grew rougher, more desperate, the room echoing with skin on skin and your ragged moans.

“i should’ve stayed,” she gasped. “i should’ve fought for you.”

“you didn’t,” you sobbed, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“i’m fighting now.”

you kissed her through the tears, hips grinding back against her like you needed to feel her inside your soul.

she fucked you like she meant it. like you were the only thing keeping her alive. she angled her hips just right, hitting that spot that made you scream, over and over, until your whole body shook with another orgasm.

and still, she didn’t stop.

“i wanna see your face when i come,” she panted. “wanna feel you fall apart around me again.”

you did. hard. violent. screaming her name like it was carved into your lungs.

she came with a growl, biting your shoulder, hips jerking as she filled the condom. then she slumped against you, shaking.

you both collapsed onto the bed, tangled in sheets and sweat and history.

for a long time, neither of you spoke.

her arms wrapped around you. gentle. trembling.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking. “for everything.”

you stared at the ceiling.

“i don’t know if i can do this again,” you said softly.

she nodded. “i’ll wait. however long it takes. just… let me hold you tonight.”

you let her.

just for tonight.

even if it broke you in the morning.

[rosachae]

back to you | sophia x reader

⁍ song: die with a smile - bruno mars ft. lady gaga ⁍ requested: yes-- thank you anon! ⁍ genre: AU! pure angst. there's nothing happy about this. purely bittersweet. overall, just a sad sophia in mourning. ⁍ wc: 1.7k ⁍ warnings: mentions of homophobia, internalized and external. mentions of death. please read with your own discretion. maybe a bit of toxic!sophia? i guess that depends on your pov. ⁍ synopsis: set in the universe of the movie 'In Time' (2011).

sophia and y/n dated for a period of time a few years ago. ever since, sophia has been left wanting and waiting-- longing for the girl who would never come back to her. in a world where everyone lives on borrowed time, sophia realizes that 'never' was a promise, not just a fear she carried on her back since the moment she left.

time lived beneath the skin in soft green digits, glowing just faintly enough to be forgettable—until it wasn’t. once you turned twenty-five, the countdown began. you lived on borrowed hours, and every second became currency. meals. rent. shelter. love. it all cost something. and when your time ran out, that was it. your body folded in on itself. your chest stilled. no noise. no final warning. just nothing.

sophia had spent her whole life afraid of that green light. afraid of losing what little she had, of reaching zero before she’d done anything that mattered. but it turned out there was something worse than dying. it was living in the space where something used to be. someone.

she met y/n when they were eighteen. it was the first week of university, and sophia had just been handed a schedule and a dorm room and a sense of disorientation that made her feel like a ghost in someone else’s life. y/n sat beside her in a lecture hall too big for either of them, her legs curled under the desk and a silver ring glinting on her finger. she passed sophia a spare pen when the filipina dug through her bag and pockets in a frazzled hurry. she whispered something about the professor’s haircut. grinned wide when sophia choked on her laugh.

it was that simple. something clicked.

they’d fallen into each other easily. late nights and cheap sandwiches, shared playlists and all-night walks through quiet streets where the world felt wide enough to contain them. it had never felt like a choice. loving her had been like breathing. necessary. involuntary.

they started dating when they turned twenty. a two-year-long romance—but it felt like longer. they weren’t perfect. there were fights, sometimes loud, sometimes silent. y/n had a sharp tongue when she felt cornered, and sophia—always afraid of saying too much—often said too little. but even in the worst moments, they found their way back. y/n would pull her in by the belt loops, rest her forehead against hers, and whisper, you’re still mine, right? and sophia always was. until she wasn’t.

she had grown up in a house where love had limits. love was given for obedience, for silence. wrapped in scripture and shame. her parents didn’t scream when they found out about y/n. they didn’t disown her. they simply stopped meeting her eyes. they spoke to her like she was an empty room, asked her to “think about her future,” to “consider the kind of life she wanted.” they said they prayed for her. they never said y/n’s name.

and sophia, desperate to feel clean, to feel right, made the choice she’s still trying to forgive herself for. she left. she told y/n she needed space. that she wasn’t sure who she was. y/n didn’t fight. she just looked at her, quiet and broken, and said, don’t lie to me. you’re scared. and sophia was. terrified. of her parents, of hell, of the mirror.

she thought it would fade. that it would stop hurting. it didn’t.

a year later, she found out through manon—y/n’s best friend, who still answered sophia’s messages out of reluctant compassion—that she’d started seeing someone else. minjeong. a photographer with a soft laugh and patient hands. sophia stared at the picture manon sent her, of y/n smiling in a way that looked real, looked safe, and something inside her cracked. she curled into her sheets and sobbed so hard her ribs ached, but she didn’t call. she didn’t show up. if y/n was happy, that had to be enough. her own happiness had been forfeited the moment she walked away.

it’d been three years since she called it quits. sophia celebrated her own twenty-fifth birthday alone, staring at old photos she couldn’t bring herself to destroy. even as the clock on her wrist started counting down, even as the world moved onwards, she found herself stuck in the past. a moment in time she would give anything to get back.

it was only a few months after her birthday when she got another call. only this time, there was no photo. manon sat across from her in a quiet café that smelled like burnt espresso and rain-damp coats, her fingers wrapped around a chipped mug she hadn’t touched. her voice was too calm, too even, like if she said it softly enough it might not be real.

“she’s dying,” she said.

sophia blinked, unsure she’d heard her right.

manon just nodded, slow and tired. “infection in her lungs. they’re calling it a genetic fault—a mutation, maybe. something in her immune system never activated properly when her clock started. it slipped through the cracks. shouldn’t have been possible.”

she shook her head, eyes heavy. “we’re supposed to be immune. perfect. preserved. but somehow, she wasn’t. and no one noticed until it was too late.”

sophia’s stomach turned. “but they can fix it, right? i mean… they have the tech, the medicine—”

“they tried. she was in and out of clinics for months. specialists, private labs. nothing worked. she didn’t respond to treatment like the rest of us would. they said her body’s acting like it’s still twenty-four. like she never transitioned.”

sophia’s breath stuttered. “why are you telling me now?”

“because she only has seven hours left. and because i don’t care what she said. i thought you deserved the chance.”

manon hesitated. her gaze softened. “i think she still loves you. she just couldn’t forgive the hurt.”

sophia left without finishing her tea. she didn’t even say goodbye.

the hospital was whitewashed and quiet, all clean linoleum and artificial light. the hallway to y/n’s room stretched too long, like it was trying to buy time neither of them had. then, as she turned the corner, she saw her.

minjeong. standing just outside the room, phone pressed to her ear, a lopsided smile on her lips. she laughed, soft and distant, her voice rising in that sing-song tone reserved for harmless conversations. she looked normal. untouched. as if the world wasn’t ending just one doorway away.

sophia froze. her eyes dropped to minjeong’s wrist. fourteen years, seven months, and some days. glowing bright and green, like a promise she had no intention of breaking.

something inside sophia boiled. how could she? how could she stand there, smiling, with time to spare, while y/n’s clock ticked toward nothing?

her own wrist blinked green—six days. less than a week. not much, but she would’ve given every hour, every second, if it meant saving her. if it were me, she thought, she wouldn’t be dying alone.

minjeong turned away, voice echoing down the corridor as she disappeared. sophia waited, counting the seconds. only when it was silent did she step inside.

y/n looked small beneath the sheets, her face pale and too still, chest rising in shallow intervals. her wrist blinked faintly: forty-nine minutes.

sophia moved toward her slowly, afraid that if she blinked, it might all vanish. she sat beside the bed and pressed her palms into her knees to stop them from shaking. she was born into a system that promised immortality, but not protection from being broken. sophia couldn’t help but bite the inside of her cheek, biting back a sob.

she broke her first.

“i don’t know if you can hear me,” she whispered, voice rough with unshed tears, “but i had to come.”

she glanced at y/n’s face. the slope of her nose, the familiar freckle near her temple. so much of her still the same, and yet impossibly distant.

“i’m sorry,” sophia said. “for everything. for walking away. for letting fear make decisions in my name. i was so scared—of what they’d say, of what it meant—but none of it matters now. it never should have mattered more than you.”

she looked down, throat tightening. “i see you here and all i can think about is everything we lost. not just the big things, but the little ones. morning coffee. dumb jokes. the way you always stole the covers. i would give anything to go back. i would stay this time. i swear i would.”

a sharp sob broke free, and she stood, needing air, needing space. the hallway felt like it was closing in. her heart raced.

memories assaulted her—y/n dancing barefoot in the kitchen, humming to a song only she knew. their first apartment, mold in the corner and a mattress on the floor. the time they got caught in the rain and sophia kissed her under a flickering streetlamp, lit up by headlights and soaked through to her skin. the night she left, and how y/n didn’t chase her. just closed the door gently, like she’d already known she wasn’t coming back.

her vision blurred.

then she heard it—a voice. a cry of pain. a few rooms down, a man clutched his side on the floor, wrist blinking red: twenty seconds.

sophia didn’t think. she walked in, knelt beside him, and held out her arm.

“take it,” she said.

he stared. “what—?”

“six days. they’re yours.”

his fingers grazed hers. the transfer was instant. she felt the tug in her chest, and when she looked down, her wrist glowed: three minutes, eighteen seconds.

it felt… light.

perhaps she could have waited for y/n to wake up. perhaps she could have split her time in half, given the girl at least a few more days of time to make peace with eachother. but in some twisted way, a feeling rooted deep in sophia’s core, the thought made her ill. she didnt want to give y/n more time to be with minjeong, the girl with fourteen gatekept years. she didn’t want to give her more time to love someone that wasnt her.

maybe it was evil. cruel. but, she did it anyway. she would give anything to be with the girl she loved. even if it meant losing herself.

when she returned to y/n’s room, her legs trembled, but her resolve didn’t. she climbed into the bed and curled herself around the girl she had loved since eighteen. rested her head just beneath her chin. inhaled the remnants of lavender soap and something achingly familiar.

they had dreams once—soft, unspoken things shared beneath bedsheets and between sleepy kisses. a little apartment with creaky floors. morning coffee on the balcony. a life where love didn’t have to be hidden. they used to talk about growing old together, about holding hands through every year they were lucky enough to get. but sophia broke it—walked away before those dreams could become real. and yet, in the quiet of that hospital bed, with y/n beside her and nothing left to run from, she let herself believe they’d found a piece of it after all. as the last seconds slipped through her fingers, she smiled. then everything fell still.

when minjeong returned, flowers in hand and breath slightly uneven from rushing, the room was too still. she’d taken too long. the bouquet slipped from her fingers before she even crossed the threshold.

y/n lay quiet in the bed. sophia was curled beside her, close enough to look like she belonged there. neither of them moved.

when minjeong’s eyes dropped to their wrists, she saw what she already knew. no time left. for either of them.

they were gone. together.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Deleted the first post, then added to it. Now I like it more!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

A threat in home?

★ It started with someone, or something, tearing through people's gardens at night. Then it turned to knocking over trashcans and scattering garbage around Home. After that, things started going missing.

★ You knew something had to be done once mail started getting stolen out of mailboxes. Poor Eddie was in hysterics. "What kind of monster would do this!" he cried. Poppy, wide eyed and shaken, attempted to sooth him. Clearly the neighbors needed help.

★ What kind of friend let's a creature ravage through the neighborhood? No. You had to do something. This has gone on for long enough. Don't bother telling anyone, because it might scare them. Especially Poppy or Eddie.

★ It happened at night, when everyone retreated inside their homes and wouldn't dare to leave. The cover of night provided the perfect opportunity for you to act. You heard it first, thin claws clicking against stone.

★ The creature looked like a raccoon, but bigger and made of stained grey fabric. It had the appearance of a well-loved stuffie. Its hands were thin and nimble. A sharp claw at the end of each finger. Before you could react in any meaningful way, it bolted. Running toward the trees and into the night.

★ Grabbing a wooden bat, you chased it. Adrenaline flooding your veins. As you ran, you followed the sound of sticks breaking beneath the creature's feet. It was fact. But you were faster.

★ The creature made a crack sound as you smashed the bat against its midsection. Did this thing have bones? Its hands reached out to grab at you. Leaving thin, red, lines on your skin where its claws met with flesh.

★ Blood dripping down your arm and onto the handle of the bat. You pulled away. Breath shallow, heart pounding, gripping the bat with all intention of killing this thing. It tried to grab you again. But this time you yank yourself away.

★ Swinging the makeshift weapon again, wood collided with whatever hid behind the fabric. Causing it to let out an ungodly screech you're sure woke up a few neighbors, the fabric of its mouth ripped open. Revealing a set of teeth that caught you off guard.

★ It didn't bleed. But you did. And now it's your turn to run. You don’t wait for it to recover. You don’t wait to see what happens next. The point had been made. Don't come back. In the morning you'll look worse for wear. But at least the problem is gone. For now.

★ Poppy was too scared to leave her home, so she called you on the telephone. "Oh dear, I was getting worried! Are you alright? I... I heard something. Did you hear it too?" You could lie. Or you could tell her what happened.

★ In the morning you look worse for wear. Scratches line your arms and bruises have begun to form. You don't even wake up until 11 AM. The sound of knocking at your door pulling you out of sleep. "Nighbor? Are you home?"

★ Opening the door, you find Eddie with a letter in his hand. His smile quickly changing into a look of concern as he sees the state you're in. Without a hint of hesitation, Eddie guides you back inside while asking what happened.

★ Frank does his best to treat the cuts. Thankfully you mentioned how to do this, and he wrote it down. The entire time he chastises you for being so reckless. "Honestly, first you go out during night." He pauses to put a band aid on your arm. "Then you get into a fight! What would possess you to do something as stupid as that?!?"

★ Then as word of you getting hurt spread across Home. One by one people started to visit you. Julie came to give you a get well soon card, partnered with many hugs. Barnaby showed up with Wally. And Sally came over to ask if it was you she heard last night.

[jessiso]

"Low Sun, Loud Hearts"

A Criminal Minds Fanfiction | Aaron Hotcher x Single Parent Fem! Reader | Part III

cw: gentle intimacy, emotional vulnerability, new relationships

w/c 1,168.

(I think this will be the final part of this guys!! unless i decide otherwise in the future! Thank you so much for reading)

(Click here for Part I)

(Click here for Part II)

...

It had only been a few days, but it felt longer. Long enough that you found yourself checking your phone more than usual, smiling at every buzz and new message from Aaron.

You hadn’t made plans yet—not officially—but there was a thread between you now, tugging tighter each time he sent a picture of Jack’s “potion ingredients” or teased you about your supposed frog transformation.

And then, finally, on a lazy Thursday evening as you were folding laundry and half-listening to your daughter hum in the other room, your phone chimed.

Aaron:

Jack asked if you’re free Saturday. He says the zipline lesson can’t wait.

Also… I was thinking maybe dinner afterward? Just us?

No pressure.

Your heart skipped. Then it skipped again when you reread it.

You:

Saturday sounds perfect. Zipline and dinner. It’s a date.

Aaron:

A date.

I like the sound of that.

You grinned at the screen, giddy in a way you hadn’t been in too long.

Saturday came with golden skies and a breeze that sent little kites spinning above the park.

You and your daughter arrived a little early this time, picnic blanket slung under one arm, the other balancing a cooler full of sandwiches and juice boxes (because of course).

Jack spotted you first, racing across the grass with a wild, toothy grin.

“She’s here!” he called over his shoulder, waving Aaron forward.

Aaron trailed behind at a much more reasonable pace, but the way his face lit up when he saw you—it made your breath catch. Like maybe he couldn’t help it. Like maybe he needed to see you.

"Hey," he said, once you met halfway. His voice was low, warm. Yours mirrored it without even trying.

"Hey."

You didn’t quite touch, but you both hovered close enough that it felt inevitable.

Soon.

The kids immediately plunged into their adventure, dragging each other toward the zipline platform like they had a mission ordained by the universe itself.

You and Aaron strolled slowly behind them, watching.

“She’s braver than I was at that age,” you admitted, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “I wouldn’t have gotten ten feet near that thing.”

Aaron chuckled. “Jack needed three solid pep talks last time. I’m impressed.”

You both leaned on the fence, side by side, the warm wood pressing against your forearms.

“She’s got a lot of you in her,” Aaron said quietly.

You turned your head, brows lifting in surprise. “Yeah?”

He nodded, looking at you with something steady and sure. “Brave. Good-hearted. Not scared to jump when it matters.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything, afraid if you breathed too loud you’d shatter the spell he’d somehow woven around you.

“Thank you,” you said, voice thick.

Aaron’s gaze softened even more. “Don’t thank me for telling the truth.”

Jack’s triumphant whoop broke the moment, and you both turned to see him zipping through the air, your daughter cheering at the top of her lungs.

“She’s next,” Aaron said, and you both laughed when she immediately climbed up without hesitation.

Later, after scraped knees were bandaged and the sun was starting to slip down toward the horizon, Aaron helped you pack up the cooler.

“I made reservations,” he said, voice casual but his eyes watching your reaction carefully. “Nothing fancy. Just a place I know that’s good for conversation... and dessert.”

You smiled, heart warming at the thought that he’d thought this through so carefully.

“Sounds perfect,” you said. “Let me just drop her at my sister’s, then I’m all yours.”

Something in Aaron’s expression flickered—something bright, hopeful. He nodded once. “I’ll follow you.”

The kids didn’t even blink when you explained the plan. Jack was thrilled for a sleepover, and your daughter was already plotting movie marathons and popcorn feasts.

By the time you dropped her off and slid back into your car, nerves started to creep in.

It wasn’t just the idea of dinner. It was the idea of letting someone matter again. Letting someone see you.

But when Aaron stepped up to your window at the curb, smiling so softly, the nerves melted under the sheer quiet pull of him.

“You ready?” he asked.

You smiled back. “I’m ready.”

The restaurant was cozy, tucked on a quiet street with little fairy lights strung between the trees outside. Aaron opened the door for you without even thinking about it, his hand brushing the small of your back as you stepped inside.

The conversation was easy, like it always seemed to be with him. You talked about everything and nothing—favorite songs, the weirdest meals your kids had ever concocted, the way the world seemed a little softer in the spring.

At one point, he leaned in, his voice low, conspiratorial.

“I should probably admit,” he said, “I was rooting for the frog potion to work. Then I could keep you as my secret frog princess.”

You laughed, cheeks warming.

"I hate to disappoint, but I think I’m sticking to human for now.”

He gave you a mock-serious nod.

“Probably for the best. I hear frog royalty have terrible dessert menus.”

You smiled so wide it almost hurt.

Later, over coffee and shared slices of pie, Aaron’s hand brushed yours across the table.

It was tentative at first—almost accidental—but when you didn’t pull away, he turned his palm up, inviting.

You slid your fingers into his without thinking.

His thumb traced a slow, lazy pattern against the side of your hand, and the look in his eyes—soft, searching, full of things he wasn’t saying yet—made your stomach flutter in the best possible way.

“You make it easy,” he said quietly. “Being around you.”

You squeezed his hand. “You make it easy to want to stay.”

By the time he walked you to your car again, the air between you was thick with the kind of anticipation that made your heart pound.

He lingered by your door, hands in his pockets, the way he had before—but this time, when he stepped closer, you didn’t hesitate.

Neither did he.

Aaron’s hand came up, gentle against your cheek, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing each other in.

Then he leaned in, slow, deliberate, giving you every second to pull away.

You didn’t.

The kiss was soft at first—just a brush of mouths—but then you tilted your head and he deepened it, and your hands slid up his chest without thinking, anchoring yourself there.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate.

It was careful.

Reverent.

Like he’d been waiting to be sure, and now he was.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Aaron rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m really glad you came to the park that day,” he murmured.

You smiled, thumb brushing the collar of his jacket. “Me too.”

You kissed him again—quick, giddy—before slipping into your car, cheeks aching from smiling.

And as you drove home, the night air cool against your skin, your heart was louder than the radio and twice as sweet.

Something good.

Something real.

Something yours.

[moodient]

<- masterlist

imagine!ambessa and reader went to a fancy restaurant, sipping on fine and exquisite wine, enjoying your favorite meal but prepared by the finest chefs. your outfit was sewed and customized with you in mind, you were absolutely stunning and ambessa is just as beautiful. a deep red dress suit, with no shirt underneath but she was wearing a layered choker that covered her chest, gold accessories that decorated her face and she wore her gold heels that clacked, and of course, that ring. it always caught your eye, it alone shows power, strength, and order.

you can't help but look at it, of course you're listening to her. she talks of military ideas, new plans of training new recruitees, and even what routes to take for the next war. you love listening to her, she's articulate, she speaks with passion, and you absolutely love that about her, but she stops to see you looking at her ring. watching it glistens in the sun, she moves her hand slightly watching your eyes, moving with the ring.

"honey, are you alright?" ambessa said, rubbing her hands together and smirking at you. you flinch, a little apprehensive but calmed your nerves looking into her eyes.

"yeah, baby.. i just really like your ring. it's so pretty." you said, holding your hand out to hold hers, she takes a quick sip of wine and places her heavy hand on yours. she intertwines her fingers with yours and leans over to kiss your hand.

"thank you, little one. it's a family ring, to represent honor, power, unity, and of course, love." she said, saying the last word looking at you. you blush softly, feeling the impact of her words hit you.

"will i get one?" you said, not realizing what you're saying. her eyes quickly widened and went back to the original stance. her eyes filled with love and admiration. after it clicked, you blush harder, rubbing the back of your head as her hand is still intertwined with yours.

thinking that you've ruined the night for the both of you, she laughs. she is overfilled with joy but also humored. you're embarrassed that her laugh fills the room, other customers now looking at her, annoyed with her laughter but continued with their meals.

she stops laughing, taking a breath and calm her heart. she gets up and moves over to the side of you. you could feel how close she is to, your heartbeat filled with adrenaline, but you're scared to see her move. anticipating her first move, she holds your hand with one hand and the other, holding your face and kisses you tenderly. the kiss is soft, tender and passionate.

she removes the ring and places it on yours. it doesn't fit but it looks right on your finger, perfect. she looks at your face as it grows in happiness, kissing your lips once more.

"let's get a ring of your own size." she says, placing your head on her shoulder.

"are you asking me to marry you?" you said jokingly. but the silence afterwards was deafening and loud at the same time. you got up looking down at her in shock.

"well not right now, but soon i will." she said smiling, you took a deep breath and leaned back on the cushion on the chair.

"you asshole." you said, hitting her softly.

"don't worry baby, it'll be soon. sooner than you think."

[sturnboos]

KIDNAPPED BY CHRIS PART TWO

CURRENT WARNINGS: sadistic!chris & matt, physical abuse, mental abuse, swearing, blood, read at your OWN risk

STARING: Chris x Matt x Delilah

The door opens again. The masked man comes in. He kneels down behind me and grabs the rope that my hands are tied together with. "If you run, I will hurt you, if you try to hurt me, I will slit your throat and if you touch matt or nick, I will kill you" he whispers as he begins to cut the rope.

"Doesn't sound like I'm getting out of this shit hole anyway" I whisper.

"Don't talk back" he snaps and lets my hands free. I brush the hair out of my face. He pulls me up by my shirt.

I quickly run to a door that hopefully leads out of this place. My foot kicks something and I trip over and land on my face, my nose hitting the ground hard. The mystery man kneels down and grabs my hair. "You're very stupid you know" he pulls my head up with slams it into the ground.

I groan and roll over on the ground. "Now you're just gonna get blood everywhere" he says. He pulls me up, I taste my own blood in my mouth. I cough and accidentally dribble some saliva on the ground. "Hmmm" Chris hums. He pushes me out the room and into a kitchen like place. He grabs a clothe and runs water on it.

The other 2 men walk in. "She tried to run then?" One of them laugh. "You know, I'd be careful, Chris could kill you with one click" the other one of them click there fingers.

I roll my eyes, "i'd rather die then be here for the next who knows" I whisper.

Chris places his hand on my cheek then slaps me hardly in the face. "I said don't fucking talk back" he whispers. I hold my cheek in my hand. I go to reach for his mask with my other hand. He grabs my arm. "You fucking touch me I'll fucking fuck you up" he says angrily.

"You said that I'd have to stay here if I saw your face and it already loo-" he slaps me in the face again harder. I groan and hold my cheek in my hand then stay quiet as he puts the wet cloth under my nose and pinches the top of my nose. "Why-" he raised his hand so I cut myself off not wanting to be hit again. When my nose has stopped bleeding Chris states "You get to sleep on the couch".

"Why the cou-"

"Be fucking grateful I'm not making you sleep tied up" Chris says and pushes me on the couch. "Ok ok" I say and roll my eyes.

"I swear to fuck if you roll your eyes at me one more time i will hur-"

"So do it" I say sitting up and staring into his eyes, our faces inches apart. He wouldn't actually right? If he wanted he would have killed me by now. "Don't say that otherwise I will" he whispers, "so do it" I whisper. He grabs my arm and pins it to the couch and punches me in the face. He lets go of me and walks away and up a hallway.

"Matt?! Nick?! I'm not watching her!!" Chris yells seemingly having a mood swing, "you'd probably end up killing her" Matt laughs.

"Chris I'm not- I need to sleep" Nick answers.

I lean back on the couch. Then all the lights turn off and the only light coming through is the moonlight. "You think you're so smart" I hear Matt's voice. "You're messing with the wrong person Delilah" he adds on.

"I'm not messing with him" I whisper.

"He will kill you, you think hes to scared too, I've seen what he can do Delilah, you have no idea" Matt explains.

"I know he's only threatening me, I know the only thing he'll do to me is hurt me... he wouldn't kill me, i would already be dead" I whisper.

"Are you sure about that?" Matt whispers. I lay down on the couch and don't answer.

It's been about an hour. I can't sleep. I sit up, Matt has been asleep for the past half an hour. One light turns on in the hallway, my curiosity gets the best of me. I get of the couch quietly and walk to the entrance of the hallway. I peek my head down the hall. I see no one, I slowly walk down to the end of the hall, I peek my head around a corner away from the light. The light suddenly turns off. I turn around quickly but it's pitch black.

Shit.

“What are you doing?" I feel Chris's deep voice whisper in my ear from behind, his hot breath hitting my ear. His mask... it's off? I wouldn't be able to feel his breath if he had his mask on. I turn around quickly but it's pitch black and I can't see his face.

"I can't sleep" I whisper, "and you thought you would come down here?" He asks.

"I don't know" I whisper, "please don't hit me" I quickly whisper.

"What happened to the confidence Delilah?" He whispers. I don't answer.

"Why aren't you showing me your face?" I ask

"isn't that obvious?" He whispers.

"You aren't taking me back anyway" I shrug.

"Hmmm" he hums.

"Chris where's Delilah!?" I hear Matt yell.

"I'll leave Matt to hurt you" Chris whispers. "Over here" Chris yells back. I no longer feel Chris's presence anymore.

TAGLIST: @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @blushsturns @blahbel668 @riasturns @iloveduckssm @cl1tlover3000 @emmaweasley comment here to be added

[cressidagrey]

Ok so I love the chapter so much. Here’s a little bit of my thought process.

What got me thinking was maybe when Charles was younger he did feel concern for his sister but the gaslighting and manipulation of only his dreams matter got into his head leading him to believe that only his career matter and that slowly slipped into him having main character syndrome along with him being the gold child of the family. I think he could have suffered emotionally with the pressure of making things work or otherwise his parents have spent all this time and energy on someone who’s failed.

I think personally Charles doesn’t intentionally chose to forget his sister he’s just so used to be the main person of the family that’s it’s clouded his judgement and made him forgetful and I think he gotten so used to having his sister do everything that it threw him for a loop when she started pulling back and it confused him and he didn’t know what to do because he’s never know what to do when he’s put in situation where he has to think for himself and I think that really shows in these past few chapter that he’s lost without someone helping him or just doing it for him. He’s gotten so used to everything being handed to him he’s lost when he has to do it himself.

I think in this chapter he’s projecting his insecurities of not knowing his sister as well as he thought on everyone else and doesn’t know what to do when he’s confronted with that reality. And he’s projecting because he scared to get his head out of the fog because then that means the reality he’s always had in his head of what he knows about his sister isn’t true any more and he hates that feeling so much.

I think the person who really cracked him was fred. Fred didn’t hold back in telling him he failed as a driver brother but also as someone who can’t keep their emotions in check when confronted with a situation he’s clueless on how to proceed with. I think that conversation with Fred was needed for Charles to finally get his head out of the fog and really think really look at the situation from someone else’s perspective and think wow I’ve been horrible this entire time for the majority of their life and now I get to watch from the sidelines as she moves on with her life and I’m not in it. I think that was something Charles needed to hear very badly.

Which leads me into my next thing. I don’t know if my previous message sent or not but I was right about Arthur being the first one to make steps into trying to change his behavior and actually see his sister for who she is and understand it’ll take time for her to forgive him for what he and everyone else did but I think it’s good he’s making and effort to change his behavior.

The next person I think she’ll forgive next is Lorenzo. He’s the big brother and I can see he’s really beating himself up for not realizing a lot sooner what was going on and that he could have done something for her. I also see that it may finally click with Lorenzo when his girlfriend/ fiancée Charlotte sits him down and explain she doesn’t want the kids they may have grow up in a broken household where one is ignored for another’s dreams. She’ll want her kids to have an equal opportunity to strive for their dreams and have a chance at those dreams unlike how Lorenzo has grown up. I think that conversation will make it click so much better

Charles may take awhile but I see them making up in the future but on belles terms and Charles really really making amends for what he’s done and understand his sister is a person who’s made her own decisions and he has to accept those decisions and work on himself first before he comes back.

With the mom it’s past the point of no return. Regardless or not if she changes it’ll take a lot longer for belle to forgive her mother and make amends with her. But that’s if belle decides to let her back in.

Now onto the topic of children I totally see a little boy who’s a spitting image of his dad but loves horses like his mom and is okay at karting.

Sorry if this is a long post I had to get some things off my chest.

First of all — this analysis is phenomenal. The way you’ve unpacked Charles’ character arc, emotional blindness, and the psychology behind his behavior is so insightful and layered, it honestly reads like a thesis in the best way. You absolutelygot to the heart of what’s been driving him this entire time: the emotional coddling, the pressure to succeed, the blindness to Belle’s humanity, and now the disorienting fallout of being forced to see it all unravel.

You're absolutely right — it’s not always malice behind Charles' behavior. It’s entitlement, yes, but it’s also conditioning. The guilt he’s avoiding, the projection of his insecurities, and the deep fear of admitting that the narrative he’s built his life around might not be the truth — all of that is real and crushing. Your point about him being "used to someone doing it for him" and now being completely lost? That’s exactly it. Belle stepping away is his wake-up call, and the Fred conversation was very deliberately meant to be a very real shake — where somebody he needs to listen to truly says, “You were wrong. You failed.” Not gently. Not in passing. But directly.

I also love your analysis of Arthur and Lorenzo. Arthur is the youngest, and in many ways, the least emotionally formed — but that doesn’t make him incapable of growth. The fact that you picked up on how his guilt is different, how it’s rooted in immaturity and ignorance rather than ego, is spot on. And your read on Lorenzo being the one who reflects hardest through the lens of potential fatherhood via Charlotte? Chef’s kiss. That dynamic — realizing he wouldn’t want any daughter of his treated the way Belle was — could absolutely be a turning point.

And Pascale? You’re dead-on. Forgiveness there is a mountain with no peak. Belle may not want to climb it, and that would be valid. Love that is conditional, or that only acknowledges your worth when it fits a role — like the "good daughter" or “selfless sister” — can be more damaging than outright neglect. Belle has learned to build a life without her mother’s approval, and it may stay that way.

Also — your little Verstappen boy headcanon is so soft and sweet, I can’t even handle it. A mini Max with Belle’s love of horses? Obsessed. And the fact that you added “okay at karting” like it’s just a side hobby? Perfection. You really get it.

Never apologize for a long message like this — it was thoughtful, moving, and brilliantly written. You absolutely nailedso many threads, and honestly, you could be writing critical character essays.

[thechosengryffindor]

Harry had been worried- what if she found her soulmate? What if it wasn't him? What if he hadn't been meant for a soulmate? But now the horcrux was gone and everything seemingly clicked into place; the thing he had wanted since fourth year was finally right in front of him.

And he was still scared.

Harry looked away when she said they would look and see what could be done; it was his fault, he had brought this war to her- to the most important person in his life and she had suffered for it. Would she resent him for it? He didn't know if he could live with that.

"Okay."

Harry knew better than to argue with her, even as their fingers intertwined, "I'm not hungry.." he muttered, scraping his teeth against his lower lip in thought before green eyes tilted back up to look at her, "But I suppose we could go down. You need to eat..." he said quietly, "And- well i think the walls are starting to close in on me." he said dryly.

"Maybe we can go for a walk after you eat."

It's crazy to her in the moment to think that all this time they've both just somewhat believed in the back of their minds that all roads kept them together. Of course they thought that perhaps they would be separated when their soul mates came around, but now it seemed quite obvious that whatever their souls were made of was the same.

Hearing him mention her parents made her pause, however, because that had been a decision that she hadn't made lightly. It was the only way that she thought that she could protect them, which had proven to be correct. After all, she'd been tortured and it was best that her parents be spared the wizarding part of that.

"I am happy when I'm with you." She admitted gently, her hand running down his arm to his hand. Interlacing their fingers, she keeps her hold on him, not wanting to let go. "We'll figure out if there's anything to be done. I know that I miss them--there's an ache that only they can fill--but I think that right now my focus is on you."

He was just as important to her and he was right about one thing: McGonagall wanted him to spend some time out of the room. The only person she thought could get through to him was Hermione, and it turns out she'd been right. Granted, the woman was right about a great many things.

"You definitely need something to eat..."

[papermint-airplane]

There is a cat in this image. Can you find her?

[dykedvonte]

Something something Curly being confined to the gurney and being unable to talk makes it so he has to see the little things since he literally can not see the bigger things himself anymore.

However, it also makes the little things become big because his inability to talk and break the bigger things down into smaller things gives him glimpses into the cracks he couldn’t see before.

[spellsparkler]

writing elias is fun for, i expect, the same reason a lot of people find the dark urge fun: I know more or less what's going on with her and she's got no fucking clue. she's a very information-driven person, and as soon as she realises that there is some largely indefinable difference between her and the rest of them she immediately starts trying to catalogue it and narrow it down. it's interesting to write someone who is so deliberately aware of themself and observing themself all the time

[articskele]

IF I HAD A NICKEL EVERYTIME I WANTED TO BE FRIENDS WITH A DUO OF CHARACTERS FROM A HORROR GAME, ONE BEING HUMANOID AND THE OTHER BEING A MONSTER WITH SHARP TEETH-

[astranauticus]

idk what is it about that one throwaway line from han sooyoung about her writing 10 chapters in one day that finally broke me but oh my fuckin god i love her so much

[snobgoblin]

^ this one I like this one he's a jerk