#I'll get over it but. you have just. this tiny sliver of hope

[spaceyqueer]

it's funny. you think you're growing some sort immunity to casual transphobia and transmisogyny, and then your coworkers suddenly burst into a debate about J K Rowling, and about how she's been cancelled just for "stating a fact" and you realise how badly it really does effect you, when you're having a breakdown on the stairway where no one can hear you cry

[xxoxobree]

Miles G x Black Fem Reader

Summary: Revenge is oh so sweet

WARNINGS: A Few bad words , one tiny suggestive scene, aged up.

Saturday.

You sat in your bed, laptop placed on your lap as you continued to finish your work. But your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of him. Miles. Ever since he left last Saturday, he had been the only thing on your mind.

Feeling restless, you shut your laptop and tossed it to the side. A small smile graced your lips as you picked up your phone to check the time. It was already 6 pm. Your heart quickened its pace. Should you start getting ready? You always wanted to look your best for him.

You freshened up, fixed your hair and makeup, and sat on your bed, waiting for him. Tonight felt different. It felt like the night you would finally win him over, the night he would finally see you. The night he would choose you to be his number one.

But as hours and hours ticked by, there was no sign of him. Not even a text. You checked your phone again, now reading 1 am. The disappointment weighed heavily on your heart. What happened? Why didn't he show up?

He's usually always here at 10, or he'd at least send you a text saying he'd be late. The minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of him. Frustration started to bubble within you, wondering if he was flaking on you for his "girlfriend" again.

"Miles, are you still coming? Don't tell me you're flaking on me for that girl," you typed in a text message. But to your surprise, a red exclamation mark appeared next to it. Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and tried again, only to receive the same result.

You decided to call him instead. Holding the phone to your ear, you muttered, "This nigga got me fucked up." But instead of hearing his voice, you were met with an automated response. Your eyebrows furrowed even deeper, frustration slowly turning into anger, as you dialed his number again, only to hear the same automated message mocking you.

"He fucking blocked me?" you said out loud, a mixture of shock and heartbreak washing over you. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, tears welling up in your eyes. How could he do this? He said he loved you, so why would he just block you without any explanation?

Feeling the weight of betrayal, you tossed your phone to the side and covered your mouth in disbelief.

A million thoughts of why and what did you do swirled in your mind. You crawled into bed crying yourself to sleep, and that was your reality for a week. Dragging yourself out of bed to class and back, sleeping to get yourself to stop the constant crying you did.

Saturday night again, exactly one week after Miles ghosted you. Your phone pinged, and you felt your heart quicken, a sliver of hope that it was him who came to apologize, say something happened to his phone. But it wasn't. It was your friend Nia who texted you to FaceTime her. Reluctantly, you picked up the call.

"Hello?" you said, hearing loud blaring music and seeing her face halfway in the screen.

"Y/n, where were you, girl?" she screamed into the phone.

You chuckled a bit, the first in a week. "I'm in bed."

"You in bed? Girl, get yo ass up, it's so many niggas outside."

You laughed at her antics. "Girl, you're crazy."

Nia's voice softened, concern evident in her eyes. "I know you've been hurting, Y/n. But you can't let this keep you down. You deserve better, and you need to realize that."

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I know, Nia. It's just hard, you know?"

"They're having a kickback, I'll text you the address and you better show up." You rolled your eyes, knowing that you had no choice but to come now. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed and freshened up, then dressed yourself and made your way out the door to the party.

The music from the party could be heard a block away, and as you got closer, you could tell that the party was packed by the way people lingered outside. Pushing your way through the crowd, you made your way inside, scanning the room for Nia and your other friends in the distance.

"Ayeee!" you exclaimed, approaching them with a little bop to the music that blasted through the speakers. "Omg, you look sooo good, girl," Nia said, giving you a hug, followed by your other friends.

The night progressed, and you were having fun. The few drinks you had loosened you up, and you had totally forgotten the despair you were in just a few hours earlier. That was before you heard a voice in your ear. The last voice you wanted to hear, but one you were oh so weak for.

You spun around, and there stood Miles, his pretty smile on display. "Hey mamita, you're looking as pretty as always," he said, his voice dripping with charm.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, time stood still. You knew you shouldn't be swept away by his words, but his presence was intoxicating. The memories of past encounters flooded your mind, the passion, and the pain.

Trying to compose yourself, you replied, "Hey, Miles,"

You rolled your eyes at him, ready to walk away, but he caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your veins, and you couldn't help but feel a flicker of longing deep within you.

"Don't be like that, ma. I miss you," he pleaded, pulling you close, eliminating the space between you two. His voice tugged at your heartstrings, making it harder to resist him.

You looked up at him, your self-control wavering. He could see the battle raging within you, the fight diminishing, and that turned him on even more than he could have imagined. He knew he was pushing your boundaries.

"Whatever, Miles," you said, trying not to give in to him. You remembered how he had cut you off, how he had made you cry, and a switch flipped in your brain. If he wanted to play, then let's play, you thought to yourself, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Come," you said, grabbing Miles' hand, leading him to an empty room. The anticipation hung in the air, thick with both uncertainty and excitement. This was a dangerous game, but you were ready to take the risk.

You straddled him, your bodies intertwined, as you buried his lips into your neck, distracting him from the true purpose of your actions. Little did he know, you had a secret plan in motion. You had begun recording capturing every word and sound between you two.

"I love you so much, Y/n," he whispered, his words causing your smile to grow even wider.

Your revenge was going to be sweet.

You ended the recording and abruptly got off his lap. "I gotta go, Miles," you said, leaving him dumbfounded in the room. With a sense of satisfaction, you found your friends and told them that you were heading home.

Once back in the comfort of your own room, you flopped onto your bed and opened your phone. It was time to unveil the truth on Instagram, the perfect platform to embarrass him like he did you. You posted the video on your story, accompanied by a caption that tagged Miles' girlfriend and asked, "This your man?"

Within minutes, your phone became filled with notifications and messages from people who had viewed your shocking story. The reaction you craved the most came from Miles himself. He blew up your phone with a series of angry text messages, which you chose to ignore, relishing in his frustration. And then, as if to add salt to his wounds, he called.

Unable to contain your amusement, you picked up the phone, laughing hysterically. "You think that shit's funny, huh?" he yelled from the other side of the line. "Hilarious," you replied, savoring the taste of revenge before hanging up and blocking his number.

🏷️ @noneofyabuisnezs @zaddyskye69 @neteyamsz @evermorewest @writerze @curly @bigbadjelly @xoomiez @ccrazyinluv @aqxllo @sleepyghoster @onlyloaksgf @ohsoprada @han-sirentell @ellerihs @acezeyez z @ashanomly @namjoonsloveforpop @lovemyself-persona @planetspiderzz @xylianasblog @laylasbunbunny

If you weren’t tagged sorry 🥲

[little-bumblebeeee]

Moonlight - part 2

Werewolf!Steve Harrington x vampire!Eddie Munson

a teeeeny tiny bit of angst but don't worry

A little bit shorter than I'd like and I'm realizing this might have more parts than I bargained for (also not proofread if you see mistakes no you don't)

Part 1 :)

They avoid each other like the plague. Well, it's mostly Steve avoiding Eddie a little more than usual. He even starts sending Tommy to buy weed instead of just getting it himself, which means that no, that was not in fact a weird ass dream and Steve most definitely is a werewolf. And Eddie called him a good boy. He doesn't know which is more embarrassing, the fact that he cuddled with him like he was a dog or the fact he kind of misses that. Eddie doesn't even attempt to talk to him. He didn't before, why would he now?

But the next full moon has Eddie wanting to go back to those woods. As he hears those cries and howls, he feels the strange need to go back out and help Steve again. So what does he do? He grabs the now cold McDonald's burger he was about to eat and his bag, as well as a pet brush because he doesn't want his fingers getting caught in Steve's matted fur again, walking briskly back to those woods. Just as last time, when Eddie peeks through the trees, he sees the big brown wolf curled up and whining, clearly still in a little bit of pain. "Steve?" Eddie asks tentatively. Steve's head perks up, looking around before his familiar burnt caramel eyes land on Eddie. He jumps up, bounding over to Eddie and tackling him to the ground.

Oh. Great. Eddie's dying now. His throat is gonna be ripped out and Steve is only licking his face to get a taste of Eddie before he absolutely devours him and- okay now why is that making him think about human Steve sucking his- anyways back to Eddie about to die. Which.. isn't happening. Steve hops off of Eddie, tail wagging as he digs his nose into Eddie's bag, fishing out the burger and finishing it off in a single bite, not even chewing once. "Steve.. hey. Uh.." Eddie stammers, sitting up and scooting back a bit. Steve is a lot more affectionate in this form, and Eddie just assumes that Steve doesn't remember shit because in what world would Steve Harrington want anything to do with Eddie Munson? Especially since... well, they have reasons for calling him a "freak" that aren't just about his looks. The one time he tried his hand at asking out a guy, it backfired horribly, and now practically everyone in Hawkins knows he's- that he's...

Different.

He was young. Tried to prove everyone "wrong" by asking out a girl he kind of liked, just to get people to think the rumors weren't true. But it only worsened things somehow, making him eternally damned to be "the freak". Why did life put him here? It's just his luck to be practically tortured his whole life then be told he's going to hell as if he's not already there. Maybe he has died. Maybe this is hell. He's only having this nice moment with Steve as he lays his head on Eddie's lap because it's a way for him to get his hopes up, for him to be happy for at least a few moments before it all comes crashing down again before he even gets the chance to savor it.

He's tired of it. He's tired of getting his hopes up, of crying, of dealing with.. everything. He's just. So. Tired.

Eddie looks back down at the werewolf lying in his lap when he feels Steve's wet nose nudge against his hand, big brown eyes looking right back up at him with a look that almost appears to be worry in his eyes. "Hey, Steve." He says quietly, running his ringed fingers through the light brown fur of the large animal. It's like a sliver of light, a shot of caffeine to wake him up. He feels a little more okay like this, even if his chest aches knowing Steve will only avoid him further by tomorrow. But tonight, he'll savor this tonight.

Before life rips it all away from Eddie, he'll savor this.

part 3

Tag list: @manda-panda-monium (that's it, you can totally ask to be on the tag list if you want, I'll add you no hesitation)

[meetmyothersouls]

Random one shot bc this pic sent me into an immediate thought.

What are We?

warnings: angst, implied sex, argument, secret couple

You attended the press conference for a movie you didn’t feel like promoting. At least, not right now. Not after the argument you and your co-star, Jonah had. Alright, you can’t just call him your co-star. You’d fallen for him hard. But not as hard as he fell for you.

Last week, you flew into London to spend time with Jonah alone before the press conference for the new movie began. Six glorious days flew by filled with love, and food and kissing and sex. The seventh day was different. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Alright, what’s going on?” You finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve been around you long enough to be able to tell when something’s bothering you.”

Jonah sat close do you but didn’t make eye contact. You lowered your head onto his lap and pulled his face down to kiss you. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me,” you said I between them.

“You’ll get mad.”

That got your attention. You say up and pressed your back against the arm of the sofa. “What is it?” You asked again, only this time with more uncertainty in your voice and a significant lack of kisses.

“It’s nothing bad. I don’t think. I just. I don’t-”

You drug your hand across your face and Jonah sighed. You were both quiet for a moment until he finally spoke, “what are we?”

“Huh?” The question not only caught you off guard, it shocked you.

"What are we?" Jonah repeated.

"I thought it was obvious," you said, the days spent in bed, loving each other endlessly. You knew what it was to you, but now you were questioning him.

"Maybe to you."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Why can't you answer the question, y/n."

"Because! I spent the entire time filming trying to convince myself not to fall for you, and now that I have fully let myself go for you, you start all this bullshit!"

Jonah was silent.

"I thought we were together, Jonah."

There was a tiny sliver a hope in his eyes that faded away once he asked his next question. "Then how come every time you introduce me to someone, I'm just your 'friend'?"

You groaned. Labels. Jonah was all about putting a label on things. "Not everything has to be public, Jonah."

"I want it to be public. I want us to be public."

"I don't!"

"Why not!?"

"Because it fucking ruins everything. Don't you get that!? The last-"

"Oh, here you go again comparing shit to your last sorry excuse of a relationship."

You shut your mouth, then opened it again, trying to find the words to say back to him. Nothing came. You pulled on your sweater and stormed out of Jonah's room.

"Y/n," Jonah started after you. "Y/n!"

"Just leave me alone, Jonah."

"Just wait. Don't leave. Let's talk about this."

You slung your pack over your shoulder and zipped your luggage shut. You knew you were forgetting things, but you didn't care.

"There is no talking about this with you, Jonah. You want it one way and I want it another."

Jonah reached out and grabbed your arm. You stopped for a moment and in that instant, you almost threw yourself back into his arms, but you had to stop yourself. As much as you wanted it to, this wasn't going to work. You pulled your arm out of his grip.

"I'll see you at the conference," is all you said as you stepped away from him.

Two days later, the press conference arrived. You, the rest of the cast and the director stood on a stage in front of a rather impressive audience. Normally you would have stood next to Jonah, who was also standing next to the director, but you opted to stand further away. Even the director raised an eyebrow at your decision. You tried not to look at Jonah, but you couldn't help it. You wondered if he was trying not to look at you. If he was, he was doing a much better job at succeeding than you were. He looked absolutely sexy in a white t-shirt, glasses and a pair of dark jeans. It'd been two days since you'd been with him, but it felt like a thousand. He had his arms crossed, listening intently to what the director was saying, laughing when it was appropriate to laugh, but there was something about his expression that caught your eye. Just as you placed it, his eyes flicked over to you. You looked away, only to look right back. Jonah cracked a half smile at you, and you couldn't help but smile back.

I'm sorry, he mouthed.

Me too, you mouthed back.

Tags: @danielabetancourth @luna2034 @wandamaximoffbae @twinkledinkleg-blog @justagirlwholovedtoread @nonsensical-nonsence @paramorelvrr @thedonswife13 @miniemonie2001 1 @jonahhauer-kingg @crazyyynyyyy @notagreekgal28

[yellowfingcr]

"Tell me, is there one that you carry close in your heart?"

A gentle question, her thumb carefully rolled over the knuckles of the hand she carefully held, "Is there a name that comes to mind when I invoke the thought? You, with your heart so full that it must ache. And should you have no wish to tell me, I will not fault you. Instead I simply inquire; tell me what love is to you, what does it mean to love so much? To be so full that you're bursting with it?"

(Feel free to treat this as more ask rather than thread, if this does not work for you then def let me know and I'll rework something for you! I got you I got you)

Heysel blinked. Heysel, her fingers half-buried in the cold grave of Helena’s ashen palm, lifted an eyebrow. Heysel, a snort later, burst into a laughter so full it startled birds, and tilted her head back and back and trembled her shoulders like plucked string.

“Oh, come on now, warfield confessor! A finesse for peeling peaches put into proffering this question and it’s something you already know!” she said, once the mirth had left enough space for language. “I am almost certain- almost!- you are aware and if you’re not then you at least suspect a name. As for the rest: you flatter me. I must reply that your mentioned fullness is not unlikely to be an alloy with a shocking density of bad ideas and worse puns, however.”

A light tilt of her hooded head, left, right, considering, smiling a jester’s self-aware sort of smile.

“Love is… quite the enormous word! I love a great deal of things. I love life. I love being alive. I love that I am an animal of many tiny lenses, made to experience. I find that the notion never fails to render me speechless. You and I are here right now upon this sliver of spacetime, wet with organs and rife with the filaments necessary to detect the world- electrical inputs are right now swimming minnow-quick up my limbs saying ah! cold!, and saying person! Black hair, grey eyes! Person just like me composite of the very same instruments of navigating and learning what is around oneself. I was made to understand you. Do you get it? Isn’t it grand?” Her free hand, reaching out, drawing a light quick line from the middle of her friend’s brow to the tip of her nose. Contact! What were the chances that you and I would be two things that ever collided in the endless oceans of history? “I guess what I was about to say was sort of said already. I love, deeply love, humanity. Which is- perhaps absurd, coming from a killer, but that’s quite the thing, isn’t it? We’re capable of so many vile and wonderful things. We cherish and want and hurt each other. We need each other. We desperately do not wish to forget each other. I am just… in awe.”

And the sigh that followed! An unending map of fondness. That she could splay herself across the whole of it, heartbeat to concept, not even her ribs between them, not even her skin. Grassplains and hills of love drawn from the epicenter of a little nothing-woman, yet behold, at one place convergence, like a capital underlined red- 

“...Still. Well. All this universality in my words, yet there is he, isn’t it? He who you either know or suspect. Mountain-cut, fire-strong. I have been called in the past a clay-and-marrow figurine in moments of deserved unkindness- he stands so tall at the opposite side of that definition, realer than real, a concentration of brightness like the pinhole end of a black hole, where all caught light knots. I’m aware that given the opportunity he would outline himself by his capability for destruction first and though he is magnificent in battle and I shan’t speak of how exquisite he looks when cloaked in the blood of his foes it is his kindness that I must mention to the world first. How else can someone so willing to build something out of thin straws of hope, if not for himself then for others, be called? Someone so willing to see fellow human beings as something just as true as himself and to suffer for them. I have never witnessed a heart such as his. I do not think I will ever witness it again.” A pause. “I will be candid. I do not know what he sees in me. But that too is part of loving, I think. To not try to understand and just… consign yourself to gravity, trusting you’ll be caught. I know he will catch me, always. And I will do the same for him. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him, because he is worth all. This spectacularly precious man. My knight beautiful, my sweeter half. My lodestar. My Brom.”

[broken-clover]

22- Creating

I'll admit I'm considering mashing up prompts for the last week of this little project, I'm very much losing steam but don't want to throw in the towel when so close to completion.

Somehow I still have more fandoms to add in, so here's a little persona 5. A very flawed game with questionable moments, but I still like a lot of the characters, especially Yusuke. He's a charmingly peculiar little man with a fluffy fox tail that wags. It's hard not to be charmed. I'm realizing that both of the only fics I've made for him are about making art, but I'm treating it as a form of enrichment for him.

-

Yusuke was, first and foremost, a painter, but when Akira had made mention of some sculptor’s clay he’d bought at a discount from the craft store, he simply couldn’t resist. The urge to create could manifest in many ways.

The loft had already been set up with a little folding table by the time he’d arrived. Sakamoto and Takamaki were already there, as well, something that gave him pause. He hadn’t expected anyone else, nor had the two ever seemed particularly artistically inclined. At least at a glance, the box of clay was quite large, plenty for the four of them.

He sat down in the open chair. “I appreciate you inviting me, Akira.”

“Well, making a whole event out of this was Ryuji’s idea,” replied Ann, “so be sure to thank him too!”

“Ah…I see. Thank you, Sakamoto.”

Still, Akira had taken charge, as he was prone to. He managed the supply box, wrestling a long string to slice through the beige lump for Yusuke to use.

“You know how to sculpt, dont’cha, Yusuke?” Ryuji asked.

“I’m aware of the basics,” he said. “This isn’t my typical medium, but I am still somewhat familiar with it. Do you?”

“Nah, only done it a couple times before! That’s why I wanted to give it a go when I heard about his little shopping trip!” The boy beamed, jerking a thumb at their leader.

“It felt like a good way to relax,” Ann added in, “it feels like we get less and less free time lately, so if we’ve got an afternoon, why not do something fun?”

Yusuke nodded in approval. Even if he didn’t always understand his teammates, he could understand that much. At times, painting could bring him a sense of relief like no other. That wasn’t always how it went (artists’ block was an accursed thing that soured one of the grandest delights in his life) but when it did, he savored it.

As he started getting to work kneading the clay, he took note of how the others worked. Ann was meticulous in detailing her in-progress sculpture, gingerly scraping away tiny slivers to make patterns of indents and swirls. Ryuji seemed more interested with just playing around than creating something, building up a lump only to squash it back down again and redo the process. Akira was…

He scooted closer to try for a better look. “What are you making?”

Akira flattened the bottom of his half-done creation and began pulling along the top. “I’m making a little bowl.” He replied, thumbing over the rim to smooth the edge. “I don’t think I have any food-safe glaze, so I shouldn’t eat out of it, but I can put it on my desk and use it to hold things.”

What a practical thought. It fit him perfectly.

Yusuke happily fell into the chatter of his teammates, though repeatedly getting distracted by his own clay. Ann had been right, this was just what they’d needed between all the schoolwork and Mementos-delving. Of course the conversation passed over that every once in a while, but it didn’t linger long. They were free to just talk about whatever mundane goings-on caught anyone’s interest. Akira talked about the nice weather. Ryuji talked about an electronics sale he’d seen in town. It was nice. Just good, simple fun with some dear friends. Yusuke hoped they could make a habit of it.

[sheepcalledbas]

Ok so I wrote something that's too short to go on Ao3 so I'm putting it here. It's not Byler but it's Max Mayfield getting the real big brother she deserves in Steve Harrington with a sliver of Lumax. Hope y'all enjoy!!

"My what?"

It's a testament to how far downhill his life has gone in the last few weeks that Steve Harrington doesn't even question the presence of Max Mayfield sitting on the front of his car as he exits Melvalds. She lazes easily over the hood, her trademark skateboard trapped under her scuffed shoes and she scowls at him as if *he's* the weird one. He doesn't even blink.

After nearly dying underground nearly two months back, Steve has spent more time with the band of brats known previously as his (ex) girlfriend's little brother's friends than his own parents. But that's really not saying something. Dustin Henderson, who'd stuck to Steve from day one like an overaffectionate leech, fondly claimed it was a mutual adoption while Steve privately thought of it as voluntary kidnapping.

So Steve isn't startled by Mayfield's overall appearance as he is by the fact that she's alone. And apparently in need of borrowing his kitchen.

"Why?"

Mayfield glares at him with a level of disdain that only thirteen year olds can manage. It nearly chills Steve to his bones but stops somewhere around his muscles instead.

"You don't need to know," she snipes.

God, Steve would like to think that he wasn't nearly this bad as a thirteen year old but he had been a foot shorter than he was currently and had an ego twice the size of his hair. Yeah, he was probably worse. He doesn't say any of this to Mayfield but rather raises an eyebrow and snorts, "It's my house, of course I need to know."

She's silent for a moment before she ducks her head and mumbles something so quietly Steve could mistake it for the wind.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it's for a date with Lucas," she repeats, cheeks burning redder than her hair. "I need a kitchen because he likes to bake and I can't use my own for obvious reasons and I don't want to use his because I want to do something for him for once and Dustin said your parents are never home so you were the solution."

She speaks like somebody's going to cut her head off if she doesn't finish within thirty seconds and Steve is left reeling, his brain slowly absorbing the words she's said.

He's silent for too long though because Mayfield immediately begins backpedalling as her walls rocket up.

"Never mind, it's a stupid idea. I'll just take him skateboarding like I usually do. It's fine." She hops off his car and swivels her board upright.

"Hey, hey, hey."

Steve scrambles to stop her, gently pulling on her sweater before she's halfway down the street.

"Of course you can use my kitchen," he says before he can really think about it. "What are you guys baking?"

"Brownies," she mutters, a smile creeping back onto her face like a frightened animal. "They're his favourite."

Her hesitancy makes Steve's heart ache. Not for the first time and not even for the hundredth this year, Steve hates Billy Hargrove.

"Well then, it's a good thing you're using my kitchen. Best damn one in the country!"

She raises her eyebrow and Steve knows snarky, fiery Max Mayfield is back. He grins back at her.

"Do you have all the ingredients?"

She suddenly looks shifty and the little voice at the back of Steve's head that makes most of his bad decisions raises it's head.

"About that... can I borrow your wallet too?"

Steve stares at Mayfield, a tiny firecracker in both appearance and personality, with her taped up board and freckled face and he sighs. Maybe the bad decisions were the best ones long term.

"You're twisting my arm here, Mayfield, you know that?" he says as he pulls out a crisp ten from his pocket and makes his way to the driving seat. "Well? Aren't you coming? The grocery store is on the other side of town and we're losing daylight!"

Mayfield blinks and then she's smiling too and shoving her skateboard into his trunk and Steve feels a bit better about the whole kidnapping thing.

[k3ntarou]

Teacher Assistant! Akkashi appears for the first time in the class alongside your old professor. "This is Akaashi, my assistant. For any problems, contact him." Sure, he's young and looks smart, but you don't really pay him any mind.

The second time you see him he's taking your professor's place: "Unfortunately the professor is sick, so I'll be teaching this class for today." And as he talks and talks, you are immediately enraptured by him: the way he reads from the book, glasses on the bridge of his nose, sitting on the desk; how he walks around in the class to make the student feel more involved, asking if everything is clear and answering questions in the clearest way possible. His suave voice lulles you into something of a trance and you don't even listen to his words anymore, you just stare at him: his eyes, his lips, his hands, his hips.

You're not even aware of your dumb expression, right now. But Akaashi is, especially when he tells the class to read a few pages from the book on their own to proceed with a brief discussion over the topics; everyone is bent over their desk, browsing through the pages, while you are still staring at him, with heart in your eyes and glossy lips.

Akaashi smiles and starts walking towards you, enjoying the way you panic as he gets closer and closer. "Are you having issues with the assignment?" His deep voice has both a chilling and a melting effect over you; you stammer a reply, hands knocking over the water bottle on your desk.

"Ah, fuck! I mean, sorry-"

The girl sitting next to you looks at you briefly, probably thinking you are a trainwreck, but Akaashi is goading: sure, you're not the first student enamoured with him, but he's never seen such intense reactions.

"I feel like you missed a couple of things during the lecture. How about you stay here when class is over?"

And you are so bashful that you nod, not even thinking about the implications of having to be alone with him in an empty classroom.

As the clock strikes five, everyone stands up and leaves, greeting and chattering. You wait a few seconds, hands gripping your book before you stand up from the chair and make your way towards the teacher's desk; you are way over in your head to see the way Akaashi, who'd been previously typing something into his laptop, glazes over your figure: your legs, your hips, your tits.

You are soft.

Feeling his mouth watering, he leans over the desk wearing his glasses: oh, he wants to ruin you. Sure, he'd asked you to stay to help you, he had good intentions! But how's he supposed to do that when all he can think of is the way he'd sink into you, bending you over the desk, pressing you on the windows... his mind is full of absolute filth.

His hand flexes and you notice him wearing a sliver wristwatch.

"i-i'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so unfocused."

"Don't worry sweetheart. You were paying attention to something else, weren't you?"

You try your best to regain your composure, but the longer Akaashi looks at you, the harder it becomes and all of a sudden you feel like you're about to choke on your own spit from how overwhelmed you are.

There's just something so attractive, so alluring about the way the teacher's assistant is looking at you; watching your every move as he comes to sit down next you before his pretty lips stretch into a soft smile.

"it's okay, pretty one, you're doing well", the soft words of praise foll over his to gue in a way you've never heard them before and before you can even comprehend them all, you press your thighs together in hopes the pressure on your cunt disappearing.

"oh? is everything alright? you seem so overwhelmed", akaashi notes and places two of his slim fingers underneath your chin to make sure you're looking into those perfect eyes of his.

and as you're slowly losing yourself in that tiny touch, keiji can't help but pull his bottom lip between his teeth as the blood in his body makes its way into his cock, leaving him completely lightheaded.

you're so...cute. your skin, your lips, your eyes, your body – everything about you seems dazzling to the point shere akaashi's struggling to handle it. thoughts of your legs perfectly spread, leaving your sweet cunt on full display for his hungry eyes and all of a sudden the craving of hearing your muffled moans and whimpers take over every tiny pore in his body.

"how about you come and visit me tonight, so we can go over the topic again", he suggests and watches attentively how you start nodding, your eyes absentmindedly roaming his face and keiji knows exactly that your pretty panties have turned into a complete mess just how he likes it.

"good girl", he whispers and pulls away, barely able to keep his balance because of his painfully hard cock, "now come on, don't make your friends wait, yeah?"

[edupunkn00b]

Everyone Leaves, Ch. 6: Remus

Colorized version of Wolf-in-front-of-Moon, Clément Bucco-Lechat CC 3.0

Prev - Remus - All - [ AO3 ] - Playlist

After Logan leaves, Remus is alone. Again. Shadows drift past his door and the wolves snap and salivate from under his bed. It’s so much harder to hold on to hope when even that’s been ripped from his grasp.

CW: swearing, brief violent imagery, intrusive thoughts, unreality A continuation of @lost-in-thought-20's incredible story for the @tsspromptmonth 🌸 Spring Cleaning 🌸 event. ---

Everyone leaves. Remus smacks his head against the headboard and the wolves growl, eyes glowing red in the inky darkness. When did the lights go out? It had been bright enough to see the glint in Logan’s eyes when he’d been here but now it was dark again, the only light the gash of yellowy-white glare cutting in under the door.

A shadow interrupted the light, headlights flashing on late night car rides when Thomas was a kid. Did you ever imagine Dad driving straight into the headlights up ahead?  

When had he pulled the covers off his head? The shadow pauses and Remus hears the knob jiggle then stop. The shadow leaves. Everyone leaves.

everyone everyone everyone everyone everyone

The blanket over his head was heavy and the air trapped underneath was warm and humid. Remus’ breathing grew erratic, panting and gasping until he finally tore the clinging, wet knit from his face. One corner slipped off the edge of the bed and the wolves growled and snapped, shredding the woolen covers. The smallest of the wolves yipped and slunk away to one corner, eyeing Remus with hungry eyes when he lost his three-way battle over the soggy scraps.

Remus eyed him right back. Just a few hours—days? Minutes? Before. When Logan was here and he wasn’t alone, the Nerd had named the wolves, practically tamed them. He fed them little conjured bits of meat and their bloodied fangs had delicately snatched up slivers of glistening beef, pork, chicken, hmmm…

Bet the local girls thought you were quite the charmer. And I'll bet the ladies love a man in armor. You can guess what we have missed the most since we went off to war! What do we want? A girl worth fighting for.

“Pissy!” Remus shouted, hands over his ears as he banged and kicked the wall with head and elbows and feet. “Turn off the fucking Disney music! We’re not looking for any kind of girl!”

Bits of plaster and drywall rain down on him and his bed, coating his skin and lungs with choking dust. Sunlight streams through a new hole in the wall and Roman’s red eyes stare back at him before he turns into a new wolf and leaps into the room.

Now four wolves prowled concrete. Remus never understood why they couldn’t reach him on his bed, maybe Pattycake had a tiny bit of compassion and wanted to give him some safety. Maybe it was just to convince him to sleep.

Wobbling, Remus stood on his flimsy mattress, ready to ask Red-eye Ro for another blanket, but the hole in his wall was gone, the only evidence of the break was the fourth pair of eyes watching him sink back down to perch on the edge of his headboard. Just as well. It would probably be some ruffled silk Prince Charming bullshit anyway.

Conjuring in his room was always a crapshoot. Sometimes he’d get just what he needed. Other times he ended up with a lapful of spiders or broken glass on the floor. Once he'd set the walls on fire, but the Mindscape knocked that shit out right away. The flickering red and orange and yellow had been pretty while it lasted, though.

He closed his eyes and pictured a blanket, woven, heavy, soft…ish… the blanket from that Doctor Who episode that freaked Ro right out. He’d had a blanket just like the one that had hung over whatever the fuck the Listener was. Back then, he could still sneak up to the living room and had watched with them. It had always felt like going up even when it was downstairs from his room.

Now he can’t even open his own fucking door.

But he’d been in his spot behind the couch that night, drinking pickle juice and cackling—quietly!—when they all jumped at the knocks on the spaceship’s hull. When it was over and Thomas went to bed, before Remus slipped away to sit in the corner of his room, Ro skipped down the stairs, the heavy red blanket bunched up in his arms.

“Here,” he’d muttered. “Make this go away.”

“I can do anything with it?” His eyes gleamed. He could burn it or shred it or see if it would dissolve with that bottle of lye Thomas tucked away in the garage until his dad had found it. But little Tommy had seen what it would do, so Remus could summon it. Or maybe he could—

“I don’t care what you do with it, just… get rid of it.”

“You got it, Ro Bro,” he’d cackled, and disappeared to his room.

Remus conjured the memory of that blanket now, mostly whole, just a bit of singeing around the edges. He dragged the blanket up and over him, heavy, rougher than Ro’s had been, but warm. Mostly. It still smelled like lye, bright and astringent, burning his nose. It was real.

The wolves quieted, the last remnants of his old blanket chewed and digested. Did they miss Logan like he did? He’d never seen them act like that with anyone, not even Virgil who was wasn’t afraid of them but didn’t like them.

But Logan named them.

“Hypatia?” he whispered, leaning slowly over the edge of the bed. Her shiny black nose and mottled grey muzzle poked out. “Hey, girl… you miss him?”

A single whine was her answer before slinking out from under the bed and sitting bolt straight in front of the door, staring with bright red eyes. She could've been a fucking statue, the legs of her black marble silhouette backlit from the spilled hallway light.

“Whaddya see—” The rest of his question was lost in his scramble to get to the door as footsteps approached and Hypatia whined again, low and quiet from the back of her throat. She didn’t even growl at him when he sat on the floor next to her.

Shadows danced under the door, muffled voices arguing. Logan’s, growing louder and tenser, strangled under emotions he was too fucking afraid to show because then he’d end up banished just like him. “C’mon, Logie,” Remus whispered. “Say what you want.” Hypatia turned and stared at him, tail low. He just shrugged. What was she gonna do? Gnaw on his other hand? “Needs all the help he can get.” After a moment, she lay down, head resting on her paws as she snuffled under the door.

The doorknob rattled and they both scampered back right before the door flung open, “—does not matter what else you say, Patton. You cannot dissuade me from my decision,” Logan shouted over his shoulder as he stomped into the room. Light from the hallway haloed around his form and Remus gazed up at him.

Hypatia and two of the others trotted over, tails wagging and ears relaxed against their heads. Zeno grumbled from under the bed, but the younger’s left ear flopped, tail wagging, and Logan crouched down to pet each of them. “I do not remember you,” he murmured, no, cooed to the youngest.

“Yeah,” Remus managed and Logan looked up, almost startled by his voice. “He just showed up, from the hole in the wall…” he faltered. The wall above his headboard was water stained and moldy, the paint peeling near the ceiling.

And completely whole.

They all looked up when the others' voices rattled down the hall and Logan had just reached for Remus’ hand when Patton, Roman, and Janus came barreling into the room. The toe of Virgil’s sneaker poked out from the doorframe.

“Logan, you come out of there right now!” Patton’s ‘dad’ voice trembled but he crossed his arms in front of his chest, and from Remus’ spot on the floor, he looked just like Thomas’ dad from when they were all kids. “Enough of this nonsense! You belong with us!”

“No,” Logan said simply and stood. The wolves circled him and Remus, then turned and faced the intruding Sides.

“No?” Roman cried, hand pressed to his heart. “Logan, what has my brother done to you?”

“Remus has done nothing to me but demonstrate kindness and care and…” 

“I find that hard to believe,” he retorted, fingers twisted in his sash.

“Ha! Hard,” Remus grinned.

“And has shown his own brand of humor, yes,” Logan admitted. 

Patton stepped forward, “But, Kiddo, what about what he made Thomas do in the police station? They almost didn’t let him go because of it and—”

Logan sat on the floor next to Remus. “I refuse to leave this room again unless everyone leaves.” The nerd managed to stare down Patton while sitting on the floor.

Patton’s mouth flapped silently, a fish drowning in air. A walking catfish can last almost twenty hours out in the air. Patton couldn’t last that long under water.

“Perhaps…” Janus' voice was low and honey sweet but still managed to rise above the clamor.

“Oh, Judas speaks,” Remus muttered.

Janus continued as though Remus hadn’t said anything. Maybe he hadn’t. One soft-gloved hand rested on each of Patton and Roman’s shoulders. “Perhaps Logan is right. After all, what’s the worst Remus can do?” The human half of his lips curled in a smirk. “Get Thomas arrested?”

Remus stared, slack jawed, at his old friend. A fucking ‘new approach’ indeed.

“You can’t be serious, Snakeface!” Virgil spat from the hallway.

"Well," Roman shuffled his feet then straightened into a pose more befitting a prince. “Thomas was right to accept you, Dark and Stormy.” 

His brother was defending him? Now Remus knew this was just some new torture his room had cooked up. But he never could give up the fantasy, could he? Never give up the ugly, taunting hope. Ro’ll come back. Dee really did have a plan. Logan would come back for him.

Remus couldn’t stand see those red eyes glowing in his brother’s face again, couldn’t face the pity in Janus’s sad little smile, so he stared at Seneca's head in his lap. He scratched behind his ears and let their bickering voices wash over him as he waited for them all to leave.

Again.

“Remus?” Logan was standing, one hand outstretched. The others were in the hallway and Patton was crying and smiling.

“What?” All four wolves had shrunk back into puppies. Two of them pawed at Roman’s legs until he picked them up and handed one—Zeno, by the black stripe below his jaw—to Patton.

Logan smiled at Remus, hand still reaching for him. “Are you coming?”

“Maybe later,” Remus cackled, grabbing Logan’s hand and yanking him—very gently!—toward the door. “I’ve got some other ideas for what we can do first!”

"Now, Kiddo, let's take it nice and slow and—"

"That's what he said!"

"Don't make me regret standing up for you, Re or you'll face my blade!"

"Ha! That's what he—" The rest of Remus' laughing retort was lost to Logan's tapped finger against his lips.

"Perhaps we should find an outlet for you now. You can help us come up with a proper apology for Nico?" Logan sighed, but still smiled at Remus' waggling eyebrows. "He agreed to meet with us and the court diversion team next week. We must prepare."

Shaking his head with a fond smile defying all attempts to keep up the appearance of annoyance, Janus closed the door to Remus' room. By the time evening came, the other Creativity's room would have transformed, just as Janus' had after his acceptance, and just as Virgil's had. Janus followed the five chattering Sides as they made their way to the staircase, pausing only to drag gloved fingers over a dull orange door none of them had noticed. "Just as your room will," he whispered, and the howl only Janus could hear answered him. "I promise, Lucas. Everyone leaves."

[iamthecomet]

So we had a massive storm last night and I passed out as soon as I heard the first drop of rain lol, but I didn’t get the chance yesterday to say thank you for your kinda words and caring about the situation. I truly appreciate it🖤

And that it is awesome that you’re going to be writing a book?!? Like insane, I would never be able to, I don’t have the patience or big brain for that. And my school is also doing something for the solar eclipse since it’ll pass right over us for a total of 4 mins lol, and as much as I’d like to see it, I’ll be at a game which is righttt outside the line to see it:(

Also I’m high key jealous that you can crochet, I’ve been dying to learn how, but again I don’t have the patience to do something that would take me forever, but maybe I’ll try who knowss:))

♥♥♥♥ I hope today was a better day, and I'm here if you ever need to talk. I've written book length things before too! I have one that I've re-written about a hundred times that is basically my child, my pride and joy, but I haven't figured out what to do with it yet because I don't particularly want to sell it to a major publisher anymore--but I also don't want it to get lost in the ocean of self-published stuff. It's a story that's really special to me for lots of reasons. Maybe I'll figure out how to put it out there someday, and it will see the light of day. I've never wanted to be anything except a writer (or a rock star, but that's not really in the cards). Really cool that you're getting an actual eclipse. We're really just using it as an excuse to get people to come to the library for a second because we're getting this tiny little sliver of an eclipse. But it'll be fun either way. Bummed that you won't get to experience it though. Sports are fun but at what cost! (joking, of course). Crochet is not my favorite craft to do, I get very easily frustrated with bigger projects for some reason. I grew up knitting. So whenever I crochet I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing and things never come out as perfectly as I want them to. (I want to be as good at crochet as I am at knitting but I've been knitting for like 15 more years than I've crocheted, so it's not happening). But! It isn't super hard to learn and you can ABSOLUTELY do it. There are also lots of crochet projects that don't take long at all, so you can make little things really quickly and feel that fun sense of "I finished something!" accomplishment. You should definitely try it out sometime!

[evesaintyves]

Is tlm on hiatus? 😢

thank you so much for asking. it's not on hiatus but updates might be slow. i am almost done with chapter 9, though, and hope to post it by the end of the week!

i was feeling a bit disconnected from it since it had been so long and i'd gotten distracted by so many other projects. when i started rereading to try to get back into the spirit i was like, oh my god, i started this 6 months ago when i was a tiny stupid baby that didn't know shit 😱 in hindsight, it was a pretty ambitious first writing project! i don't know why i thought i could pull it off!

thanks, everybody who's been reading it, for your patience! and sorry to anyone who has sent me asks over the last couple of months that i haven't answered - it's truly nothing personal, i just get a little anxious about posting a lot on social media, so i'll repost ask games and then go oh fuck why did i volunteer to talk about myself

anyway, here's a (pre-editing 😬) snippet of the upcoming chapter (under the cut [warning for mild sexual content {i don't have anything else i just want to use the curly brackets too}]):

Last night had been painful. After she'd tried to get him off, he'd disappeared into the bathroom for so long that she'd eventually given up waiting, put out the light and tried to sleep. When he'd finally come out, he'd lain rigidly on his side on the farthest sliver of the bed, as if he felt he didn't deserve to take up much space.

Even that had been a tiny victory for her: she'd had to badger him into sleeping in the same room. No, fuck you, Remus, you're staying in here, she'd insisted. If your rib goes wrong in the night you're gonna need me, and it's just safer, and—that's all beside the point, anyway. We're partners and we need to stick together. We're a team. He'd barely been able to meet her eyes while she'd rubbed the anti-inflammatory potion into his chest (nor when she'd sat in his lap and stuck her hand down his trousers, for that matter), but he'd stayed.

And when she'd woken in the morning, his arm had been slung across her stomach and one of her legs was crooked over his knees. Like their bodies had snuck over and found each other under cover of darkness. His thumb had even sleepily stroked her hip for a moment before he'd realised where he was.

[west-tokyo-incidents]

It's weird. Being held so tenderly like this.

Maybe it was because his entire body was shutting down, all power being redirected to the desperate efforts of his internal cords to hold his sphere together, but he was limp in the arms of his leader.

"Weak fucking pawn. Just letting a good douji hurt you like this."

Vice's voice told a different story than the claws that gingerly move a piece of hair out of his face.

"Don't die on me, you piece of shit."

Claws that have many times separated a head from its neck cup the nape of his neck instead. Lifting his limp head up. Looking at his face. His eyes have long since gone offline. Vice must have realized this. His head is pressed against the douji's shoulder. Gauntlets slide under his knees and around his shoulders as he's picked up.

"Hold on. I'll get you to Paresse."

He struggled to keep conscious. Especially as Vice's rockets kicked on and jolted his chest, making edge grate against edge. Vice had told him to hold on. So he was going to... He wanted to.

...

He lost the battle with shut-down.

-----

There's a weird sensation when a douji shuts down.

When a person falls unconscious, their breathing slows. Their eyes close. They go limp. When a robot shuts down, there is no breathing. No movement of the eyelids. And Rage has been limp for a while now.

No, when a douji shuts down, there's a kind of... Release. A small, unnoticeable release of energy. It's like a tiny pulse. Usually that pulse fills Vice with delight. He's won.

But he feels nothing but ice-cold dread as Rage goes offline in his arms.

Rage is going down hill. And fast. His sphere is cracked to the point Vice can hear a shard threatening to fall away and release his spirit, keeping him from ever waking up again. He flies slow.

If he loses Rage, he loses the only bastard in his command that isn't trying to use him--like Jealousy and Rune--or despise him--like all the others. Rage is loyal to him because he chooses to be.

Is Rage afraid of him? Of course. He flinches and backs away when Vice gets mad. But that's. That's normal.

But he doesn't have to threaten Rage to get shit done. His master? Different story. But Rage? Rage listens to him as if he's a second master. He doesn't have to read his heart to know that whatever he asks will either get done or get as close to done as he physically can. He trusts Rage.

He can't lose that.

He can't lose this.

He can't lose Rage.

When did this happen? When did his chest start to hurt? Was it when he heard Rage's chest shift and heard the glass crunching within? Earlier, when the blow happened? Earlier still, when he saw Rage begin to lose the fight?

Or earlier even still?

Vice slows himself down as they approach his destination. He sets down on the ground, gritting his teeth as he hopes not to hear the shifting of shards of glass. It happens all the same. But nothing falls more than the tiny slivers between larger shards.

He lets out a slow breath. Paresse stares at him. Vice snarls, daring the sloth to say anything.

Paresse's eyes flick between Rage and Vice. Once. Twice.

"Do I have to spell it out? Fix him."

Paresse huffs through his nose, then stands, walking over.

Vice tightens his grip for half a second as Paresse moves to take him. A question, unspoken, comes from mismatched eyes.

"If he dies, you die, too. Am I clear?"

"...crystal."

It's with hesitance that Vice relaxes his claws and lets Paresse take Rage at last.

And Vice's arms feel so empty. He crosses them over his chest. It's as close as he can get to hugging himself without showing it. He can't watch. He leaves.

And he sits in the dark, on his throne, staring at the shattered remains of the bottle he'd had K fetch for him. He could lie all day and say he hadn't flinched at the sound of glass shattering when he'd gripped it too tightly. But he had.

And his chest hurts, as if he were the one with a spiderweb shatter, not the bottle, not Rage.

Rune and Jealousy are there. Jealousy standing off to one side. Rune carefully approaching him.

They can read each other's hearts. He knows Rune will try to manipulate him with these feelings. There's no hiding it. They both know that.

Rune doesn't say anything. It's Vice who speaks.

"Is this it? What it feels like?"

He doesn't have to say what 'it' is. Rune knows.

"Yes. It is."

[buckystarlight]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[naancypants]

I came across this post on the Nancy Drew reddit and I would love to hear your thoughts on it https://www.reddit.com/r/NancyDrewCW/comments/sgewsg/the_true_ending_for_nace_not_about_the_possible/

it's made me worried for for the future of Nace because (as much as it hurts to say) these points do make a lot of sense to me. Idk if the shortened season ruined the wholeness of Nace's relationship, but I agree that it feels like we missed majorly important moments with them and their feelings. And then we finally get their sex scene, but it's in a dream (kind of like a consolation prize), and then the whole multiple soulmate thing - why was that even brought up at all? Do you think this post makes good points? Should we be worried?

**Anxiety-prone Nace followers, be warned you may not want to read the linked post!

Anon: This is pretty much how I felt when I watched the finale for the first time, to be honest - bUT I don't necessarily think that's the case anymore. I feel better after hearing other fan interpretations and some of the writers' interviews.

Full thoughts under the cut

1. First of all, the episode descriptions are NOT always accurate - hence Nancy's feelings for Ace "resurfacing" in 3.04's description, despite still being clear and obvious in the episodes prior - or a "shocking reversal" at the end of 3.12, which I assume was about Ace being the last soul piece, but it's such an odd way to describe that reveal imo. What was reversed? The expectation that the soul piece would belong to a rando? "The turntables"?

2. Additionally, "A star-crossed choice that will change things forever" can be interpreted in many different ways. Nancy chose Ace over the town at first - and that star-crossed choice changed things forever, causing a massive shift in every single character's trajectory. Relatedly to the previous bullet point, the network also wants to make things sound as dramatic as possible. There's no need to take the wording literally.

3. @aceandnancy put it best: the writers know Nace is their golden goose. There's no way to avoid or deny that. I agree that it seems like Melinda loves the angst and longing, but ultimately, to take Nace off the table forever would be on a whole other level of buffoonery. Not that such buffoonery has never happened before on tv, but I'll call it what it is and I'll say it with my chest: to do this would be BUFFOONERY.

4. I'm not going to hold anyone to the exact specific wording they use in any interview ever. Conversational communication that's being done on the fly is far from ironclad. If Ace investigates and finds out about the curse - something the writers have said 100% he will - then the curse plot isn't going to be dropped. Nancy's willingness to risk his life to break the curse is very different than Ace deciding to risk it. The writers might drag out the storyline, but they would be souring 95% of their audience if they didn't resolve it. Also good to note that (I think it was) Noga said "Nancy is not one to sit idly by, and neither is Ace" in relation to breaking the curse.

All the other storytelling complaints I unfortunately chalk up to being too ambitious plot-wise with too little episodes to flesh everything out (especially the relationships). I still don't love the conversation with Carson, personally, lol - but @nancy-drews pointed out that it could have been to provide a tiny bit of closure just in case this was the series finale*, to at least end on a more hopeful note in Nancy's time of deep despair. Since there isn't a solution to the curse AS OF YET, she is very much in a headspace where she's trying to shut herself down as a way to cope with what she believes is her life now - so the conversation with Carson is promoting the message that there's always a sliver of light to be found when you think all is lost.

Idk. Just some thoughts. 🤷‍♀️

*it won't be the series finale. not manifesting that shit

[ssa-thotchnerr]

A Certain Hopelessness

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!reader

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, violence, swearing, sad!hotch

a/n: some sad Hotch stuff for your angst needs!! Also, there is a creepy unsub here, just a warning. This is set in around s7 and the reader is 15-16

word count: 2.1k

—

There was a feeling of hopelessness that had settled within the BAU over the past 2 days. A feeling of helplessness that was most felt by Aaron Hotchner, who'd been listening to his daughter screaming in pain, begging for him to come and save her. The whole team had the same thought in their head;

They couldn't come and save you because you'd been hidden so well.

But that didn't mean that they weren't going to try, they would try their hardest to find and save the little girl they'd watch grow up for years. But they also know that they couldn't save every single person, they just hoped that you wouldn't be that next person that they couldn't save. No one had even tried to get Hotch to move from his position at the round table, he'd told them that he wouldn't leave you, even though you had no way of knowing that he was there.

He would always be with you.

—

You'd pulled your knees up to your chest to try and obtain some body heat, since sitting on a cold, concrete floor of a basement where it was always constantly breezy didn't give you much of a high temperature. You wished that you hadn't left school early, maybe then you wouldn't be in your current situation.

"Good morning," You looked up at the door at the top of the stairs in fear, seeing the shadow of your kidnapper standing in the door. You winced as you pushed yourself into a corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He laughed as he stepped down the creaky stairs, and you saw the silver glint of a knife in his hands. "I hope you slept well, you got a long day ahead of ya'."

"Pl-please don-don't hurt me, I-I won't try to run again! I-I promise," You stuttered, fear filled eyes looking up at him. Through the little light in the basement, you could see the malicious grin on his face. "I'll-I'll do whatever you want, just-just please don't ki-kill me." You begged.

"Oh honey, I don't know if you got this, but I'm not gonna kill you, mainly because I wanna hurt your daddy," He said. "Make him feel like the awful person he is."

"This is about my dad?" You asked him, letting yourself relax a tiny bit. He nodded and crouched down in front of you, pulling you forward by the collar of your no bloodied hoodie.

"Damn right this is about your dad," He snarled, pushing you back into the corner roughly. "Don't you feel awful when he leaves you and that little brother of yours own your own? But then again, he worries about what you'll do to the only child he cares about, he couldn't give a shit about you." You blinked and couldn't help but furrow your eyebrows, feeling your heart sink. You shook your head as you looked up at him.

"Wh-what?" You asked quietly. He chuckled at your confusion and obvious hurt, his plan coming together. He was reversing everything you'd ever known, he knew that your dad loved you and Jack equally, but he could easily make you believe that your dad hated you with every single fibre of his being. He knew you were easily manipulated, and he knew exactly what to say to get you upset.

"Don't act like you don't know, darling. Your dad despises you, he hasn't even got that team looking after you," He said. Your eyes filled with tears as you thought about being left with this man a minute longer, but it hurt even more to think about that your dad didn't care about you enough to look for you. "They left on a case this morning, he told them you didn't matter."

"You-you're lying," You didn't know if you were telling him that he was, or you were trying to convince yourself that he was. "My-my dad wouldn't leave anyone." You said. He chuckled and came closer to you.

"Well, maybe you aren't anyone, you've never appeared to be to your dad," Tears leaked from your eyes as he'd finally, truly broken you down. "Why are you crying? I haven't even started hurting you yet."

—

Hotch couldn't bare to watch this man hurl abuse and untrue thoughts at you much longer, he couldn't watch you be broken down anymore. He shut his eyes as he heard you start screaming, presumably in pain. There was a knock on the door, Hotch spun around on the chair he was sitting on to see who was there.

"Sir, we think we've found a possible suspect on who has Y/N," Garcia told him. "Based on what he'd said in the video earlier, we found that he believes your a bad father to her and Jack, and that she'd be better off with him," She said. It didn't take a criminal profiler to see the hurt flash on the normally stoic Aaron Hotchner's face. "So, taking information with males that had lost a child, we found Craig Brock, he lost his daughter Leona in a car crash last year, And she shares a very, very striking resemblance to your daughter,” Garcia watched as Hotch took in what she was saying. “And with that, Reid determined tha5 he wants you to feel the same helplessness that he had felt when he lost his daughter.” She finished, sliding a picture of the girl across the table to her boss. Hotch took the picture and saw the resemblance, he sighed. He didn't want you to share the same fate as this girl, he didn't want to lose you.

"Do you have an address yet?" He asked.

"I'm working on it sir, but you should have her back by the end of the day," Garcia said, smiling at Hotch, who gave her a small sliver of a smile in return. "You should probably turn that off, or at least go home and see Jack, if anything happens with Y/N or  our Unsub, you'll be the first to know." Hotch sighed as he turned the TV off, turning the volume down and standing up.

“I never thought the day I’d be taking orders from you would come, Garcia,”

—

You grunted as you finally built up enough strength to rip the sleeve off of your hoodie so you could wrap it around your waist where you had been slashed. His words had echoed in your head since he’d even muttered them, did your dad even care about you? Were the team even looking for you? Hell, were they even in the country? You broke down into tears again, your blood coated hands coming up to cover your mouth. They fell back down to your sides when the door was yanked open, almost coming off of its hinges.

“Get up!” He snarled, huffing out in anger when you pushed yourself further into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. “I said, get up.” He practically growled. You sat still, crying out in fear when he grabbed the collar of your hoodie and pulled you up onto your feet roughly.

“Okay! Okay! I-I’m sorry,” You whimpered, holding your hands out in fear. He dragged you up the stairs, you crying all the way up as the pain from your wounds shot up.

“Looks like I was wrong about your dad not caring for you, he and his team are on their way here,” He said in your ear, his arm snaking around your neck and then his free hand holding a gun to your temple. You were shaking, your entire body trembling with fear. “He’s not gonna know what to do when he comes through that door, you’re cut up like a piece of paper.”

“He’ll probably fucking kill you,” You snarled. He was taken back by your sudden change in attitude, and righted his arm around your neck and pushed the barrel of the gun closer to your head.

“Anymore of that, and I’ll put a bullet through your skull,” He said in your ear.

That shut you up quickly.

It felt like hours before the door creaked open, and from the back room, you could see that Emily, Morgan and Reid were entering the house.

“Help! Help!” You screamed, only for a hand to be clamped over your mouth and to be thrown to the floor. His foot was on your neck, a gun pointed between your eyes. Emily, Morgan and Reid all cornered him, their eyes watching as you struggled to breathe, coughing and gasping as you tried to bring air into your lungs. You were beaten black and blue, and covered in blood, they almost didn’t recognise you.

“Craig Brock, let Y/N go,” Emily said calmly. “We know what happened to Leona, and we know that there was nothing you could do to help your daughter. Do you really wanna put another father through the pain of losing their child?” She asked him. In a moment of hesitancy, he removed his foot from your neck, allowing you to cough and then slide away from him. In what seemed as though a move of panic, he shot down at the floor, narrowly missing your head, but just clipping the side of your ear. A ringing noise deafened you, and you screamed.

—

Hotch felt his heart drop as he heard a gunshot and then a scream. Emily had ordered him to stay outside, she didn’t want him doing something that he would end up regretting. Minutes later, the front door opened again, only this time you were there, Spencer’s arm around your waist to support you and your arm around his shoulder. Walking out of there, you looked so small and scared. There was no way that Hotch couldn’t run towards you, gently taking you from Spencer.

“Da-daddy?” There was a small smile on your face as you saw the blurry figure of your dad. Hotch smiled in relief and nodded, arms going around you gently so’s not to disturb anymore of your cuts or slashes. “You-you came.” You stuttered.

“Of course I came, I wasn’t gonna leave you, honey,” He assured you. You couldn’t properly hear what your dad was saying, but you could make it out. “Alright, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Can you carry me?” You asked, holding your arms out to him. Hotch nodded and lifted you gently, holding you close like if he let you go, he’d lose you once again.

-

“Can I see Y/N yet?” Jack asked his dad. Hotch smiled as he nodded at his youngest child, who was clearly eager to have his older sister back. Hotch was getting Jack from school while you were asleep at home, with every door and window locked to improve your safety.

“Yeah, she got home this morning after I dropped you off at school, she’s been missing you too,” Hotch told Jack. When they got home, Jack practically shot upstairs. “Jack, do not go into Y/N’s room.” Hotch called up to him. Jack sighed as he waited for his dad to come up the stairs.

“Can I go in yet?” Hotch laughed as he nodded, opening the door to your room and sighing at you when he saw you were now awake, Greys Anatomy playing on your TV. “Y/N!”

“Hey bubs!” You cheered, smiling at your brother as you pulled your brother up onto your bed. Hotch sat down on the end of your bed and took the TV remote turning it off. “Dad.” You whined.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Y/N,” He reminded you. You sighed as you flopped back onto your bed.

“Can I stay here?” Jack asked, looking at your dad. Hotch shook his head.

“No, Jack, Y/N has to try and get some sleep,” He said. You pulled Jack to sit beside you and you both pouted up at your dad, who sighed as he shook his head. “Fine, fine.”

“We love you, dad.”

—

[beomglocks]

in the morning ; k.th

summary : taehyun tries to keep you safe from the world’s wandering eyes.

pairing : yandere!taehyun x “captive” s/o!reader

warnings & other : angst (?), blood, there’s a dead person, yes the body is described (not in too much detail), enclosed spaces, dehumanization (?), honestly ignore the title i didnt know what to call this

w/c : 1.7k

your bedroom door creaks open allowing a sliver of light to shine onto your bed and down on to your face. you scrunch your face in frustration but merely turn over to face the wall to continue your peaceful slumber.

a finger pokes at your face annoyingly and you swat at it to leave you alone. "my love, wake up," you hear someone whisper.

you groan but make no indications that you'll be listening to the annoying voice in your head. you feel something cold drift across your face and down your neck which makes you shiver. when you bring your hand up to your neck to pull it away, you flinch and sit up quickly.

"ow!" you inspect your hand which now has a large bleeding gash from gripping whatever was on your neck. now that you're semi fully awake, you look up to see taehyun. great, he's back from doing whatever it is he does at this godforsaken time. you wonder if it's a normal day when he's home but no- you know there's a reason why he's in your room right now.

"i wouldn't have gripped that like that if i were you," he snickers playfully. you look down at what he's holding and frown at him. "what...did you put a knife to my neck?" crazy bastard, you knew something would go wrong whenever he was within 10 centimeters of you.

"had to wake up the sleeping beauty somehow," he grins. his face immediately goes stony and he grabs your hand, looking at the aftermath of his actions. it scares you how quickly he could change his expression. sometimes you weren't sure how to act around him because you weren't sure how he would react.

"im sorry though, i'll clean it up right away." he quickly gets up and grabs some alcohol and tissues that are laying around, and rushes back to you.

"so no light today?" you ask quietly while he cleans the wound skillfully. he stays quiet for a moment and you're about to ask him the question again in case he didn't hear you but he soon speaks up.

"n-no not today.. i don't wanna be seen like this. it could scare you," he laughs dryly. he scrubs your hands with more haste now, afraid that you'll take initiative to turn on the lights.

you sigh. how considerate of him however it's not like you haven't seen him with blood splattered across his glass skin before. it wasn't out of the ordinary to see him like this after all. your room only has a tiny window above the bed and you couldn't even look out from it since it was too high. the only light that was available to you was the moonlight. unfortunely it didn't even reach far enough to shine down on taehyun to give you the luck of seeing him.

"when are you going to stop this?" you ask mostly to yourself. "i'll stop when it gets through people's heads that you're mine."

he grips your injured hand as the anger of what he had to witness today comes rushing back to his memories. "t-tae my hand," you wince.

he loosens his grip just a little bit, enough for you to not feel that much pain but obviously, it still hurts. god, you really wish he wasn't here right now.

"why...why did he- it's his fault you know. it's not like i wanted to kill him," he says. you can hear the anxiety in his voice and it makes you want to comfort him a little bit. only a small part of your brain feels bad for his current mental state but that's only because of how kind taehyun was to you way before well- this. somewhere in you, you hope that he will change but you know he's too far gone at this point.

"he had it coming though," taehyun smiles, looking down at your wound. "he should've known not to mess with other people's property." you clench your jaw at his words. it's unfortunate how taehyun doesn't see you as a human anymore, only an object for him to keep enclosed in a glass case, like some china doll.

"you're not entirely innocent y/n," he grits. he grips your hand purposely and you let a tear roll down your face now. "taehyun you're hurting me," you manage to choke out. he pouts mockingly at your plea.

"you hurt me and you hurt that guy i had to kill," he says in a matter of fact tone. "when he said hi you should've just kept your mouth shut but no you just had to make conversation and let him hug you like some-"

he cuts himself off before he can say something that he might have to force himself to apologize for later. you both sit in silence minus your ragged breaths mixed with his heavy ones.

"you killed him," he says simply. "what?" you breathe out. "you killed him y/n! if you had just focused on me like i focus on you then i wouldn't have been forced to kill him like i did."

"taehyun i-"

"go say sorry," he sighs. you look at him bewildered but it only takes you a moment to realize what he means. "taehyun," you sob. you don't want to say that you can't believe he brought a dead body home but the sad fact is that you can believe it. he mustve had no where to hide it once he was done. taehyun is not one to make empty threats. he chuckles, shaking his head, "go say sorry to your friend."

he tries to pull you from the bed but you cling onto the bedsheets, adamant about not moving. "what so now you don't want to give him the time of day? earlier you seemed just so over the damn moon speaking with him!" he shouts.

you shake your head frantically. you want to speak, to reason with him, but nothing comes out your mouth other than choked sobs. "don't be like that, it's for your own good. now let's go," he says.

this time he uses all his force to rip you from your hold on the bed. "my love...im gonna teach you something about respect," taehyun speaks lowly. his monotone voice sends chills throughout your frigid body. you kick and scream and punch his back, hoping that you can shake him enough to let you go but nothing you do phases him.

he walks through the house with you slung over his shoulder for about a minute before stopping in front of the jacket closet. he sets you down as gently as he can in front of it and you stare blankly at it, not ready to face whatever is inside.

"it goes both ways," he finishes. you hesitantly look up at him, finally seeing his face for the first time since earlier today. you flinch when you notice just how much blood is scattered over his face. the kill must've been brutal enough to send that many splatters of blood flying.

"don't look at me, look at him. don't be disrespectful," he says. when you turn back towards the closet you flinch harshly at the sight. the guy whom you spoke to earlier was now slumped over in your closet. you remember how lively he was when speaking to you but now his skin was completely drained of life and pale in color. his lips were dry, probably from trying to heave in air to try to live. you're afraid to further gaze at the body because the further down you go the worse it gets. so much so that it's practically dosed in blood.

"say it, say you're sorry!" he commands. you know that you're not really saying sorry to the dead man in your closet. taehyun wants you to say sorry to him. you know he couldn't care less about this man. he wants you to regret putting him in the position to kill another human being.

"i-im- im-" taehyun sucks teeth impatiently. "if you don't say it naturally i will lock you in here all night. i don't want to do that so you better do it right."

a noise leaves your throat when he shoves you closer to the body. you whine, trying your best to control your voice and tears. "i-" your voice gets weak but you use every bit of force in you to say it. you don't wanna risk having to stay in that closet all night.

"im sorry," you blurt. you hear taehyun chuckle behind you, satisfied for now. "was that so hard?"

"y/n you're mine and only mine. i feel so livid when others so much as look in your direction, do you understand?" he says calmly. you nod, already wanting to be back in your bed, under the covers, away from all of this.

you hear taehyun hum and suddenly you're shoved into the closet. it catches you so off guard that your body slams into the dead one. you yell in panic and scramble as far away from it as possible. "taehyun! w-what's going on?!" you call out.

the closet is so dark when it's closed that you can't even see anything. atleast you know you're not near the body. "y/n- i-i'm doing this because i love you ok?" he says uncertainly. "this way no one can look at you or talk to you and try to seduce you."

you bang on the door, your heart beating with each slam. "p-please let me out," you plead weakly. you already know that once taehyun has done something he doesn't change his mind so it's no use trying to reason. "i-im scared- please."

he stays silent for a moment and you're about to burst into tears again thinking that he's already left but he speaks up after a couple beats of contemplative silence.

"don't be scared ok y/n. you'll be fine. i'm going to come back for you in the morning." he goes silent again and all you can hear is your heavy breathing and wet sniffles. "please don't be too mad at me, i love you," you hear him whisper before you hear his footsteps retreat.

the night is spent without much sleep and your fist pounding at the closet door, hoping for an early release but it never comes.