#day 04

[dinuxia-bhm]

Sanji week 2025

Day 04: Bonds

[pellucid-constellations]

angstober (2)

Prompt: "I want to believe you"

Pairing: college!athlete bucky x reader

A/n: This is the day four prompt so that I'm sorta following the timeline 😅 Enjoy more angst ♡

~~~

He was staring at you, eyes beseeching you for an ending you had no ability to provide. The phone—the awful, wretched thing��was still pressed to the skin of your hand, burning your fingers as the screen dimmed. You shouldn’t have looked. She had just gotten to you, riled you up enough yesterday to make you concerned. 

“That’s not… it’s not—baby,” Bucky stressed. He had just woken up. His hair was endearingly messy, a big sweater shifting along his shoulders. If you weren’t so upset it would have had your heart melting. 

“You told me it was nothing. That she was nothing,” you breathed out, pain lacing your throat as you spoke. 

“It—she is! I don’t know what you’re seeing on there, but it’s not true.” 

You bit into your bottom lip in an attempt to quell the onslaught of tears prying at your eyes. Bucky took a step towards you, cautious. You were in the doorway, he was in the bedroom. If you wanted to leave there was nothing stopping you. 

“I want to believe you,” you choked out. “But I can’t. There is no other explanation for this, Bucky.” 

Why you were being kind, you had no idea. You should be angry, enraged. Furious. But more than any of that, you were miserable. This man you were besotted by, his brow twisted into an uncomfortable shape, his eyes flickering with panic, he was all you had considered. It was a lot to put that on a college relationship, but there was no one else. 

Bucky was so gentle with you. There was no one else in the world that knew how to kiss you right. No one that held you under the harsh lights of football stadiums and let you press your nose to their neck to warm it on those fall nights. There was no one able to distract you the way he did in the library, eyes boring into the side of your face without fail, smile small and private and years in the making. 

There was no one that could have hurt you this much. 

“What’re you seeing?” he asked, a rasp to his voice. The words were so small. 

It was cruel to make you read it aloud, to make you look at the pictures again, but you did anyway. “I’m seeing your ex-girlfriend's nudes plastered all over your phone. I’m seeing her text from last night—‘can’t wait to do that again,’” your voice broke, tears stinging your eyes. “I can’t believe you. You said… you said—” 

You couldn’t finish. It didn’t matter what Bucky had said—that he’d spun pretty words and promised you things that were impossible now. Your breathing was shallow as you flung his phone at the bed. 

He was quick to grab it, head shaking as he scrolled through everything you’d already seen. “No,” he whispered. “No, this isn’t—sweetheart, I would never do anything like this. Not to you.” 

You laughed, the sound wet and sardonic. “Well, you did. There’s no use acting like this, Bucky.” 

It had been risky with Bucky, at the beginning. College athletes were always risky. You had pulled away after the first date, assuming that was it; it had been fun, but there was nothing else he could have possibly wanted. But then he'd asked you on another. And another. The relationship has snowballed into something unexpected. You went somewhere and he followed. He called you every night and you brought him dinner after every game. 

This wasn’t something you had expected. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. This was unfair. It was agonizing. 

Bucky threw the phone back down without a second glance at where it landed. He took long steps to meet you in the doorway, and even though you knew it wasn’t smart, you let him hold you. He pressed his forehead to yours, your wet cheeks brushing his, his eyes boring into yours. 

This would be the last time. 

“Listen to me,” he spoke, more determined than you had ever heard him. “I don’t have an explanation, I only have the truth I got, baby. I don’t know how any of that shit got on my phone or whatever she’s talking about. You know she’s been on one lately. You gotta believe me.” 

A forlorn cry left your lips. Bucky was talking to you, but you were more concerned with the way he felt as he held you. 

This would be the last time. 

“You hearing me?” he asked, shifting to meet your gaze as it flew down to the floor. “Please, you gotta believe me. I love you so much, baby. Only you. There’s no one else in this goddamn world I would give that up for. After college, we're gonna go away, okay? Wherever I get drafted I’m taking you with me.” 

Everyone had told you you were being dumb. That athletes wander. That they have millions of options and you were just the pick of the moment. You had defended Bucky to no end. How idiotic. How unfair. 

A kiss pressed to your forehead, firm and steady from the way he held the sides of your head. Desperate. 

This would be the last time. 

“Say something. Anything. Please.”

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you whispered.

Later, much later, you’d learn that there were never any lies between the two of you. You’d learn that Bucky couldn’t explain because there was nothing he’d done. Getting someone’s phone was easy when they left it in a locker room all night. When they raced home to their girl after practice without a second glance at the thing. 

But later wasn’t now. And now, you were gone. 

[pommegrantaire]

Angstober Day 4: "Blood"

I saw a version of this with a pairing I dislike at some point, so I made it NaruGaa... I also fucking love MCR like the basic emo I am

[crossingthedreams]

blood — the ghoul x f!reader

a/n: yay, i’m posting day 04 — blood on day 06! lol, i’m terrible at time management, but i’m still set on doing this whole challenge! and also, fight me, but walton goggins as the ghoul is INSANELY hot. also, his wife is directing a movie starring him and pedro pascal, so I guess i’m still very much in my comfort zone…? anyway, enjoy! 

summary: humanity is not exclusive to humans, violence is definitely not exclusive to humans. and, apparently, neither is being loved by other humans.

word count: 2k

warnings: angst. age gap. mentions of smut. violence. aggression towards the reader. blood. bad jokes, lol

You couldn’t really fix him, but irredeemableness was hot sometimes.

You ran into each other for the first time about a decade ago, when you were only a young girl finding a place in the world. What caught his eyes all those years ago was the way you naturally knew morals were relative, but ethics were not. An eye for an eye, kill or be killed, that was the law of the wastelands — you realized this very soon, and your priorities were only to enjoy whatever time you had on this violent, destroyed, weird, but still beautiful Earth. 

He helped you get your very first job making inventories for a big store in a small town where he stopped by to collect bounty, and from then on you made quite a life for yourself. You knew mathematics, and you had quite the way with words. Being a young woman helped, too. Customers always liked pretty things. 

He visited you every now and then. You were his only ally left in this town. He came by when he could and stayed while he pleased, never one to announce his arrival or departure. Once he disappeared for two years, and you were sure he was dead — dead for real.

As always, he proved himself resistant. Like a radroach. 

You weren’t the least surprised when he walked in through the front door of your store like he owned the place, looking around and whistling in a complementary fashion. 

“Who’d you sleep with to get such a… prestigious job, sweetheart?”, his half smile matched his mischievous expression. That accent was unmistakable.

You closed the book you were writing the inventory, not bothering to greet or acknowledge him. 

“We’re closed”. 

“Even for dear ol’ friends?”.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did closed mean something else in the good ol’ days?”, your response was harsher than you thought, as you kept on organizing the balcony. He liked it, though, always one to nurture any violence you had within you, even if it was directed towards him. 

The half smile was still there. “Sweetheart,” his accent was really strong, and it was music to your ears, although you’d never admit, “you have a place full of them goods, and I got a handful of pretty little caps”.

“We can make this work”, you finally let your gaze meet his. He looked even less human than last time. The hole on the place where his nose should be no longer surprised you, but the yellow in his teeth did. You knew he could very well take better care of his hygiene. “What do you need? Clothes, perfume?”.

“Ouch! Kitty’s got claws”, he brought a hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt, and you realized his fingers were more necrotic, too. “I’d like that, yes, but I’d enjoy vials and a nice warm bath much more. Present company invited, but not required”. 

You walked from behind the counter, bringing yourself closer to him. He looked more tired than usual, also restless. His eyes scanned your body from head to toe, taking a little longer in some place. You crossed your arms in front of you, letting him look. As you well knew, customers liked pretty things. 

He took a deep sniff, and his eyes rested on your stomach. 

“You smell like a Christmas dinner, darling”, he took several steps closer, moving faster than you could. What he didn’t know was that, while you cleaned the counter, you got your pistol. Now, that pistol was aiming towards him. 

“You’re acting weird, friend”, if the years had taught you anything, it was to ever trust people, and never rely on the sanity of a ghoul. Even if it was the Ghoul.

He receded, arms up in surrender. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you, gorgeous”, he tilted his head, “I never have”. 

In the many years your paths crossed, he had been a friend, a customer, and sometimes a lover. He never let you please him, barely let you kiss him, but he enjoyed laying you on the bed like a meal and eating you out for as long as he could. This dinner comment of his wouldn’t have alarmed you, but paired with the shifting eyes and the appearance he had on today, you knew there was something wrong. 

“Took me a delicious vial some hours ago, sweetheart”, he spoke calmly, and you realized he understood. In your mind, at least, he saw the roughness in you and understood it. After all, he too had to compromise morals in order to prevail in a batshit world. You liked that he would make you feel understood, even if only for a small amount of time. But you liked surviving more, and better safe than sorry was your life motto. 

You lowered the gun. You weren’t even sure it would hurt him at all. “Why are you here?”.

“You always speak so correctly, doll. Enunciating every. single. word”, he took a step to the side, admiring the pieces behind your counter. The Ghoul looked back from his shoulder. “You’re on your period, huh?”

“What the fuck?”

“Us, ghouls”, he passed a finger on the top of the counter, examining his fingertips afterwards, looking for dust that wasn’t there, “we have a heightened sense of smell, and your blood is mighty fine”, he turned fully towards you, the entire length of the counter between you. 

You put the gun on the counter and crossed your arms. He wanted something, and whatever bullshit he thought he had to tell to get there was, quite honestly, just aggravating. 

You were about to repeat the question, why are you here, but you simply opened and closed your mouth. It would be better to call his name, then ask the question, but you didn’t know his name. Ten years, many encounters, countless times saving each other's asses, and you didn’t know his name. He didn’t know yours, but still. 

“Do ghouls bleed?”, you asked, instead, trying to avoid whatever emotions you just tapped into. Out of sight, out of mind.

He tilted his head. “Why, gorgeous, I don’t know where your mind just went. But I’m damn sure this ain’t the question you wanna ask”. 

You always felt anxious around him, for a number of reasons. If he decided you were better off as food, then you were a goner. If he decided he wanted to kill you, also bye-bye. But what if he did that thing he did sometimes, and looked at you with more humanity than any of the people you grew up with? What if he kissed your neck and made you wonder how touching his skin must feel like? The times you and him got physically involved, he was always very distant. Kept his clothes on, even his hat — except for the one time he let you use it. 

He would let you ride his tight, and he would finger you with gloved hands, too. He went down on you sometimes, and it felt incredible. But that was that. No kissing on the lips, no letting you see him unclothed. 

And that made you wonder…

“...did your dick fall off of you, too?”

“What the fuck?”, it was his turn to be shocked.

The words came out before you could even stop then. Both your hands went straight to your mouth, covering it as if you could it back. The Ghoul looked amused and annoyed at the same time. 

“If you want something, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask”. 

“I-I don-n’t, I didn’t m-mean i-it”, your words were incomprehensible as you tried to lighten the mood, mostly for yourself. Embarrassment didn’t suit you. 

He let out a tiny smile, and pointed to a pair of chairs you owned as if he was the owner. “Sit down”.

“You don’t have to…”, you wanted to make him feel comfortable, but you were far too uneasy to do so. Surely, your cheeks were flushed. 

“Just sit down, woman”.

And so you did. It was rare that the Ghoul would want to talk, let alone have an actual conversation. Truth be told, your curiosity got the best of you. 

“Simply put, yes ghouls bleed, yes ghouls have their, uh, genitals, fully intact. But that’s as far as I know, I don’t go around examining private parts in every ghoul I meet”, you both let out a quiet laugh. “Ask away”. 

Your confusion must have been clear on your face, because he followed: “You can ask me something, and I might reply. In return, you’ll give me some vials and food. Sound good?”

It sounded awful. Yet, you found yourself agreeing. You were a business woman, and information went a long, long way. You just had to be very careful and ask only the right questions. Not too personal, not too detached. And he knew all this, which was way starting off was easy, even if you were still a little embarrassed. 

“Does my blood smell that strongly?”

He let out a loud laugh. It was the first time, in all those years he was your acquaintance, he did so, and you thought it sounded lovely. 

“Yes”, he replied, his eyes darkening. Desire or hunger, you would never know. “Yes, it does. But all blood has a very pungent smell, so don’t go getting self-conscious".

“Would you ever kill me?”.

“Yes”, he said without a care in the world. “And I hope that, if it ever came down to my life or yours, you had the balls to shoot me in the head too”.

You nodded, once. 

“If you ever go feral and I find out, would you want me to kill you?”

He nodded, twice.

“I sure hope you’d do an old man a favor and end his miserable life if he ever lost his mind, girl”, again, there it was. That humanity in his eyes. That which would differ him from humans and ghouls. 

It made you all the more anxious as you looked at his fingers, which looked more necrotic than ever. You liked him, you considered him a friendly stranger and that was the worst part. You picked the flask from inside your coat and passed it to him. 

“Do you want to spend the night?”, you said as he took a long sip. 

He put the flask down and smiled, ever the heart-breaker. “Nah, sweetheart, I got some stuff to attend. I will take my stuff, though”. 

Disappointed, but not surprised, you went to the back to pick up the merchandise he needed. When you came back, his head was down on the table that sat in between the chairs you were using, and you rushed next to him. Eyes closed. 

Next to his mouth, some blood stained the table. 

You hit him once, twice. “Hey!”, you called, hoping to elicit some kind of response, but he was out. He wasn’t dead, but he was weak and passed out on your ‘for sale’ furniture.

The Ghoul coughed hardly, more blood coming out of his mouth, as he seemed to come to his senses slowly. He jumped a little, looking scared, and stood up taking you by your throat. 

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

You couldn’t reply even though you tried. He was choking you too hard, and not in a good way. 

He tossed you on the floor, and the impact against the counter hurt and made some things, some glass things, break. You knew your blood was probably everywhere, but you could only bring yourself to look at the Ghoul, your heart aching. 

The look on his face was not one of hatred, it was pure confusion and terror. He saw the bag of goods you had set aside for him, went towards it quickly and picked it up, all while you tried to sit up, mouth bloody and several cuts all over your arms.

He left without even looking back.

[221beloved]

Market Day

(Link to ao3)

“Apples, two quid!”

“Ugh, no reason to yell at me,” Sherlock mumbled next to John, glaring at the man who was apparently trying to sell apples. “I wasn’t aware that they’re still screaming their lungs out. Wasn’t that outdated long ago?”

“Well,” John shrugged. “Some are more enthusiastic than others.”

“Besides, shouldn’t he yell the amount of apples, too? One apple for two pound is rather expensive as I understand.”

John chuckled and bumped into his side good naturedly. He was smiling since they arrived at the Berwick Street Market in Soho, despite Sherlock’s irritation. It had been his idea to come here after all, subsequent to John telling him more of his childhood memories with his grandma.

And indeed John felt warmth all around his belly at the scent of fresh food, herbs and flowers, at the remembrance of Harry and him running around between the plants while their grandma was picking one for the kitchen, and at the smell of the various, colourful candies she'd always bought them.

“Look!” Sherlock’s voice pulled him out of his musings. He focused his gaze to see that Sherlock was pointing at a stand with various jars of honey lined up besides and behind each other.

“Finally something promising,” he all but chimed, grabbed John by the hand and pulled him towards the stand.

“Yes yes,” John chuckled, his smile even broader with Sherlock so excited.

“Can I help you?” the man owning the stand asked when they arrived, but he was ignored by Sherlock, who was studying the labels of the different jars in concentration.

“He’s just looking for now, thank you,” John smiled at the man. He watched Sherlock picking up some of the jars and examining them, holding them against the light.

“Can I have one of those?” John asked when he spotted a little bowl with honey candies. The man nodded and John stretched out his hand, but before he could take one of the sweets, Sherlock was pulling at his sleeve.

“Look, they have buckwheat honey. And honey from the moors.”

John looked at the two glasses Sherlock was holding out. “Well, you want some?”

Sherlock bit his lip, making John smile. “Come on, give it to me and I’ll buy you one. I know your sweet tooth.”

Sherlock held out the one from the moors, thick and creamy, with a dark golden shimmer.

“Alright.” John turned towards the vendor again. “This one it is then.”

Just as John was putting away his wallet, still frowning at how much money he’d just spent for a single jar of honey, an elderly woman appeared next to him.

“Oh, so much honey, is it all different?”

“Yes,” the vendor answered, smiling proudly. “You want to try some? Maybe cornflower, it’s quite popular. Or rather something special, buckwheat? It’s intense, some even describe it as bitter.”

The woman was looking curious but also kind of disbelieving. “Well, how do the bees know to only go to certain flowers for a special honey?”

From the corner of his eye John could see Sherlock turn towards the woman, staring at her as if he’d been personally offended.

The beekeeper, however, was looking at the woman with a straight face and said, “We tell them beforehand.”

“Huh,” was the woman’s comment on that, and while John could barely hold in his laughter, Sherlock was turning his horrified stare on the vendor, who was still looking at the woman straight faced.

John lifted his bag as a goodbye and pulled Sherlock away before he could embarrass them all by breaking into a full belly laugh.

Sherlock was still looking rather horrified. “John?” he asked, and John doubled over with suppressed laughter.

“It was a joke, Sherlock. Deadpan, you know?”

Sherlock harrumphed but reached out for John’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said when John had finally calmed down. “For the honey.”

“I wouldn’t have offered so freely if I’d looked at the price before,” he said, then added, “Joke, Sherlock. I’m just wondering why it’s so expensive.”

“Well, it’s not the standard honey you get at the shops, not that mud from china adulterated with sugar to make it even cheaper. No, this is pure honey, John, quality. And it’s from flowers from the moors. I hadn’t had one of those yet, but the idea is great. Quite unusual.”

“All right, all right,” John laughed, “I get it, it’s something special. And I’m glad you found it, by the way. Hope it makes up for this awful market visit.”

Sherlock grimaced, but then smiled softly at John. “Your awfully happy face all the time, looking at flowers and candies, and sniffing the air like a dog on the hunt are making up for the visit just fine”

John nudged his shoulder against Sherlock’s.

“Twat.”

--

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[neoncat669]

Shadowstober 2024

Alright alright I'm doing two promptobers this year and this is the list of what I've done so far for Shadowstober (Shadows over Welde Tober) and I'll reblog with each new day

Day 1: Favorite Player Character

Day 2: Lolth

Day 3: Eye

Day 4: Darkness

[inufaiya]

I still remember how beautiful you looked when you laid Kirby's egg, even when you were exhausted and completely disheveled, you were the most beautiful and radiant next to our miracle.

This is today's Kirbtober drawing, my most famous headcanon, the fact that puffs lay eggs

[annaofthenorthernlights]

for @domaystic

Day/Chapter 04 - prompt: the dream

Ever since Belle has seen Adam at the library, she´s tried not to think about their next meeting. She´s asked Anna to help her out, so that she´s not going to be alone with the man. The girls sit in the coffee corner when Belle tells Anna about her story.

Read on AO3

[dazaidoodle-daily]

➥ 𝙳𝚊𝚢 : 𝟶𝟺

🔥𝘈𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘻𝘢𝘪🔥

[hiddenunknownperson]

''Maybe... we can start all over?''

💜💙Marxolor Week: Clockwork&Majesty

Author's note: Introducing a concept where Marx is a ''Dead Clockwork Star''. He still have some ability to grant wishes, but he needs a colossal amount of magic and is not 100% safe for him to control all that power. Magolor might help to find out the best way to activate that capacity without hurting both of them, but they really are unsure what to do. Also, maybe Magolor's wish remains but in a different way?

[andgry4]

Okay so this took me forever and it might be a little late but anyways.

[theraichu]

Summary:

After the events of prom, Cady finds herself caught between spending her time with the Plastics and the Art Freaks.

Tags, Warnings, and Rating are under the 'Keep Reading'.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey, Mean Girls (2024) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Regina George/Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike, Cady Heron & Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike & Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard Characters: Janis Ian | Janis Sarkisian | Janis 'Imi'ike, Cady Heron, Damian Leigh | Damian Hubbard, Regina George, Gretchen Wieners, Karen Smith | Karen Shetty Additional Tags: Flufftober 2024, Fluff, Reconciliation, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Post-Canon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Flufftober, Day 4, market day, Confessing Feelings, Lesbian Regina George

[sushimango]

Day 04 of Whumptober!

The hardest part for Tom is always if something happens to his family...

Maybe this is why he overworked and then quit his job in this RPG

[ajcrwl]

day 04. Blood.

(this was a fight with my camera to retain at least some blue and brown in the presence of lots of red, and nobody won.)

[221beloved]

Brief warning:

Mentions of past drug use, violence and... things that lead to bad dreams.

"I want to believe you"

Exiting his bedroom in the morning, Sherlock rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He'd never had nightmares before. But now, how couldn't he? He dreamed about falling, falling and falling, with nothing but bare tarmac as destination. He dreamed about cold and lonely nights in the dark, hunts through the forest, about aiming a gun at humans, about being tortured. He dreamed about John, hating him, beating him, wishing he would've stayed dead. He dreamed about being shot by a woman in a white dress, about the same woman lying dead in front of him. He dreamed about John. How was he supposed to sleep through the night?

As he entered the kitchen, he found John sitting at the table, reading the papers, a cup of tea to his left. Sherlock froze and stared at John, bewilderment radiating from him. John looked up. “Hi,” he smiled a little sheepishly. “Thought I would drop by, it's been a long time...” Sherlock just nodded. “Rosie is with Mrs Hudson, they both seemed very happy to see each other again.” Sherlock thought about his own desperate wish to see little Watson again, to follow the rising of intelligence in her deep blue eyes, to see her smile, to hear her unintelligible babbling, the little outbursts of first English words, but John was still reluctant to bring her up. He nodded again and made his way to the counter to finally get his tea, when John's hand suddenly grasped his wrist. “Sherlock?” John looked concerned, but it was nothing like the concern he displayed before. Before the nightmares began. “Are you alright, Sherlock?”

Sherlock pulled his hand from John's grasp and continued his way. “Yes John, I'm fine.” While filling the kettle and pulling out a bag of tea, he could still feel Johns eyes on him. “Are you sure?” John confirmed this just a few moments later. Sherlock sighed, but didn't turn to John. “Yes, I'm fine. Perfectly fine.” He could hear the scrape of the chair as John came to his feet. “You don't seem so,” he pressed further. Sherlock leaned on the counter and closed his eyes. “Just a bit tired, that's all.” John huffed a laugh. “You are never tired, Sherlock. Even when you are seconds from passing out, you never say you're tired!” Maybe before, Sherlock thought. Maybe that was the case, before. Before he flung himself from a rooftop. But John interrupted his thoughts. “Have you taken something?”

The words struck Sherlock like a blow. He swallowed and took a deep breath. “No,” he said without looking up. “Sherlock, look at me, have you, taken something?” John's voice was grave and urgent. Slowly, Sherlock lifted his head. “No, I have not taken something, I thought we -” but John interrupted him yet again, his restraint fading, his temper rising. “Did you look in the mirror today? Your eyes are red, your shadows could be tattoos, your cheeks are hollow and -”

“I told you, I am clean!” Sherlock tried to break Johns accusations, but he just looked Sherlock up and down and motioned at his hands. “You're trembling,” he pointed out, as if this was the final proof. Sherlock felt something snap and all his fuses blow, his resignation and frustration morphing into burning fury and he turned to glare at John. “You want to see it?” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Do you want to examine me? Search for new scars of weakness and desire?” John had taken a step back due to this outburst, but now he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well?” And that was it. His vision went white in anger, as he tore his shirt off his body and threw it to the ground. He violently kicked his trousers off his legs, remaining only in his boxer briefs, breathing heavily and staring at John, daring him to come closer. John unfolded his arms and stepped in front of Sherlock, took his hand and lifted his arm, brushed his thumbs over the old scars in the crook of Sherlocks elbow. It hurt. This step, this decision of John to check his body for new scars, his decision not to trust him, not even with this, it hurt. It ached, it made him feel like his skin was ripped from his body, like he was burned alive. Now he started to shudder in earnest, he felt sick, his vision blurred and it became difficult to breathe. He took a trembling step back, away from John, disbelief and hurt washing over him. Another step back, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I... I want to believe you,” John said in a low voice. Sherlocks eyes snapped up. “Do you?” he asked, his voice hoarse but flat, cleared of every emotion. “Do you really, John? Do you really want to believe me?” In the end he couldn't prevent his tired disbelief and resignation from showing in his voice. He picked up his shirt and pyjama bottoms and turned to go back to the dark and silence of his room. “Sherlock...” John called out, his voice almost pleading. Almost. “Not -” Sherlock tried, cleared his throat. “Not now, John, please. I need some time. Just...” He took a deep breath. “Please.” John stared at him, his face displaying opposing emotions, but he said nothing more, so Sherlock turned and closed the door behind him.

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@angstober

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[neoncat669]

Angstober 2024

Also doing @angstober 2024 so here's all mine up to day 4

Day 1: Again

Day 2: Countdown

Day 3: Self-Destruction

Day 4: Blood