#the black on black thing still didn't get fixed... :/

[daydream358]

Hope you guys like this >;D !!

It was pretty surreal to walk through Arcadia nowadays, even awesome-sauce as Toby liked to say, and you know what ? He was completely right !! After the eternal night there was a lot of damage dealt to both communities, both in the upper city, and all the way down to the trollmarket, but things could be fixed !! Even the hearthstone, which was a really nice surprise, apparently you could apply some of the laws of physics to magic itself, that being you can’t destroy energy, but you can redirect it somewhere else

When he finally defeated Gunmar for good, all of that stolen energy flowed right into the amulet. And with a little assist from from Merlin and Douxie he was able to restore the life giving energy to its rightful place, for lack of a better word it was magical to watch the once-gray chunks repairing itself into the hearthstone trollmarket they were so proud of. Even more to feel it for the first time

But sadly there still was a lot of rebuilding that needed to be done in both places, which they unfortunately couldn’t throw magic at it to fix it. Though the residents were more than willing to volunteer to repair things, it was their home after all

And another thing that helped greatly was all the unexpected but very much welcome cooperation between both species !! He didn’t even have to play peace-maker between trolls and humans as one would expect from a trollhunter hybrid or anything, honestly it was a huge relief, if any more stress was added on his plate then they would get another trollish warlord pretty soon

For once, most of the responsability and lion share of the work was taken by the adults. Blinky and Ophelia Nunez organized their combined work force and resources in order to use them with utmost efficiency

Trolls helped with the heavy-lifting and other things were having great strength and durability helped, like removing the rumble from the street’s, demolishing broken buildings which were unsalvageable and even setting the foundations for new ones. It was quite literally a huge help considering that the city didn't have enough heavy duty machinery to deal with the magnitude of the reconstruction

And in trollmarket, humans helped with their many power tools !! They were not magical in nature, but worked just as good as their counterparts, many hands made the work lighter and easier to deal with

It was a lot and certainly not easy, but with everyone working together they had managed to finish before summer was even over

Though things were far from returning as they were before ! The city wasn't repaired the same way as it was originally built, there were now trollish shops above the surface and trollmarket was open for tours. He wondered if he could volunteer as a guide for school issued field-trips as extra-credit for his senior year ? He was sure he could butter up Strickler or even black-mail him a little to make it happen. The changeling would probably approve of any method he used, as long he implied he was taking after a certain winged green troll

But as awesome as it was to stroll through town, it wasn’t the sole reason why he was walking through it right now. He was a half-troll on a mission after all !! While it was true that he didn’t need to mediate between trolls and humans and help them get along, the gang did volunteer to help around in construction, even after the battle they just didn't feel like they could truly rest until it was all repaired

Claire didn’t have the shadow staff anymore, but after being coached by douxie she could open portals all on her own, which she used to help transport materials where they needed to be. While Toby started experimenting with the gravity curse on his hammer, helping in a similar way to Claire's and even making construction safer for everyone

As for him ? Sadly his magical item didn’t come with a handy function that was particularly useful for this kind of situation. But he did have troll muscles now, which we’re also magical, so there !! He worked with other trolls by hauling the copious amount of rubble through the town, and boy was that a work-out !! And it was pretty fun to watch steve’s completely stagger with absolute surprise in his face, when he lifted two halves of a minivan above his head with nothing but his raw strength, and then proceeded to carry it without a care in the world. It looked like the blonde jock was having a crisis, which was probably also a crisis on itself 

it was pretty funny, and he might have shown off a little more, just to mess a bit with the blonde jock

And now that they were finally done with construction, they had the brilliant idea to kick off the rest of the summer with a movie marathon, all the way down in trollmarket with Blinky & Arrrgh, and they wanted to invite the punk wizard as well. Which was why he was going there in person to invite their new friend

Of course the trollhunter could have just sent Douxie a text message, or even called if he really wanted to make it more personal. The wizard did have a phone and knew how to operate one despite being 900 years old. But after the war, after all the trials and challenges he faced, after all the people they’ve lost. He just really wanted to spend more quality time with his friends, the people he cared about, and cherish those moments as much as he could

And again, walking through and seeing all the changes was really cool, plus on his way to the bookshop he could buy a few more ingredients for making snacks, let’s just say that there was a lot of snack-making going into this event. 

Now he could literally go to a perfectly mundane mini-market, then cross the street and buy some very crunchy looking churros-pastries from a food-truck operated by a troll. Those sweets were to kill for

Finally approaching the street where the world’s oldest teen worked, he caught his reflection in one of the shop’s windows, the angle and lighting making it look like a mirror instead of see-through.

It wasn’t just the city that had changed a lot, he had his fair of changes as well. Being the son of a doctor had come with a lot of talks about puberty, and how his body would change,  but none of them really prepared him for what happened after getting into the bathtub. 

But to be fair, it wasn’t every teenager that was chosen to protect an entire magical race that lived deep underground and became a half troll in the process. At least as far as he was aware of course, maybe there were more magical hybrid protectors around the world or something of that nature

It was a lot of pressure and responsability to grow into, and quite literally after he became a half troll. But he also got to discover a whole new world hidden beneath his feet and found so many others to call part of his family. The world truly was way bigger than high school

His world got bigger at the same time that it changed. And so did the city, both of them had to adapt, to change in order to deal with the aftermath of having to deal with a blood-thirsty tyrant warlord trying to wreck their lives. It wasn't easy but they go through it, standing proud and strong

Plus thinking how the city was a hybrid like him made him feel all fuzzy, soft and warm inside, even if he was only the only half troll running around, it made him feel accepted. Those walks always reminded him of that

Finally, he reached the bookshop where Douxie worked, he hoped that the older teen wouldn’t be too occupied.  And If he was lucky, the shop would be mostly empty at this time of the day, and they would be able to chat and hang-out until his shift was over. Then bolt to his house for the very important task of making snacks, and then finally go see the movie marathon with the others

He just stopped a bit, to be cautious of his horns, he didn't want to bump them on a door-frame, or have to fix a door frame yet again, he already had plenty of that experience with that in the last month thank you very much

Jim never had considered himself the most Book-ish person, not like Claire with her period romance dramas and her beloved Shakespeare stories, or even Toby with his geology books. But there was still something with libraries that just made him feel cozy and comfortable, sprawling shelves of books, soft lighting that just perfect for reading, and plenty of comfy chairs & sofas to rest on, it felt like he could drop in one of the bean-bags and fall asleep before his head even hit the pillows

There didn't seem to be any clients in the shop, but that might have been because they were all replaced by piles of boxes filled with books, and right in the middle of the mess was his favorite british wizard ( claire’s was his favorite shadow sorceress of course )

The seemingly eternal teen looked very busy, was he doing some kind of inventory overhaul or other thing of that nature ? He asked his bro and he was right !! The library was going through a big organization in order to make space for new books

He was taking out some of the less popular books, and they were either going to be part of a sale or be donated to the public library of Arcadia. All so that they could make space for a lot of new books. They were part of councilwoman Nunez and newly appointed elder blinky to help things along

It was knowledge meant to help everybody with the transitions! There were tomes on magical history, trollish culture and customs and even trollish dictionaries. There were also pamphlets and informative guides for trolls, like how babysitters actually did not sit on babies, or how it wasn’t a good idea to eat pets and stuff like that. Honestly he was planning to buy one or two of the books for himself

As Blinky already said to him a hundred times and would probably say a hundred times more “ one never stops learning “ and he had plenty of time to just enjoy learning now

The task was a hardy one, but his boss said that he could leave as soon as he was done. And like the super helpful trollhunter that he was, Jim offered to help, with the two of them working together, they would finish even faster, and thus be able to leave early for the movie marathon !! Maybe they would be even able to make extra snacks. Though he did have a question for douxie, couldn’t he just use magic to put all of the books in place at once ? Yes he could without much problem, he would only need to set up the logistics a little before casting in full, but as soon as that was done it would be a piece of cake

So yeah, the blue-streaked teen could use magic to put everything into place, he could use some fairly simple and easy spells and take care of most if not all of his chores that way. But one of the many things he learned about being a wizard in his 900 years as a magic-user, was to know when to use magic and when to not use it !! He practiced and studied plenty and used when it was important, like when he used to help arcadia rebuild or for emergencies like taking ketchup stains out of his favorite band T-shirts

Like Claire and her portals for example !! She could just shadow-travel everywhere , but if she did that then she would miss out on stuff. Like encountering a friend and having a great if random conversation, buying some delicious churros from a food-truck or even rescuing a little kitten that was all alone in the rain.

It was all stuff she could miss, if she just portaled everywhere, as cheesy as it was to say, the the journey could be just as important as the destination if not more then so

It’s basically more or less the same reason why he didn’t use magic for everything little thing that appeared in his way. Plus he totally used his magic to do very important things, like powering his guitar so he could play anywhere while using illusions to make it look like he was in an epic video clip or videogame. Thinking now he really should begin teaching claire illusion magic, it would pair nicely with her natural affinity to shadow magic

And talking about magic, he had a nifty spell to help Jim organize the books, with a quick wave of his hand, the books & shelves began glowing in all sorts of different colors, indicating which books he should take out, and which to put on the shelves 

The blue duo began to work like a well oiled machine while Archie did the very important and self-assigned job of supervising them, and it was going pretty well. With the color-marker spell jim could do the job as well and as fast as douxie himself, so essentially the workload was sliced in half, not unlike when Jim had cleaved that big van in 2 pieces

They were working really well together until the incident happened, a certain stack of books that needed to be taken out was on one of the fairly high shelves, so high in fact that douxie stood on his tippy toes, and still barely managed to reach it. He was about to grab a stool or or ladder, maybe finally crack and use some levitation magic

But before he could, as quick as the lightning used in the potion, Jim took out the offending books and put the new ones into place. the half troll moved really fast for someone so big, maybe douxie should start working out as well ? It was never too late to start right ? 

Everything would have been well and good. But then Jim said something that completely changed the atmosphere of the room in the following

the wizard spoke “ thanks jim!! I was about to cast a spell “ said the wizard thankfully

And without missing a beat the trollhunter answered “ No problem !! Just leave the high stuff to me shortie “ And just like that he might as well have had set off a bomb and it would have done less damage, still douxie in all of his wisdom offered an olive branch, a chance for the trollhunter to redeem himself “ Sorry could you say that again ? “

Smiling and still completely unaware of the terrible blunder he committed the annoyingly tall half troll answered “ it’s okay if you’re a bit short, I can take care of the high selves “ Not a single thought behind those eyes, nor an ounce of fear for the danger he was about to face

Douxie was patient, he tried giving the poor gunmar-slayer an easy way out of the mess he created, but it was rejected without any consideration whatsoever, this meant war and no mercy at all “ I beg your pardon, but I am in fact quite tall “ He meant to be assertive and final, since he was pretty much stating a hard cold fact that wasn’t disputable, this was meant to be a gentle correction after all

Instead of bowing to Douxie infinite wisdom, jim proceeded to commit one of the most heinous acts known to human and troll kind, placing his hand horizontally against his forehand and then moved it in the wizard’s direction while still in the same height, the accusing hand hovered about a head and a half above “ Doesn’t seem that way to me “ Said the teen, Douxie could feel the smugness dripping, practically oozing from unfortunately taller teen tone. He refused to take this lying down, plus there was no way he didn’t move his hand up even a little during the comparation

The comparison wasn’t even fair to begin with !! Jim was now a troll, of course he got tall buff genes from merlin’s potion, even if the trollhunter was only half. He voiced his opinion with a calm confidence, or at least tried too, given how the argument had dragged out

He thought that it would be the end of it, that he would finally get to taste reprieve with the discussion having ended at last. Alas he wasn’t that lucky, Jim said “ I guess that’s true, it’s not fair to say you’re short compared to me “ Douxie would have been happy with that at this point. But sadly, it wasn’t all the trollhunter had to say “ all that magic must stunt your growth right ? I’m so sorry for calling you short “. Things could not have ended more badly if he tried

He was beyond angry at the half troll, he was probably red in the face and he could practically feel steam coming out of his ears, be it metaphorically or literally given his magic, that did not in any way had stunted his growth !! This one made even less sense, merlin was practically the poster-figure for wizards, the first thing it came to thought of when people were reminded of wizards. AND he was without a doubt very tall. The british teen was about to give that punk the dressing down of the millenium

Or at least he was about too. When the older teen noticed Jim’s barely hidden laughter, the fact that he was trying to conceal his laughter at that, and failing miserably at it. It was that moment where Douxie finally realized. Jim was playing him

He had goaded him into losing his temper by pointing out something he knew wasn't true and acted oblivious when confronted about it

Douxie should have been affronted with the younger teen for using one of the oldest tricks in the books,  if it hadn’t worked so flawlessly. It was kind of embarrassing actually, considering how old he was himself, he might as well have invented half of all those tricks in the metaphorical book

Over a thousand years of experience as a wizard, and he still had things to learn. Or at least review some of the basics, they were the classics for a reason after all, and he would be even more of a fool if he ignored them again

With the terrible and extremely horrible world-ending crisis that was an angry wizard ready to go nuclear peacefully diffused, they had a good laugh about it and went back to work after a little more teasing. Continuing their record-breaking speed of organizing and putting all of their books into their proper place. 

Finally, after a little more than half an hour, all of the new books and guides were put into their new place, and all of the old ones into boxes. Now all that they had to do was put the boxes into the inventory, where they would later become part of 50% sales or even a donation to nearby schools and the like

The boxes were unsurprisingly heavy, but with a slight-grunt jim had amounted a mountain of them, and carried them off with little to no trouble, while douxie levitated the rest with his magic having a similar ease

With their jobs finally done, it was incredibly tantalizing to just rest in one of the many comfy-looking chair’s, they were nearing the end of the day after all. But they couldn’t rest just yet. Like the teenagers they were, they had many movies to watch, and many unhealthy but delicious snacks to consume

Upon reaching Jim's home the blue duo began preparing their nourishment, such as salted caramel popcorn, Smores with sprinkles and even some cheesy nachos with bacon bits and homemade tacos. All incredibly mouth-watering of course

And on their way to the market entrance they met Toby and Claire. The shadow-mancer was in charge of the projector and movie selection, while Toby had brought many pillows and blankets courtesy of Nana's hobby. Tonight was going to be epic

And so the group went down the spiraling crystal chairs of the trollmarket. It wasn’t quite the same, and you could still see some of the destruction yet to be undone by the rebuilding. But it was still breath-taking with the hearthstone standing defiantly after being destroyed, honestly jim was still in awe of that

They were warmly received by their hosts, Blinky had taken care of their things while Arrrgh wrapped them in a big comforting hug, it felt like everything was well in their world and it was amazing. And soon the place was covered in fuzzy rugs, soft blankets and some troll-sized pillows that might as well have been bean-bags for humans. It was perfect, they were comfy, they had snacks and it was show-time

The first movie of the night was a new one from a very beloved franchise, and one pretty adored by the gang at that. But as the movie progressed, one thing became increasingly clear ……. the movie was plain awful. It kept making strange turns and twists that felt like blinky was driving half-blind and drunk, the humor and joke were missing the mark if not just weird. And the ending ? The ending was the biggest affront to their beloved show and to cinema in the history of the universe

It came to a point that even a bit of popcorn was thrown against the projected screen. And usually Jim was completely against the act of wasting food, but this time ? It was warranted, it was a shame he couldn’t throw rotten tomatoes at whoever dared to commit such monstrosity

With that poorly disguised train-wreck of a movie done ( thank deya ), their marathon was briefly interrupted for a very serious and professional in-depth discussion over how horrendous the movie was and why. Or at least that was the intention before their passions got a little heated, but they couldn’t help it ! and hey, it was a pretty good way to bond that didn’t involve danger or trauma, which they could all use more of

Even Blinky and Arrrgh admitted the movie was bad, not really engaging or entertaining to begin with, which no one could really argue against, since a movie was just another way to tell a story. And the pair only knew the basics well enough to have context for the movie, so they were as unbiased as they could be. And again the movie was supposed to end the series on a high note, it didn’t make sense to judge it by itself, and even like that it was bad

Honestly it was way more interesting for the older pair to watch the younger trio discuss and point things out as they talked

After everyone had verbally eviscerated the movie for committing the crime of existing ( and badly at that ) they’ve decided to shuffle their marathon selection a bit. What better way to continue than watching all over again their favorite episodes all over again ? The movie was awful, that was true. But it wasn’t gonna stop them from loving the rest of the series. They just wouldn't let evil triumph like that

They went from one to the other as they devoured the precious snacks like the teenagers they were. And as things go with long movie night marathons at night, they started to fall asleep, or at least the younger ones of the group did. Blinky, Arrrgh and Douxie just watched in amusement as the trio began getting comfy in their sleep

They were getting sleepy as well, but they had enough energy to do one last thing before hitting the hay themselves. Blinky went to cover Claire with a blanket, and so did the krubera with toby, that left Jim to Douxie

The punk wizard stopped for a moment to appreciate how peaceful the blue troll looked all cozied up between his friends, before covering him with a cozy blanket as well, and if the levitation spell he used had extra sparkles sue him! He was feeling a bit more sentimental than usual. He and Jim were a lot alike, one could say

Both of them had the legacy of Merlin looming over them for quite some time ( one more than the other of course ) both worked really hard to live up to the expectations, plus they also really rocked the color blue. Honestly he was still in awe of Jim’s accomplishments

He was not only the youngest trollhunter in history, but had succeeded as a human by slaying Bular the Butcher where many others trolls had failed, and so much more by finally ending the conflict, by cleaning up the mess that king arthur started, by defeating Gunmar for once and for all. Though that did come from a big sacrifice on the current trollhunter’s part

He didn’t always agree with his late mentor, he didn’t like the idea of drastic permanent measures before exhausting every other avenue or possible solution, he knew they were strapped for time and resources, but still, it was such a sacrifice to make, his life, his future as human, in order to defeat Gunmar as a troll. He didn’t doubt the teen bravery or commitment to his loved ones, it was just that big of a deal, very few would make that sacrifice

Thinking now Jim would make a great king, and if he ever needed a wizard he would be happy to fill the role, though at the rate Claire was learning, he doubted he would need to do it for long, if at all. Yep he was definitely getting a bit too sentimental, not that it was a bad thing of course, he just needed to get his head on a pillow a warm blanket over him first

Future-sight or not, he just knew that he would need a good-night of rest, though that was mostly common sense at this point, still he just felt like tomorrow would be filled with rambunctious teens, they still had plenty of summer to burn through and plenty of memories to make. It sounded nice

They could do several movie marathons, they could experiment with foods and discover what jim could and couldn't eat, so far he could eat nearly everything a troll could and way more human food that he initially thought, they could experiment with magic and get into shenanigans that need complicated and difficult magical solutions, heck maybe they could do something truly crazy ……. which was sleeping in and then having a brunch buffet later. And with this last thought the wizard fell into a peaceful sleep as he dreamed.

One of many recommendations for Troll Jim drawings:

Jim being a “little” shit teasing Douxie cause he taller than him now.

He may be taller but Douxie’s still got several years on the buddy boy.

Recommended by @honeyxmonkey

More recommended pictures to come 😄

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Thinking about a deadbeat cowboy.

Tw- mentions of noncon, deadbeat bastard of a man , abuse, mentions of violence

He only shows up once he's back from his jobs, horse kicking up dirt as he comes to your lonely homestead. Greeting you smelling like whisky and woodsmoke. Throwing his heavy coin pouch on your oak table with a grin as he presses you into his arms.

"Promised you I wouldn't drink all my earnings away," his boyish grin disguising the anticipation as he waits for a thank you.

You step on your tiptoes to press a kiss against his stubble, at least when he comes to your home he shaves. Your home, not his, this is only a stop to rest his wandering feet, a trough for his empty stomach, and a body to warm his bed. Returning to pin you down beneath him at night.

The first time he had you was nothing short of a nightmare. Ambushing you in the dirt , violent and quick with his hand tight around your throat. A farm dog bent over a bitch. He left you there, in the tall grass outside your home, once he took what he wanted. The only thing you could comfort yourself with was the thought it was over.

The next night he returned, you were too scared to do anything but allow him to violate you again. Fighting got you nothing but a black eye and bite marks, at least with your submission, you got something more. Someone to fix the worn floorboard and the hole in the roof. Someone who eventually stopped fucking you like he meant to only hurt you, placing an unnatural kiss on your forehead as he held you to sleep. When he left after three weeks, you knew the cycle would start again once he returned.

"I didn't know to expect you," you mumble, wringing your apron in your hands. "Didn't make much for dinner only a pie."

Still, he smiles at that. He's not picky when it comes to the temporary domesticity you give him to keep him happy. You've learnt the past year that he always returns to you in between his jobs. Sure, he will darken your door, reeking of whisky, but he won't go to the saloon so long as he sleeps in your bed. Not all women can say that. Or can say their man brings them a heavy purse, treats from cities or traders wagons, jewellery from a wealthy womans neck. So you've learnt to live with it, to not ask him questions about how he obtained his treatures unless you're obviously coy.

He wraps his arms over your shoulders. Asking if there's been any unwanted guests in his absence. Any stray dogs he needs to shoot from his property.

You're not stupid enough to find another man. It would only end up with a bullet hole in his head and one in your ankle. Or maybe your cowboy would put a knife to your sweet face, making sure no other man could ever find you pretty after being ruined at his hands.

"I tell the townsfolk I'm married that my husband rounds up cattle on the ranches. It's only half a lie." You say as you plate up the pie. "Maybe you can come with me to town one of these days so I can prove you exist." You speak too quickly, a sense of panic creeping in. The ring you wear is nothing more than a mirage of respectability, but you needed proof before everyone decided that you spread your legs for the first man to knock on your door. You need there to be proof of him. Before he next disappears. Before it's too late to change opinions.

He only smiles at that. Waiting for you to sit opposite him before he grabs your wrist so hard you nearly scream.

"You're hiding something from me lovely, and we aren't gonna eat until you spit it out. So I advise you to hurry up before the dinner gets cold." He shifts his fingers, and you can swear you hear your joint pop.

"I'm with child!" You announce hurriedly before he snaps your arm in two, the shock of the realisation making him freeze. "I'm not lying about this, I swear ." You're frantic as he stares through you, eyes narrowing at the thickness of your waist - your corset can only do so much to obscure you from someone who's seen you broken down to nothing before himself. You're barely able to breathe through the tension before he starts laughing.

"Well shit. Guess I got to settle down with you now? Can't be leaving you alone with my bastard now, can I?" The amusement in his voice is exasperated rather than malicious, but your hands still tremble at the thought of his permanence.

"Not if I don't want anyone sniffing round my girl trying to do any charity."

[theegyal]

When I Was Your Man [ Annie x Smoke ] +18

⚠️: Anal, rough sex, black magic, gory, torture, angst, toxicity

Part 6

The old flame she never planned to reignite? She did.

This morning didn't mean a shit. She tried to convince herself. The most important right now was to teach Anders a lesson.

After cleaning her shop, fixing her altars and broken statues, putting in boxes the roots and leaves, Annie kneeled to pray. She hadn't been inherently good or neither wicked. Nevertheless, her deeds should not become the origin of her demise ; Because yes, Annie persuaded herself that the destruction of her sanctuary would ultimately have irreversible consequences on her daughter. What if she couldn't pass through Oyá death's tunnel no more ? Or if any communication between them ceased ?

"Anders..." she muttered, mystically, her jaw tightened "the night will come. For you"

In a clay bowl, one he'd eaten from, she laid the roots. Devil's Shoestring, to make his path a tangle. Mullein leaves, to cloud his mind. A pinch of goofer dust to seal it. This good-for-nothing nigga had put filth on her sanctuary, the spirits were angry, the ancestors reclaimed a deep cleaning, her daughter path to Oyá had been blurred.

A debt must be paid.

She pricked her thumb with a silver pin. She watched a single drop of her blood fall, soaking into mixing powder.

"Anders Ray Johnson," she whispered, her breath ghosting over the bowl. "You walked on my soul. Now you ain't gon' have none. No ground to stand on at all."

She blow up the cursing powder to the winds.

Back to Lizzie's, the silence in the twins' room was loud.

Stack undressed, ready to take a shower. Smoke sat by the window, lighting his pipe. Right before his young brother slip into the bathroom, he asked :

"Was it good to fuck Annie?"

Stack's breath hitched. What the fuck Smoke expected him to say ? Of course it was good. Her pussy tasted honey, the way her tits bounce from behind, the sweet smell of her hair...

"Good as much as taking the back of a gun at the temple."

A dry, ugly sound left Smoke's lips. Might've been mistaken for a laugh.

"You asked for it."

He looked out at the street. Four blocks away from here was located Sweet Mama's Kitchen. Smoke let a smug grin tug at her corner of his mouth. Whoever messed with her had to die, simple.

Yeah, Annie was his wife, and even after seven damn years she still got a hold on this soul. But, one thing Smoke hated more than anything else, was people messing with his blood. Bending over for Stack was the line she should've never crossed.

She needed a lesson and Smoke was eager to teach her.

He would be her shield and her cage all at once.

"Stack."

"See that building her food spot in ? Find the landlord. Tell'em the Smoke Stack twins ain't buying no fuckin lease. We go buyin' the whole damn block."

The young twin rolled his eyes "thought y'all were cool again. I mean after that big ass head she gave you..."

"So ? She blow out my dick and we good ? Do the shit I'm askin' you, boy" replied Smoke

"That shit gonna get uglier than Roosevelt side piece...anyway, count me in." He said, disappearing in shower.

Now that part of the plan was settled. Smoke release his grip from the rifle, take an old paper out the drawer and scratch some words.

Annie didn't give him a name. She always had this tendency of protecting dumb ass nigga from reaping what they sowed. Doesn't matter truly, Smoke knew a lot of folks who can play great detective games, some Al Capone minions with a large money appetite.

"I'm outta the town" he shouted for Stack.

When you spit in the air, be ready for it to fall down on your face. The debtor's time had come.

The curse didn't knock gently, he kicked the door off Anders' mind.

Second ago he was drinking corn liquor with friends under a big sassafras tree and the next the whole delta became his own personal hell. Mosquitoes suddenly targeted him, sun lights turned into flames, the heat burning his skin, bugs buzzed around him as if he became a putrefying corpse.

His friends' eyes turned down, red, squinting, judging.

Anders immediately rose up right in front of this dumbfounded boys, he stormed to the dusty road, side to the plantations, then close to an oxbow lake.

His brain cracked open, spilling his sins to the gators and the snakes.

"I DID IT!" he howled with a ragging voice. "I GUTTED THAT DAMN CAT! I SMASHED HER STATUES! I THREW MUD AND SHIT ON HER BABY'S GRAVE—"

His crazed rambling carried over the murky water. A truck engine cut off down a dirt road nearby. Smoke still sat in the engine, his blue hat protecting his head from the sun. He listened, heard every words.

Smoke didn't flinch. Didn't move, neither. He just sucked on his cigarette slow, the molasses-sweet tobacco crackling like it was listening too. Eyes shaded beneath the brim of his hat, he stared out at the cypress knees and the muddy water moccasins slipping through the shallows.

Anders kept shouting. Now bent over, hands clawing at his skin like he was trying to dig something out from under it.

"I cut the black cat open, the old man told me it would bring her misery —AH." He sobbed, "her baby... her damn baby didn't deserve no goddamn shining rock! I smeared mud and shit on the grave! You hear me?! Shit!" He was laughing now.

"Always talking about roots, leaves and bullshit. She rot in those now—Huh ?" His laughter became crazier.

He beat his chest like he was calling thunder down, head rocking back and forth, teeth chattering disgracing the sun's heat. His drawers soaked through with piss and fever. Eyes glassed over, all pupil. Nothing human left in them. He didn't see the world anymore, just echoes of what he'd done.

Smoke, still parked, remains in his truck. He was not the kind of guy who believed in spirits, hex or any type of magic. He did believe in Annie though. And seeing the current state of Anders, he understood her rage, because he also shared the same.

Their baby. That bastard stained their child's resting place. Fury gnawed at him, furious tears burning his eyes. He balled up the letter down on the passenger seat. He didn't need the shady dogs help now, he had to handle it, himself.

This wasn't enough. That nigga didn't pay enough for his crimes.

"...baby... baby got worms now, I seen it, I seen it..." Anders continued sneering

"Grave got teeth," he mumbled. "Grave bit me. I seen 'em eyes lookin' at me from the dirt—ain't no baby, it's a snake baby, all curled up in the blanket..." He cried horrified now, clawing at his own face.

That was it. That was the last goddamn straw.

The hot tears in Smoke's eyes evaporated, leaving behind a cold, murderous calm. He shoved the truck door open, his hand already reaching for the butt of the gun tucked in his waistband. He was gonna walk over there, put the barrel in that blasphemous mouth, and end this nigga life right now.

He swung a leg out. And froze.

Something pushed back. Not a person. The air itself got thick, heavy like wet wool, pressing on his shoulders, chest, on his face. He tried to force his way through it, gritting his teeth, muscles straining.

It was like trying to walk through concrete. A wave of heat washed over him, smelling of ozone and something else... something that smelled like Annie's skin. Her magic. Her will. A blunt, silent, invisible No. This was her kill. Her justice. And he wasn't invited.

"Fuck," he snarled, frustrated. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, defeated.

"Shit, you ain't made her alone Bunny"

He wrenched the truck door shut and stomped on the gas, tires spitting dust. He drove straight to Juke Joint, its neon sign a lurid smear against the falling dusk.

Inside, the usual noise of liquor and lies filled the air. He bypassed it all, heading for a backroom where two hard-looking fellas, ones they brought with them from Chicago, were playing cards under a grey cloud of cigarette.

Smoke didn't waste time with greetings. He peeled off a thick wad of bills and slapped it on the table.

"Down by the oxbow lake," he said, his voice flat and deadly. "There's a crazy motherfucker shoutin' to the sky. I want him. Bring him to the basement. Don't kill him. I'll handle that part myself."

The bigger of the two men eyed the cash, then gave a slow nod. "Consider it done, Smoke."

Night fell heavy and black. In the damp basement of the Juke Joint, under the swinging glare of a single bare bulb, Anders Ray Johnson was tied to a wooden chair. He was quieter now, trembling, his eyes darting into the shadows. The ranting came in waves, weaker, more pathetic.

"...the mud, it was warm..." he mumbled, drool tracing a path down his chin. "She told me... the baby's eyes... saw me... oh god, the dirt got teeth..."

The wooden stairs creaked. Smoke descended, his shadow falling long and sharp over the dirt floor. He pulled up another chair and sat opposite Anders, lighting a cigarette, the flare of the match lighting up the cold fury in his eyes.

He let the silence stretch out. Then he leaned forward.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his voice soft as a razor's edge. "About the grave."

Anders just sobbed, shaking his head. Smoke took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing a vicious red. He reached out and, with unnerving gentleness, pressed the lit end into the back of Anders' hand. The madman screamed, a high, thin sound, the smell of burnt flesh and hair filling the space.

The scream didn't satisfy Smoke. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He tossed the cigarette to the dirt floor and from an old table nearby, he pulled a long, sharp-looking skinning knife, its edge gleaming under the bare bulb.

He leaned in close, mumbling, speaking not to Anders but to the some presence in the room, a ghost he didn't believe existed. "She was quiet. Never even cry when she came into this world. A quiet little thing." He grabbed Anders' right hand, pinning it flat to the wooden arm of the chair. "And you... you put your loud, filthy hands all over her quiet place."

He placed the blade against Anders' index finger, at the knuckle. He didn't hack. He pressed, a single, fluid motion of steel through flesh and bone. The finger came off, dropping to the floor.

Anders' shrieked, gurgled of extreme pain. Smoke didn't even blink. He took the next finger. Then the next.

"Couldn't just let her be," Smoke continued, his voice dangerously steady as he moved to Anders' head, grabbing a fistful of greasy hair and yanking it to the side. "Had to make foolish moves. Had to bother her nap time." He brought the knife up to Anders' ear, the cold steel tracing the shell.

And, with a quick, brutal tug, he chopped it clean. Blood poured hot and fast down Anders' neck, soaking his collar. He thrashed, his sanity completely shredded, his cries now just inhuman noises of agony.

Smoke let the head fall back. His eyes, cold and dead, drifted lower.

Not only Anders mess up with his daughter but that dirty thumb he got between his leg dared touching Annie.

"Now I think about it. You did welcomed me back, pant unbuckled, right ?" Smoke laughed bitterly, his rage shifted. "Gon' ask you the same question I asked my brother" he inhaled loudly "be careful though. You ain't my blood."

He used the tip of his knife to rip Anders' drawers open. "Was it good to fuck Annie?" Smoke's eyes betrayed a pure, raw jealousy. Just thinking that this rag had pounded his wife's coochie made his blood boil.

Unfortunately for the madman, the only answer he could provide were howls and moans. These didn't satisfy the former soldier.

"I see," Smoke simply said.

With the blade, he grabbed the downed, terrified flesh and swiftly sliced it with an upward cut. A final, piercing scream tore through the basement before dissolving into a wet, rattling sigh.

"Guess it wasn't that good," Smoke faked a reflection, then got his eyes back on Anders. "Well, I know you lie. Because she's so sweet. Sometimes too reckless for her own damn sake."

He stood up. Anders slumped in the chair, life draining out of him onto the dirt floor. Smoke pulled his revolver.

BANG!

"Only wrong you done was steppin' in our way. Now rot in piss."

He walked up the stairs and out into the cool Delta night air.

The drive was long and quiet, away from the town faint lights, heading down a dark road that ran alongside the river. His hands were trembling on the wheel. The adrenaline left his body, Smoke remained tied to his half from another life.

The smell, blood and burnt flesh back the basement, echoed Chicago black alleys, that time he used to work for the mob. He'd thought he'd left that part of himself buried back north. Looked like it was just sleeping.

He finally saw it. A small wooden cabin, set back from the river, a single candle light burning in the window like a beacon : Annie's house.

He cut the engine and walked up to the porch. He could see it was clean, she got rid of any filth. The dead animals were gone, the mud on her baby's grave had been washed.

He raised a hand, knuckles stained with blood, and knocked.

One time, two time. She opened at the third.

"Elijah... what did you do ?" She spoke low

"Finished what you had started"

An angel pass through Annie's eyes

She closed her eyes, breathing deep.

"Get in the bathroom."

He stepped past her, and she closed the door, shutting out the night.

In the wooden bathroom, Smoke stood in front of the small steamed-up mirror. Annie followed his steps.

She came to him, her afro hair in cornrow braids. Her eyes were quiet, blank.

She knew what he did.

No—she knew what they did. Elijah and her.

Her fingers, warm and sure, went to the buttons of his bloody shirt.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, pride thick in his voice.

"We crossed a line, Elijah. You should've listened to me. You shouldn't have intervened."

"I already crossed it the first night I came to you, clothes full of my father's blood." He paused. "You crossed the, Bunny. Not me"

"It was the first time I begged my ancestors to fight for me. Not to heal anything."

She kept working her way down, peeling the sticky fabric from his skin. He didn't move. Didn't help.

When the shirt was off, she started on his belt buckle. A smirk crept across his face.

"Pervert," she mumbled as his pants dropped to the floor.

"Get in," she ordered.

For a second, he resisted. Silly witch—she forgot he was the one who gave orders.

But when he looked at her, at the cold wrath carved into her face, he obeyed.

No hesitation.

He stepped into the shower.

Annie trailed him. She twisted open the shower knob, letting the cold water fall on their bodies.

She stood there, her thin brown cotton dress soaked through, clinging to every curve, her nipples hard pebbles beneath the fabric.

The hot water sluiced over his back, but he didn't feel it. All he felt were her eyes on him. Fucking witch. Standing there in her soaked dress, looking like she was judging him from on high. Her face was cold, but he knew what burned her deep inside.

"Turn around," she said.

As Smoke turned, Annie took the soap — one she made herself, smelling like tobacco leaf and honey — and started from the top. Slowly her hands washed the grime out his shoulders, dragging down the hard ridges of his back. She scrubbed like she was trying to erase the man he'd been hours ago. The man with cursed blood on his hands. The man who set foot where he shouldn't have.

She got to his waist, her fingers brushing the top of his ass. "Ain't no scrubbin' can clean what you done," she whispered. "But I'm gon' wash you anyway."

"Ain't no sage can chase the karma you gon' get from hexing that man" He replied, defiant.

Smoke breath hitched when she slid her hand round front, lower, below his abdomen. She gripped his cock, purposely, jerking him under the stream, letting her slick fingers play with his tip, hand gliding easy over the thick length of his dick.

"Mmmh— you so damn hard," she muttered, "I'm just washin' Smoke, why you ready ?"

All she could do was talk. Hoping he never turned around and witness the mess she was. Her swollen and hard nipples were pulsing under the dress, her big brown soppy breasts squeezing against each other, pulling heat up her throat.

His balls were heavy and full. She caressed them with care, sliding her softly soaped fingers between them.

He grunted, hips twitchin'. "Fuck. You ain't shit Annie"

He turned, facing her. Annie vagabond hand now released from his crotch, get on his chest. Her palm resting near his heart.

"You feel that? This drum beating hard and loud" she whispered, her voice venomous. "That's mine."

Oh, he felt it. He felt the seven years crying out for his own cowardice, the damn seven years of jerking off to the memory of her taste, her smell.

He felt the rage, knowing his own brother had been inside her.

He felt the white-hot fury of another man—a piece of shit like Anders—daring to kiss her, shove his —now chopped— dick inside her cunt. Yes, Smoke felt all of that in the frantic rhythm of his heart.

He had to remind her, to reclaim her body.

Smoke's hands snapped around Annie's waist, his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You crossed that fuckin' line, Annie," he snarled, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

A faint smirk touched her lips, a look of pure defiance. "We already live on line, Elijah."

Then she shoved him. All her wiry strength, slamming him back against the rough wood of the shower wall. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, blew a fuse in his brain.

In a heartbeat, he had her.

He wasn't gentle. He grabbed her by the front of her wet dress and slammed her against the opposite wall, her head cracking against the wood. Her eyes widened, but she didn't scream. Fuck yes. He wanted her to fight, resist.

He tore the flimsy cotton down, shredding it off her body until her huge, hard tits were bare, bouncing softly.

He crushed his mouth against hers, a brutal kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He owned this mouth. Anders hadn't touched it, not like this. Stack hadn't touched those bruised lips. They were his.

He bit her, tasting the blood, and the metallic tang sent a jolt straight to his groin.

His steady hand went down, grabbing a fistful of her fat pussy and coiled pubic hair all at once. He rubbed her phat clit, grazing over her moistened inner lips. Her cunt dripping honey.

He thrusted two fingers in her vagina, making her coonie talk in squelching blurb.

"Fuck—Annie you so wet"

He pulled his fingers out of her with a wet smack that made her gasp.

"Turn 'round," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Put your hands on the wall."

For a second, she just stared at him, her brown eyes blazing with a fury that matched his own. They weren't mad at each other, probably the pressure of the whole day and its mess. A lesser man would've flinched to her gaze. Smoke just stared back, waiting.

Mumbling under her breath, she did it. She turned and braced herself against the rough wooden planks.

Smoke spread her phat cheeks apart, water sliding down the crack of her ass. Her pussy lips were swollen, sticky with juice, and still glistening from the work his fingers did.

He slapped one cheek hard, the sound echoing off the bathroom.

Smoke lined up behind her, one hand spread over her wide lower back, pinning her down while the other guided his cockhead right to her bootyhole.

No only her pussy drip but her anus became slicker, oiled by her own fluid.

"Fuck babe—ya shit so tight"

His penis base slip in her sopping small hole, with one stroke. But he didn't shove it all the way, not yet.

He let the thick base of his cock stretch her, holding himself there, feeling the tight ring of her asshole clenching around him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her whole body was humming like a struck bell.

He leaned in close, his mouth at her ear. With a taunting voice he murmured "Feels good, ain't it bunny? All tight and hot around my dick. Just how you like it."

"Go to hell," she gasped, her voice strained. Her ass twitched, pushing back against him, a traitorous little movement her body made without her permission.

A cruel grin spread across Smoke's face. He started to pull out, the head of his cock dragging along the sensitive flesh. "Oh? You want me to stop? Aight, I can stop."

Panic flared in her eyes. She twisted her neck to glare at him over her shoulder. "Don't you fuckin' dare, Smoke."

"Then say it," he whispered, pushing back in just an inch, a torturous taste of what she was missing. "Tell me whatcha want me to do to that tight little hole of yours."

"You wish," she spat, but her voice was breaking, her pride dissolving in a wave of pure, desperate need. He could feel her trembling under his hands. He pushed in another inch, then pulled back again.

That's what did it.

"Please," she whimpered, the word ripped from her throat. Her facade finally shattered. "Elijah, please."

She called him by his real name, hope to touch his heart.

"Please what?" he growled, needing to hear it, needing to own her surrender to their shared sickness.

Her voice was a raw, ragged sob. "Please, fuck me. Fuck my ass, Elijah."

The words were a lit match to a barrel of gasoline.

With a possessive roar, he grabbed her hips, digging his fingers in, and rammed his cock deep inside her. All the way to the hilt.

A guttural moan tore out of her. Her bigs tits bounced harder, nipples spilling milk down the shower floors.

He started to pound into her forcefully. She met every single thrust, her ass pushing back, her body taking all of his big fat dick, demanding more.

"Yeah, like that," he grunted, slapping her rounded ass "Take my whole goddamn cock, Annie!"

"Deeper!" she screamed back, her voice shredded. "Mmm—Fuck Elijah ! Don't stop, beat my anus baby, drill that hole—"

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly, changing the angle, driving his dick into her guts at a new, impossible depth.

She howled, an animalistic sound of a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He felt her climax building, her insides clenching and fluttering around him. The feeling of her so close, of her body coming apart around his dick, pushed him over the edge : he creamed her ass inside and out.

Annie's legs gave out and she slumped against the wall.

Smoke stood behind her, his veiny thick dick covered of sperm, still hard, still pulsing.

"we ain't done yet" Annie said, lowering her gaze on his aching cock. She headed her hand and shut the water off. "The mattress"

She spoke before stepping out the bathroom.

He followed. Like a man under a spell.

She climbed onto the mattress, back arched low and wide, ass round and high. Now on all four, Annie looked back at him, her dark skin glistening, her pussy lips swollen and leaking like fruit split open in the sun.

"Bet you ain't got no damn good meal for seven years long"

He dropped to his knees behind her. Spread her peaches wide with both hands, watched that juicy creamy drip trail slow down the inside of her thighs.

He buried his face between them. Licked her like he was thirsty,starving. His tongue dragged over her clit, then down to her hole, then lower, tongue-fucking her milky ass like it was his last supper.

Annie moaned, loud and filthy. "Goddamn, boy... tryna baptize yourself or what?"

He didn't answer. Just groaned and licked deeper, tongue stiff, nose pressed to her pussy, the scent of her making his eyes roll back.

Smoke felt her pussy juice sticking out on his nose, lips, damn near his eyes. Climaxing one time wasn't enough. He wanted to penetrate her. Burying himself in her womb.

He climbed over her, lined his cock up with that soaking pussy, and pushed in all the way, slow, mean. Annie gasped, back arching, tits pressed into the mattress, the whole bed squealing under the weight of them both.

He beat that pussy like it owed him money. His balls clapped against her bubble ass. Annie took it. All of it. Back arched, mouth open, eyes rolled up. She met every thrust with her own, clapping her ass, like she was built for it.

"Say it," she hissed, lookin' back at him. "Tell me you ain't never lettin' go."

"I ain't," he growled. "You mine, Annie."

"You late," she moaned. "But you here now."

She came first, crying out, her whole body convulsing, wetness spilling down to the sheets.

He followed seconds after, cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside her, panting against her back, holding her tight like she might vanish if he let go.

They collapsed together, breathless. The mattress soaked, the room steaming.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant song of crickets and the whisper of the river not too far off. Moonlight dripped in through the crooked slats of the wooden walls, catching the sweat still shining on their skin.

Annie lay on her side, thick thighs slick with their mess, chest still heaving from the fucking they'd done. Her braids sweated. Smoke was behind her, spooning. One hand heavy on her hip.

He stayed inside her, softening slow, but he didn't move. Didn't breathe too deep. Just let his body speak what he couldn't say.

Annie stared into void.Real quiet. She was trying not to feel too much. She could still feel the echo of him inside her, every stroke sitting in her ribs like memory.

"I ain't never meant to need nobody," she said finally. "Least of all you."

Smoke said nothing. Just breathed steady behind her, eyes closed, out of guilt. He was the one abandoning her.

She swallowed hard. "When you left, Elijah... somethin' inside me cracked open."

She wiped at her face but tears kept sliding sideways down to the mattress.

"I ain't wanna cry no more," she whispered. "Ain't wanna feel nothin'. So I stopped. I stopped bein' soft."

He still didn't speak. But his arm slid around her waist, asking for permission.

Annie trembled.

"You know what it done to a woman, to be left like that?" she asked, voice breaking. "With a belly full of grief? With a baby and no name to give her but mine?"

Smoke pressed his lips to her shoulder. It was the only answer he had.

"I missed you," she said, breath shallow. "Hated that I did, but I did. Every damn day. Missed how you talked to me like I ain't scared of nothin'. Missed how you laid your head on my thighs like church pew."

He let out a low breath, like he was finally bleeding. There wasn't a day he didn't think about her. But what the use of telling her right now ? She would never believe his words.

"I ain't wanna feel this again. That hope. That softness. I don't want it," she mumbled. "Don't wanna love you and end up empty again."

"Annie," he whispered, lips dragging slow against her skin. "I ain't gon' leave this time."

She shook her head, crying. "Don't promise me that, Elijah. Don't lie in my bed and make me believe somethin' sweet."

He pulled her closer, chest flush to her back, his hand slid up to cover hers, fingers intertwining.

"I done already lied too many times, Bunny. I ain't got a place to go beside your arms."

She turned to face him. Her face swollen, tears soaking the pillow. "I can't be caring no more. I'm no longer the woman you knew"

"Well, I would just have to love the new version of yourself, even more"

And with that, Annie sobbed into his chest. The kind of tears she'd been holding back for seven long, bitter years.

Smoke wrapped her up. Didn't try to fix it. Didn't say shit else.

He just held her, heart beating heavy, whispering "I'm here" like a spell over and over until she believed it.

The sun crept through the wooden blinds, casting honey light across the bed. The sheets was tangled, damp with sweat. Annie lay nestled against Smoke, her bare back to his chest, their legs braided like roots under the quilt.

He still held her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip. Face buried in the crook of her neck. His breath slow, content. Ain’t nothing rushed in that bed. For the first time in years, Annie felt… calm.

Until a knock broke the hush.

Three soft raps. Hesitant. Then the squeaky creak of the screen door pushing open.

“Miss Annie…?” came a familiar voice, low and unsure. “Miss Annie, you home?”

Annie blinked. Took a breath. “That… that Anaya?” she murmured, sitting up, the sheet clutching her chest. “It’s still early. Why she comin’ here?”

Smoke stirred behind her, grunting sleep-heavy.

She stood, grabbed her night robe off the bedpost, wrapped it around her full frame, and padded barefoot to the front door.

Anaya stood there on the porch, shift crooked on her body, face all anxious and wrung out.

“Baby, what is it?” Annie asked, brows pinching

“I… I ain’t know where else to go, Miss Annie.” Anaya’s voice cracked. “I went to open up the restaurant like always, but there was these two big men out front. Said I couldn’t go in.”

Annie frowned. “Why? We ain’t got no damn violations. Health inspector ain’t been by.”

Anaya’s eyes darted toward the trees. “They said… said the whole buildin’ done been bought out.”

“Bought?” Annie’s voice sharpened. “By who?”

Anaya swallowed, twisting the hem of her apron. “They said… the Moore Twins.”

Annie’s body went still. Her breath hitched. Time stop.

Behind her, bare feet creaked on the floorboards. Smoke had come out the bedroom, drawstring pants loose on his hips, his chest bare, eyes already full of dread.

“Shit,” he muttered low under his beard.

Annie turned slow. Her face was blank at first, then her eyes met his.

Her eyes filled up fast, of tears. That wet shimmer of disbelief. Betrayal. Hurt so sharp it cut the air clean.

“Elijah…” she whispered. One word. But it held every piece of her breaking heart.

Tag List :

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[callsign-swan]

bob reynolds wasn't a good werewolf.

but, odie, how can he be a bad werewolf?

bob reynolds hasn't changed. he's, what, late twenties? early thirties? and he hasn't changed. even with the full moon, he hasn't changed. it must've been frustrating for his body, to be unable to obey its instincts, to let him become the beast.

there was a lot of things he could blame for his stunted... werewolf-i-ness. but that's a story for another day.

yelena takes it upon herself to train him up. not the kind of training valentina wants him doing, but something she knows would help bob. it must've been so frustrating for him, to be stuck in a human body at all time. it was like she could see it, his wolf clawing to get out.

it took a while, longer than yelena thought. she had to teach herself after the red room, try to teach herself something the red room had tried to suppress. but it was almost like bob himself was trying to suppress it. like, no matter his frustration, he couldn't bring himself to change.

yelena taught him to let go, to let himself change. at first, it was him getting stuck with too big teeth, glowing yellow eyes and claws for nails. pointed ears that seemed furry at the top. but yelena helped him fixed it and got him to try it again.

and again.

and again.

until he came the wolf.

she didn't know what she expected when he changed. maybe a simple grey, maybe brown like his hair. but not black, fur so dark he was midnight.

as soon as they changed, yelena took him running. running through the streets of new york under the cover of night. bob kept his nose to the ground, discovering every new smell around him.

his paws were too big for his body, but it looked so right on him.

yelena led him through the backstreets and alleyways. even at 2am, they were staying hidden, staying safe.

but bob caught a sent. he tried to keep following yelena, he really did, but his nose led him away from her.

his nose led him to a back alley. bins on one side, buildings on the other he kept sniffing, trying to find the source of the scent. he couldn't describe it, couldn't work out why it was so enticing. but here he was, sniffing around the bins to try and work it out.

the back door to one of the buildings opened. he shied behind the bin as light flooded the back alley.

even though he was hidden, bob still watched. he watched as you stepped out of the building, black bag in hands. you held it just off the floor, as if it was heavy but you didn't want to drag it. made sense, by the smell of it.

you opened the lid of the big bin, threw it back so that it hit the fence behind it. with a grunt, you lifted the bag and threw it into the bin.

the gross, overwhelming scent was drowned out. by you, bob realised as you shut the lid of the bin.

bob didn't mean to step out as you turned to walk back towards your place of business. (a cafe. the bin stank of food and coffee grounds). but you caught sight of him, out of the corner of your eye.

a gasp left your lips as you stepped away from him. the scent bob was getting from you turned sour with your fear. you backed away from him, shaking hands raised.

in your mind, it was already too late to run. the moment you turned and tried, he would be upon you, teeth ripping into your ankles.

but you caught yourself on your untied laces. your gasp sounded more like a hiccup as you fell back. you barely registered your ass hitting the gravel, shuffling back until you hit the back door of your cafe.

even in such a vulnerable position, the wolf stared at you. fur so damn dark, you only saw his glowing eyes at first. he continued to watch you, sat there like a damn dog.

no growling, no snarling. he just stared, just watched you.

internally, bob was panicking. you had seen him, you were panicking, and he didn't know how to fix it.

so, he ran.

[lycheeflavr]

Hiii i js stumbled into your blog and its superr cutee!! I really love your writing was wondering if you were open to wrote about Tsukishimaa? If not, its okay :))

Heiii, first of all, thank you very much, and also thank you for the request <3 yes, of course!! I honestly had so much fun writing this, also I didn't know if you would like some smut as well, so I added a little smutty bonus scene at the end. You can skip it, it doesn't really matter to the story :)) now I hope you have a lot of fun reading this!!

The Bones Beneath 🧢🐠

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima kei x GN!reader tags: slow burn (ish), mutual pining, coworker tension, art & science themes, tsuki being a secret softie, slight angst with comfort, banter & emotional closeness, confessions without confessing, fluff if squint, reader is an exhibit designer/artist, tsuki is an AV tech/paleontology nerd, almost love, quiet longing summary: You were never supposed to get attached to the quiet AV technician helping set up your fossil exhibit. He was there to wire the lights. You were there to make bones beautiful. But somewhere between late-night fixes, museum shadows, and cups of burnt breakroom coffee, something between you began to take shape—slow and fragile and maybe a little ancient in its own way. word count: 5.8k

Tsukishima Kei liked his hours quiet and his fossils older than God.

The museum opened to the public at nine, but he was always there by seven. The early mornings were his: no chattering tourists, no interns asking questions he didn’t care to answer, no toddlers smudging glass with sticky hands. Just silence, bones, and the low mechanical hum of the lights flickering to life row by row.

He walked the exhibit floor with a mug of instant black coffee and a clipboard he didn’t really need. The Tyrannosaurus rex stood tall in the center of the room, jaws frozen in a permanent snarl, ribs exposed like cathedral arches. Tsukishima paused beneath it every morning like it was ritual. One sip of coffee, one glance upward. The bones never changed.

That was the point.

He liked things that stayed the same. Fossils. Labels. Dust motes in the morning light.

At exactly 7:43 a.m., he opened his laptop behind the front desk — not where the general staff worked, but the tucked-away station he’d unofficially claimed. It had the best Wi-Fi signal and worst chair. He preferred that no one else wanted to sit there.

Emails loaded slowly. He sipped his coffee and scanned subject lines. One caught his attention, marked URGENT – EXHIBIT SUPPORT REQUEST. He clicked it without much enthusiasm.

To: Tsukishima KeiSubject: Visiting Artist Collaboration | Exhibit Support

Kei, You’ve been assigned as the museum liaison for our upcoming interactive exhibit, “Extinction Echoes.” The guest artist arrives tomorrow to begin work on the installation surrounding the T-Rex centerpiece. Please provide access and assist as needed — you’ll be their primary point of contact.

Let us know if you have questions. — Ms. Fukuda

He stared at the screen. Then took another long sip of coffee.

Artist, he thought, in the way someone might think pest infestation. They always asked too many questions. They moved things that weren’t supposed to be moved. They cared about aesthetics over accuracy, emotion over science. It made his teeth itch.

He clicked the artist’s attached bio and scanned the page.

You had a list of gallery credits longer than his patience. Installations in Kyoto, Seoul, Paris. Something about “immersive spaces challenging temporal experience.” He didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care enough to pretend. There was a photo of you attached — mid-laugh, head tilted back, paint-splattered hands. You looked loud, even in stillness.

Tsukishima closed the tab with a sigh.

This was going to suck.

He stared at the skeleton of the T-Rex for a while longer, like maybe it would offer sympathy. It didn’t.

Back to his feet, clipboard tucked under his arm, he continued the routine — checking casing screws, labeling touch-up requests in pencil. As long as you stayed out of his way, maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.

Maybe you wouldn’t talk too much.

Maybe you’d cancel last-minute and spare him the headache.

He doubted it.

The fossils, at least, wouldn’t leave him unread.

The next morning, Tsukishima arrived five minutes earlier than usual.

Not because he cared. Just to set the rules. It was important that people knew their place in a shared ecosystem — especially the kinds of people who used phrases like temporal fluidity and wore too many rings.

The exhibit hall was still empty, the bones calm and familiar in the blue-toned light of early morning. He was mid-sip of coffee, debating whether he had time to finish it before the chaos arrived, when—

“Hi!” a voice called from the far end of the gallery.

He turned, already bracing himself.

You were a splash of color against the muted sandstone walls — all layers and movement. A long, oversized coat in a shade too bright to be taken seriously, mismatched socks barely visible beneath wide-legged trousers, a bag slung across your shoulder like it weighed more than you did. One hand held a battered sketchbook. The other, naturally, clutched a drink in a cup aggressively labeled LAVENDER MATCHA in bubble letters.

He blinked once. Then again.

“You’re Tsukishima, right?” you asked, walking toward him without waiting for an answer. “Sorry I’m early — I just couldn’t sleep last night, I was too excited. This place is incredible.”

He nodded once, clipped and formal. “I know.”

That stopped you for half a second. Then you laughed.

“Oh, cool. Confidence. Love that.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned and started walking toward the control panel, trusting you'd follow.

You did, footsteps echoing lightly behind his. “The bones are even more haunting in the morning. Kind of like they know they’re supposed to be asleep, but they’re still here. I mean, isn’t that sad? In a poetic way.”

“I’m pretty sure the skeletons don’t have feelings,” he muttered without looking at you.

“Well, someone’s a morning person,” you teased, grinning.

He resisted the urge to sigh. “I assume you read the layout brief?”

“I did, but I don’t do great with maps,” you said, flipping open your sketchbook and holding it up like proof. “I just take notes like this. Shapes, light impressions, space planning... it makes more sense to me.”

He stared at the mess of charcoal strokes and layered watercolor swatches that resembled absolutely nothing useful.

“This is your system?”

“Mhm.”

“It looks like a bird flew into a window and died.”

You snorted — actually snorted — and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes.

“Wow,” you said, grinning. “Are you this charming with everyone, or am I just special?”

“I’m not charming.”

“Well, you’re something.”

He stared at you, unreadable, then said, “Let’s get this over with.”

You followed as he walked, still chattering, unbothered by the blank expression he wore like armor. He gave you the tour — exhibit boundaries, restricted zones, lighting rig limitations — and you nodded along, eyes darting between him and the bones above like you were seeing a world he couldn’t.

“This place feels like a cathedral,” you said eventually, voice lower now. “But broken. Like worshipping something that’s already gone. That’s why I want the light to move slowly across the ribs. Like… memory.”

He paused.

The quiet stretched. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you. Then, softly:

“They weren’t worshipped. They were feared. The T-Rex was a predator.”

“Still deserves a little reverence,” you said.

His jaw twitched.

You smiled. “You’re kind of a fossil snob, huh?”

“I’m a paleontologist.”

“Oh, that explains the glasses.”

“I don’t wear—” He stopped himself. Exhaled sharply. “You’re going to be exhausting.”

“I’ve been called worse,” you chirped.

You sat cross-legged on the floor a few minutes later, sketchbook open on your lap, head tilted at an angle only artists and toddlers attempting handstands ever attempted. You tapped your pen against your lips thoughtfully.

Tsukishima hovered nearby, clipboard in hand, pointedly not watching you.

“I think we should try sound too,” you said suddenly. “Subtle—like a low hum. Maybe faint echoing footsteps, like ghosts. Not too literal.”

“That’s not in the budget,” he replied, immediately.

“Not yet,” you shot back, unfazed. “But maybe if I bribe the right intern—”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises, dino boy.”

The silence that followed was immediate. You looked up, blinking. He was frozen mid-step, like you’d just said something blasphemous in a sacred space.

“What?”

“Did you just call me—?”

“Oh. That slipped out,” you said, sheepish. “Sorry. I mean—Kei, right? Or… Tsukishima? Do you prefer one?”

His expression flattened. “I prefer not being called a pet name designed by a cartoon character.”

You grinned, and there it was — the spark. The part you hadn't expected. Under all that sarcasm and sharpness, something coiled and unreadable. Maybe not warmth. Not yet. But interest, flickering low and quiet like the gallery lights overhead.

“Well,” you said, tucking your pen behind your ear and getting to your feet, “I guess I’ll just have to earn it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Earn what?”

“A less embarrassing nickname.”

He rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

You turned, already halfway to the next room, your voice floating behind you. “Come on, fossil prince. We’ve got work to do.”

He muttered something under his breath — probably unflattering — but followed.

Not because he cared.

Just because you clearly needed supervision.

Tsukishima wasn’t sure when it stopped bothering him.

You were in the exhibit every day. That part made sense — you had work to do. What didn’t make sense was how you did it.

You hummed when you worked. Never full songs, just little pieces, shapeless and aimless, like you were keeping yourself company. You talked to the bones like they were old friends. Called the Stegosaurus “Big Spikey Boy” under your breath. Left coffee cups in bizarre places — behind glass cases, perched on light fixtures, one time balanced delicately on the rib of a hadrosaur like it belonged there.

He found himself moving them instead of snapping at you.

That annoyed him most of all.

You sprawled on the floor to draw. Sat backwards on chairs. Doodled stars in the margins of your blueprints. You weren’t messy — you were chaotic. But not in a way that ruined things. You took up space like you belonged to it. Like you’d earned it.

He hated it.

He really, really didn’t.

Tsukishima started staying later under the excuse of “supervising.” In truth, he just… didn’t want to leave. Not when your sketchbook was open across your knees, feet bare, toes tapping the air in rhythm with the music you played from a tiny Bluetooth speaker you weren’t technically allowed to use.

Soft stuff. Dreamy. A little sad. Fuzzy guitars and synths like melted sunlight.

He told you to turn it off.

You didn’t.

He didn’t ask again.

Most evenings, he brought work with him — real work, grant edits or exhibit updates — but he barely touched it. Instead, he watched you in the corner of his eye. The way you moved around the bones, measuring with your hands, frowning thoughtfully at light angles. Talking to yourself under your breath.

And once, when he stayed too late without realizing, he looked up and caught you lying flat on your back in the middle of the exhibit floor.

At first he thought something was wrong — your limbs were outstretched, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like you’d fallen and simply given up.

Then you spoke, quiet and unhurried.

“It’s beautiful how it still takes up space after all this time.”

He didn’t answer right away. The gallery was too still, the air too thick. It was the kind of sentence people usually said in museums when they were trying to impress someone. But you’d said it to no one. Like you didn’t expect to be heard at all.

His voice came out rougher than intended.

“You mean the T-Rex?”

You didn’t move. Just blinked, slow. “Yeah. It’s been dead millions of years, and it still makes people stop. Still commands a room. Like… it never left.”

He stared at the curve of the bones — the arc of the ribs, the open jaw — and swallowed.

“It’s not really the same,” he said eventually. “This is a reconstruction. Most of the bones are casts.”

“Still,” you said, softer now. “It’s the shape that matters.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Or maybe he did, but it sat too heavy on his tongue.

Instead, he sat beside you.

Not close. Not touching.

But that was the first time he didn’t go home early.

Over the next week, something shifted.

You stopped asking if he wanted music on — just played it. He stopped pretending to glare.

You started bringing two coffees, not one. Always black for him, always in a plain cup labeled KEI in smudged pen.

He never said thank you.

You never expected it.

You adjusted a lighting fixture one evening, standing on the lowest ledge of the exhibit’s frame. Tsukishima reached out instinctively when you wobbled.

His hand curled around your waist for half a second. Warm. Steady.

You froze. He stepped back like he’d touched a stove.

“Careful,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You do care.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t let go as fast next time.

He started reading your notes after you went home.

Not snooping — just... curious. Your sketchbook was a mess of lines and light notations: “bone shadows curl here,” “weight of silence stronger in this quadrant,” “add faint shimmer to mimic breath.”

Breath.

He didn’t know how to explain how badly that word undid him.

You treated the exhibit like it was alive. Not a museum piece, but a memory you could still talk to. An echo with ribs.

And you never once made him feel like he wasn’t allowed in that echo, too.

One night, he walked into the exhibit after hours to find you asleep on the bench beneath the T-Rex.

Your coat was bundled under your head, sketchbook lying open on your chest. The gallery lights glowed faintly overhead, casting soft shadows across your face. You looked peaceful. Quiet. A part of the space now, not just working on it — woven into the silence.

He sat across from you, pretending to read a paper he wasn’t holding. Time passed. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe more.

Then your voice, soft with sleep:

“Are you watching me sleep?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not even fully asleep.”

You peeked at him with one eye open. “Maybe I was dreaming about you.”

“Unlikely.”

“Rude.”

He rolled his eyes — but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, unguarded for once.

You caught it.

“Kei,” you said, like it meant something new now.

He looked up.

“Yeah?”

You blinked like you hadn’t expected that response to come so easily.

Then you just smiled and said, “Nothing.”

He didn’t press. But he stayed until the building closed.

It started with the lighting.

You stood in the center of the exhibit with your hands in your hair, gesturing to the overhead rig like you were conducting some invisible orchestra.

“We could do a soft fade that moves with the visitor — like the bones respond to presence. Just a slow, low shift as people walk through. Imagine how alive it would feel.”

Tsukishima didn’t even look up from his clipboard.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“That’s not what this exhibit is. It’s not a haunted house. It’s not a performance.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet, Kei. I have a test set-up. It’s subtle. Thoughtful. It adds mood.”

“It adds distraction,” he said flatly. “And it compromises the fossil presentation. Light distortions throw off color perception and may damage the casts over time.”

“Oh, come on,” you snapped, heat curling into your chest. “We’re not burning them under stage lights. This isn’t your personal lab. It’s a space for people to feel something. You said you wanted more engagement.”

“I want clarity. Not theatrical gimmicks.”

The word landed hard.

You went still, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“So that’s what you think this is,” you said, voice tight. “A gimmick.”

Tsukishima looked up then. Slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set like stone.

“You act like you’re saving them. Like making a dinosaur look dramatic is the same as making people care.”

“And you act like people will care just because you slapped a plaque on the wall and stood under a spotlight!”

It burst out of you, louder than you meant.

“You’re so obsessed with being precise, with being right, that you don’t even see how cold you sound. No wonder no one sticks around.”

The silence was immediate.

You heard it the second it came out of your mouth — the way his face didn’t flinch but froze, eyes going cold and glassy like he’d just flicked off something vital inside himself.

He stared at you. Long and flat.

Then:

“You think people care about your lights? You think they’ll walk out remembering ‘how it felt’ and not just take a photo and leave?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest ached.

“I don’t know what they’ll remember,” you said. “But I’m scared they won’t remember anything. That they’ll walk past bones that are millions of years old and shrug. That all this work will fade into the background because it didn’t shine enough to be seen.”

That cracked something in your voice. The quiet truth beneath the fire.

Tsukishima looked at you for a long moment.

Then he muttered,

“People always care about spectacle.”

And walked away.

You didn’t talk for two days.

You kept your head down when he passed. You played your music softer. Your sketchbook stayed closed, and the second he entered the exhibit, you left.

It shouldn’t have hurt like this.

He wasn’t yours.

But it did. Quietly. Deeply.

Because for all his sharp edges, Kei had made space for you in the quiet hours. Had let you stay. Had sat beside you under fossil ribs while the world turned slow. You’d let yourself think he was listening. That he maybe even believed in some part of your vision.

Apparently not.

That night, Tsukishima stayed late in the office alone. The building was too quiet. He hated how much he noticed the silence now when you weren’t filling it.

He didn’t even mean to open the sketchbook.

It was sitting on your stool, slightly askew, pages fanned like it wanted to be read. He stood there for a long minute before touching it — fingers brushing the paper like he was afraid it might burn.

The notes were messier than he remembered. Half-formed thoughts, shorthand, tiny arrows. But there was a page marked with a sticky tab in the shape of a cartoon bone. He opened to it.

The full skeleton was drawn by hand — not just a diagram, but alive, posed in a way that almost made it look like it was breathing. Lights were sketched in around it, rays tracing the angles of ribs and jaws like sunlight through water. At the bottom of the page, in your handwriting:

I want people to feel like they’ve stumbled into something sacred. Like the bones were waiting for them. Like they’ve walked into a memory older than the Earth they came from.

He stared at the words until they blurred.

He hated how it made his throat tight.

Tsukishima didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t know how to say it — how to apologize. He didn’t do sorry very well. He usually didn’t need to.

But the shape of your fear haunted him. The way your voice cracked when you said, “I’m scared they won’t remember anything.”

Because he understood that. Too well.

He spent his whole life being remembered for the wrong things. Or not remembered at all.

And you? You wanted your work to matter so badly you were willing to fight him over it. Risk looking soft. Sentimental. Even foolish.

He thought that was brave.

He thought maybe you were brave.

You noticed it the second you walked in.

The lighting rig had changed.

The movement was smoother now, less of a fade and more of a pulse — like breath in the air, like shadow and presence mingling gently along the curve of the fossil display. It responded, but didn’t overwhelm. Subtle. Intentional. Balanced.

And the tech setup? Upgraded. Clean wiring, reinforced bracketing. Your original sketch still hung nearby, but someone had gone over it in pencil — adjusting angles, improving placements.

Your stomach flipped.

There was only one person meticulous enough to have done that.

You found him in the staff lounge, hunched over a mug of black tea and pretending to read a paleontology journal.

You stood in the doorway for a second, then cleared your throat.

“You… fixed the rig.”

Tsukishima didn’t look up.

“It was sloppy.” He turned a page, like the conversation bored him. “I fixed it.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Thanks.”

“It was bothering me.”

“Right. Of course.” You stepped fully into the room, grabbed your own mug, filled it just to do something with your hands.

The silence that settled wasn’t heavy, but it was strange — like the room didn’t know what to do with the absence of arguing. You sat across from him slowly, letting the mug warm your palms.

Outside, thunder rumbled.

“Looks like the storm’s rolling in,” you said, glancing toward the windows.

Tsukishima gave a quiet hum.

“Museum’s closing early. They already put the signs out.”

You nodded. Another pause.

“I guess we’re stuck for a bit.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t leave either.

Rain began to patter against the windows — soft at first, then sharp, like tiny bones clicking against glass.

You didn’t speak for a while. It wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet.

Eventually, you exhaled.

“I used to think museums were holy.” The words slipped out so gently you almost didn’t notice yourself saying them. “Like sacred, somehow. Even the air felt different. Like I couldn’t breathe loud.”

Tsukishima didn’t move, but you saw the way his eyes lifted, just slightly.

“When I was a kid,” you continued, “we didn’t go many places. But my aunt took me to this little natural history museum once. It was kind of sad, honestly — half the exhibits were broken, one of the audio guides just screamed static. But there was this fossil in the middle of the floor. Some ancient sea creature I couldn’t pronounce. And I just… stood there. For, like, half an hour. Didn’t say a word.”

You smiled a little at the memory.

“She asked if I was bored. But I felt… I don’t know. Seen? Like something that big and that old still being here meant I could be too.”

You rubbed your finger around the rim of your mug.

“I just wanted to make something that someone remembered. Even if they couldn’t explain why.”

The thunder cracked closer now. The lights flickered faintly.

You weren’t sure if he was going to say anything. He didn’t meet your eyes. But after a moment, he spoke — quiet and firm, voice low enough that it didn’t sound like performance.

“Then make something that can’t be forgotten.”

You froze.

Your breath caught.

Not because of what he said — but how he said it.

Not dismissive. Not mocking. But earnest.

Like he meant it.

You looked up. He still wasn’t looking at you, but his fingers had stilled on the page.

The storm roared outside.

Inside, something softened.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just let the quiet stretch — filled with the scent of tea and rain and the unspoken possibility that maybe… just maybe… you weren’t as far apart as you’d thought.

You didn’t expect to cry. But as the lights came up—soft, fluid, breathing in harmony with the slow rise of ambient sound—you felt something tighten in your chest.

It was exactly what you’d imagined.

The fossil hovered like a ghost over time, suspended in silence and reverence. The light kissed every ancient curve, every bone, every inch of its long-buried story. There was a stillness in the room, as if the crowd understood that breathing too loudly might break the spell.

Your piece. Your concept. Alive.

Applause came gently at first. A few quiet murmurs. And then a wave of sound, camera flashes, hushed voices saying your name with excitement.

Someone clapped you on the back. Another handed you a glass of cheap champagne.

“Brilliant work,” one of the donors said. “Unforgettable,” a curator whispered. “You should be proud,” your boss told you, beaming.

You smiled. You said thank you. You tried to listen. But your eyes were scanning the room for him.

Tsukishima stood in the shadows, off to the left side of the exhibit hall, mostly obscured by a pillar. He was still in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, gold glasses catching the shifting light. He wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t even pretending to mingle.

But he was watching.

You met his eyes across the crowd.

There was a pause. A flicker of something you couldn’t name. And then—he looked away.

You turned back to the small crowd around you. Smiled again. Nodded. Said something about collaboration. You think someone took a photo of you mid-sentence. You didn’t mind. This was what you’d worked for.

But you kept glancing toward the pillar. He was gone.

You slipped out not long after.

The night air was sharp and wet, still humming with the electricity of the earlier storm. The exhibit hall door clicked shut behind you, muffling the buzz of celebration.

You found him near the back entrance of the building, leaning against a railing, eyes tilted up toward the cloud-covered sky. He hadn’t heard you approach.

You paused.

He looked taller out here. The pale security light washed over his cheekbones, caught on his lashes. He hadn’t even changed out of his work shoes.

“You disappeared,” you said quietly.

Tsukishima’s shoulders didn’t shift.

“Didn’t feel like standing around.”

You walked over, hands in your coat pockets.

“But you were part of this.”

“I just fixed the wiring.”

You scoffed, half amused.

“You didn’t just fix the wiring, Kei.”

That made him glance at you. Just a flicker of gold through those glasses. And then he said something you didn’t expect.

“It was beautiful.”

Your breath hitched.

He looked away again. Like it cost him something to say it. Like it meant something more.

“You could’ve said that inside,” you said.

“You didn’t need me to.”

You studied his profile in the silver light.

“But I wanted to.”

Silence again. Not heavy this time. Just… tentative. Careful.

Then:

“You’re going to do big things,” he said, like it was a truth he'd known for a while. “And I’ll be here. Resetting lights. Screwing metal into walls.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Is that what you think?”

He shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say at first. Not because you disagreed, but because you’d never really thought about how he saw himself in all this. How he saw you.

You stepped closer.

“Tsukishima,” you said quietly, and the way his name sounded in the dark felt like a confession. “It’s not just mine, you know. That exhibit. It’s yours too.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He looked at you again. This time, for real. Not through the fog of tension or sarcasm or pride. Just… him.

And you almost leaned in.

Almost.

But instead, you stood there — too close, not close enough — breathing in the same sharp air, hearts too loud in the silence.

And when he turned to go, he didn’t say goodbye. Just brushed past you gently. Like the beginning of something, or the end of something else.

You watched him disappear down the long path behind the museum. And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel victorious. Just… full. And hollow.

At once.

A few days pass. The exhibit continues without you. Your name is printed in neat black ink on the display cards, and people wander through, praising your “vision,” your “emotional composition,” your “eye for stillness.” You’re already being emailed about new opportunities.

But the only thing you can think about is the shape of Tsukishima’s silhouette in the silver museum light. The things you almost said. The things he almost said back.

You return one quiet afternoon to pick up the last of your things.

It’s raining again.

The museum feels different in the daylight—less mysterious, more skeletal. You walk past school kids and bored parents, past tour groups and sleepy guards, toward the side hallway that smells faintly of sawdust and old lightbulbs.

He’s at the workbench. Same posture. Same headphones. But you can tell he saw you come in—his hands falter for just a moment before resuming whatever careful task he’s pretending requires all his focus.

You clear your throat anyway.

“Hey.”

No reply. He’s sanding something. Aggressively.

You smile to yourself and set down your tote bag, beginning to gather the few things you left behind. A notebook. A print draft. The sweatshirt he let you borrow when the AC broke one night and you stayed too long.

He still hasn’t turned around.

You don’t push it. You just take your time, folding the sweatshirt with unnecessary precision, letting the silence stretch long enough to sting.

When you finally zip your bag and sling it over your shoulder, you pause in the doorway.

“Thanks,” you say, voice quiet. “For everything. The project… it only worked because of you.”

For a second, you think he’s going to ignore you.

But then, still facing away, he mutters:

“The bones were already there. You just made them louder.”

You blink.

And then you laugh. Soft, surprised.

“Getting poetic, dino boy?”

He finally glances at you. The corner of his mouth lifts just a little.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You take a step closer, a hand still gripping the strap of your bag like a shield.

“Well. It was nice hearing you say something beautiful for once.”

“I’ve said a few beautiful things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

A long pause. He looks down at the thing he was sanding. Then back at you.

“Come back sometime,” he says, casual but not really. “The fossils get boring.”

Your heart stutters. He doesn’t even flinch.

You tilt your head, grinning now.

“You mean you get boring.”

“That too.”

And it should feel like a joke. It should feel like nothing. But it doesn’t.

You both hold each other’s gaze for a second too long. Not quite smiling. Not quite speaking. Just letting the moment breathe between you—thin and fragile and unbearably loud.

You take a breath.

“I might come back,” you say finally. “Just to check on the fossils.”

He nods once, slow.

“Sure.”

You don’t say anything else. You just walk past him, the hallway stretching out ahead. But this time, your steps are slower. This time, you hope he’s watching.

And he is.

When the door closes behind you, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

NSFW bonus scene 🧢🐠 (female reader)

It starts with silence.

You’re standing just inside the workshop door, bag dropped, rain sliding down the windows behind you. You don’t know what made you come back — not really. You just knew the thought of leaving felt more like a loss than a choice.

He looks up. His brows twitch in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything.

So you walk up to him. Slow. Careful.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

He swallows, throat working.

Then, simply:

“Yes.”

The word lands heavy. So much more than yes. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I thought about it. Yes, I don’t want this to end yet.

You kiss him.

It’s awkward, at first — all angles and hesitation. He doesn’t move right away, like he’s still computing what’s happening. But the second you breathe his name, something gives. His hands come up, hesitant but firm, catching your waist and pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The kiss deepens, slow and uneven, as if he’s learning it in real time — a little desperate, a little stunned. His glasses nudge your cheekbone. His breath shakes against your lips. You slide your fingers into his hair and feel the shiver roll through him.

“You’re sure?” you murmur.

He nods, eyes locked to yours.

“Yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

You're on the workbench within minutes. It's cluttered and dusty, but neither of you care.

His mouth is at your neck now, hungry in a way that feels new — like he's been holding back for weeks, months. His hands are firm where they grip your hips, but his touch is almost reverent, like he's afraid to take too much all at once.

“Been thinking about this,” he says against your skin, low and wrecked. “You. That night you fell asleep in the AV room. The way you said my name.”

You exhale a shaky laugh.

“You’re such a freak.”

He huffs, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You like it.”

You do. God, you do.

His hands slide under your shirt, slow and searching. You lift your arms, and he helps pull it over your head with surprising care. His fingers brush over your chest, your stomach, reverent and unsure.

“You’re allowed to look,” you tease gently.

He does — and the way he looks at you makes your whole body flush.

“I’m not great at this,” he admits quietly. “Just... tell me if I mess something up.”

Your heart pulls. You cup his face and kiss him again, slower this time.

“You’re not messing anything up.”

When he finally touches you in earnest, it’s a little clumsy — he’s clearly overthinking, too aware of your reactions, too in his head — but it’s sweet. Honest. Every movement feels like it means something.

You guide his hand. Help him find the rhythm. And once he gets it—once he really sees the way your breath hitches and your hips shift—he gets bolder.

His mouth finds your chest. Then your stomach. He murmurs something against your skin, but it’s too quiet to catch.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and gasp when he finally pushes your underwear down and touches you properly — one finger, two, slow but insistent.

“Fuck, Kei—”

That’s what breaks him. Your voice like that. His name like that.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, still working his fingers inside you, lips parted as he groans softly into your skin.

“Want you,” he says, low and ragged. “I—I wanna feel you. All of you.”

“Then take it,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

It’s not fast. He makes sure you’re ready. Makes sure you’re looking at him when he finally pushes inside, like he needs to see you fall apart for him.

You breathe his name again and again, and every time you do, he fucks into you a little deeper. A little harder. Still holding back, like he's afraid of hurting you. But you can tell he’s close — his body trembles against yours, his breathing fractured and tight.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, your fingers digging into his back, your legs tight around his waist. He follows right after, buried deep, biting down softly on your shoulder to muffle the noise he makes.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Just breathes with you. One hand tangled with yours, the other resting over your heartbeat.

“You still want me to come back?” you whisper after a while, voice hoarse.

He lifts his head. Meets your eyes.

“Only if you plan on staying.”

authors note: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope I stayed true to tsukis character and I also hope your happy with your request! :) reqs are still open and very much welcome! ly all <3

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 155: Single mother to-be

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: group sex; giving and receiving oral sex; knotting; degradation; impregnation/breeding kink; enthusiastic consent

A/N: This one was easier to write than I predicted! Thanks Red Anon for some really excellent fic suggestions that helped get the creativity flowing

#############################################

The two lupines stood over you. One was a tawny brown, the other a glossy black. You didn't know their names. What's the point? You were only interested in one thing from each other, and as you sat on your bed looking from one slavering wolf-man to the other, you were looking forward to taking it.

The wolves watched you, predatory eyes fixed on your body as you stripped in front of them. You took your time, feeling their gaze as you slowly removed your t-shirt, then your shorts, showing off your midriff. You stretched as you took off your socks, wiggling your toes while they stared at you.

They closed in on you, you feigned resistance as the black one undid your bra, the brown one peeling off your knickers. They were careful not to rip anything, hands at once rough and gentle. You let yourself be handled by them. Their tongues passed your lips as they kissed you, one after the other, groping hands squeezing your waist, your belly, your tits. They were all over you. Occasional brushes past your crotch made you shiver. Nobody wanted this over too quickly, and having a pair of lupines worshipping every inch of you is certainly one way to get in the mood.

You let them push you to your hands and knees, down on all fours with the black one behind you, the brown one in front. Somewhere in the jumble of limbs and tongues they'd both found the time to strip off too. The three of you stayed for a moment, panting, taking in the scene. Letting the fantasy wash over you.

The brown one ran his fingers through your hair, absent minded. His dark eyes stared down at you as you struggled to keep your gaze off his thick red cock, gently hardening in front of your face. He let your head, soft touches almost tickling your scalp.

Then he remembered what you wanted.

You yelped as his grip tightened on your head. A fistful of hair becomes a handle with which to pull you in. You couldn't keep the grin off your face when his balls dragged across your face. Your hand strayed between your legs, opening your lips to the wolf behind you.

He didn't need any more instruction. A wide, flat tongue slid over your slit, tasting you as it slid over and around your crotch. His attention made your toes curl, your clit pulsing and throbbing. Waves of static pleasure lapped against your mind as his tongue worked. You could feel how wet you were, leaking directly into his mouth as you mumbled your satisfaction into the lupine ballsack occupying your mouth.

“Damn, you're eager, aren't you?” The brown one muttered “Tell you what, if you ask me really nicely, I'll fuck your face. Would you like that?”

He hadn't pulled your face away from his balls. You tried to nod, pulling your hair against his fist, feeling yourself throb as you did so.

“Beg”

A soft moan leaped from your lips as he yanked you back. His cock was poised at your face, just out of reach of your outstretched tongue.

He repeated himself “Beg, slut”

“Please” you looked up at him. Your voice wavered with the distraction of the other one still relentlessly tongue-fucking you “Please fuck my mouth”

He leaned down to you, his other hand stroking your cheek as his eyes came level with yours “Good slut. You know what good sluts get?”

He stood rapidly, guiding his cock into your mouth “Rewards”

He started slowly, letting you get accustomed to the thick rod in your mouth. You ran your tongue over the tip, teasing the hole. Every eager suck was rewarded with a jet of salty-sweet precum, thin and warm, coating your tongue, rolling down your throat. You sighed in satisfaction, tracing the ventral tube with the tip of your tongue, trying to beckon him onwards, urging him deeper.

Instead he pulled out. You whined, the heavenly tongue leaving your aching, leaking quim, your fingers rubbing against your clit, desperate for stimulation.

The black one spoke “I'm going to rut you. Do you want that?”

“Yes” you whined

“Tell me what you want, slut”

“Please” you were gasping, your mind only able to focus on how much you needed it “I want your cock”

“Good enough”

You almost cried when his cock parted your lower lips. He filled you beautifully, gliding in on an ocean of slick. Your eyes crossed and your tongue lolled, your thoughts just a jumble of sensation. You stared at the cock in front of you, dripping with your spit and precum

“P-please” you managed “Wanna suck”

“Good girl” The brown-furred lupine let you take his cock into your mouth, suckling on it while the black one’s hips slapped against yours.

Sweat dropped off you. Your toes flexed and clenched. You moaned and sighed your orgasms into the cock in your mouth. All you could do, all you wanted to do, was grip the bedsheets for dear life. You let the lupines use you, silently urging them on.

You felt the black one's knot swelling, pushing against your cunt. You slid a hand between your legs. Your fingers gripped behind the thick ball of throbbing flesh, pushing it into you.

“You want my knot? Huh?” He was panting. His words came breathy and growling “you wanna be a single mother?”

You nodded, the cock slipping from your mouth “cum in me” you begged him “knock me up” another moan as you neared your peak again “please”

The brown one pushed his cock back into your mouth.

The black one pushed harder.

Both knots slipped into you. The brown stuck behind your teeth, the tip squirting thick cum into the back of your throat. You spluttered and gagged. Wolf cum dripped from your nose as you struggled to swallow it.

That's not the one that was making you shake. The black wolf’s cock was buried in your cunt. The entire length stretching the tight, muscular walls. You could feel it throb. Swelling as pulse after pulse of virile wolf seed flowed directly into your fertile womb. You thought you could feel it. Millions of swimmers finding your eggs, lodging themselves in your baby-maker. You couldn't, of course, but just the idea of it was making your head spin.

You touched your belly, the clammy, sweaty skin slick under your fingers. Still plugged up with wolf-knot, leaking cum from your hole, you wished your dreams into being.

[shocked-collar]

//Great time to remind everyone IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, YOU SHOULD BE NOWHERE NEAR HERE. You're only a kid for so long, you get to be an adult forever. MAKE IT LAST. FRIGGIN' WAIT TO ENGAGE IN CONTENT LIKE THIS.

//No one can protect you if you refuse to let them. These games and this fandom and content have 18+ tags on them for a REASON, and it's to PROTECT YOU. You're not cool, you're not edgy, you're not special, you're not grown up for ignoring warning signs that are set there to KEEP YOU FROM HARM, you're just an idiot for exposing yourself to that ON PURPOSE.

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[britishchick09]

insta icons are square now? :o

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna has never said no to you.

It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 

And you were curious how far you could go with it.

The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.

You were starting to change that.

"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.

"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 

And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.

"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 

You blink at him in surprise.

"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 

Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 

You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 

Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"

"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."

He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.

"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."

You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.

Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.

It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.

You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.

You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.

He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"

"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"

Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.

It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 

He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"

You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.

"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 

"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."

You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.

"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."

You can’t say no. 

At least it was mutual.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[mywritersmind]

THEY DONT KNOW IT - LN4

summary : She’s a popstar who’s being oggled by the same grid who doesn’t believe Lando has a chance with her. In a simple quiet conversation, Lando fixes that.

listen up : lando norris x popstar!reader. mentions of sex. reader wrote bed chem!!

word count : 629

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“You hear who’s in the paddock today?” Oscar eyes Lando as he joins the group of drivers. They all look suspiciously giddy.

“No…?” Lando eyes them, It’s Carlos who’s grinning and speaks up first.

“Y/n L/n.” the spaniard whispers.

Lando raises a brow as Alex nods to his girlfriend talking to you, “She’s a super famous singer right? Lily loves her.”

“Very pop.” Charles adds in.

“Very hot.” Franco says as they all turn to him, “What? You were all thinking it.” a surge of jealousy goes through Lando. Obviously he knows people think you’re hot, he’s the fan club president. But Franco saying it makes him want to go over there and kiss you in front of the young driver.

Lando watches you move your hair behind your ear, assessing the little black dress you’ve got on. “Fuck.” is the only think Yuki can say.

“Hasn't she been to a couple races?” George adds, “For any reason or…” Lando wants to yell at them that you’re there for him.

“She’s a fan.” Charles says, “Hangs with Alex in the garage sometimes.”

You wonder if they know how obviously the group is looking at you. You turn and give them a little smile. Most of the guys look away except Lando, who waves.

“What the fuck?” Carlos makes a face.

“Dude-” Max laughs as Lando looks around at the group.

“What?”

“Give up now.” Alex shrugs.

“Excuse you?” Lando crosses his arms over his racing suit, “You think I don’t have a chance?” They all start laughing, “Fuck you, lot!”

Alex grins, “Don’t let netflix hear.”

Carlos slaps his hand onto his friends shoulder, “Mate… she’s just so- and you’re so… it’s not made to be.”

Lando just scoffs, “Don’t pout!” Max laughs, “I’m pretty sure she’s the only girl out of your reach.”

“You don’t know about Nadia?” Alex grins.

Max gives him a confused look but turns back to Lando, except when he does, he realizes he’s already gone and walking towards you.

You smile when you see Lando, he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you in for a quick hug, “Hi.” His eyes linger on you before smiling kindly at Lily.

“I’ll be back, Y/n. Lando keep your distance.” She points to the driver before walking away.

“The guys don’t think I have a chance with you.” He whispers into your ear, his hand still on your waist.

You laugh a bit, glancing at the men who are all staring at you two. “So naive.” he laughs a bit, tilting his head down.

A curl goes into his face and you resist the urge to push it back. “I’m happy you’re here.” this makes your cheeks go a bit pink. Funny, you’ve been sleeping together for months and he can say the tinest thing to get you to blush.

“I’m happy I'm here too. Win for me?”

“What do I get if I do?” His hand backs off your waist a bit, clearly aware of the eyes on you.

You look up at him, his eyes greener than ever, “Whatever you want?”

His brows go up, “Whatever?”

The corner of your mouth quirks, “Within reason.”

“Not much reason between the two of us.” You roll your eyes and back away from him so you’re no longer touching.

“Go run back to your friends and giggle about how a pretty girl kissed you.”

“But you didn’t-” He gets cut off by your lips on his cheek. He’s grinning ear to ear as you walk away, waving a bit.

When Lando walks back to the guys they’re gobsmacked, “Tell me you didn't just meet her today.” Charles practically pleads.

He laughs at their faces, “Have you ever heard the song, bed chem?”

[thinkingofausername]

some things from mouthwashing that i think need more attention:

UPDATED (again 😂) because I've been corrected on some things

jimmy, as co-captain, was unfortunately needed and couldn't be disposed of

pony express should carry the brunt of the blame - sending people into space and THEN telling them they're fired; not installing locks in the sleeping quarters; etc.

anya said "i have to believe our worst moments don't define us", implying she forgave curly, at least to an extent

every moment seen through jimmy's eyes could and should be questioned. he's an unreliable narrator

jimmy wanted curly to take the blame. he wanted the crew to blame him. the game wanted us to blame him for the crash (until the reveal)

curly got burned because he faced the explosion head-on; trying to fix things

anya died first; she did it with the last remaining painkillers which could've been used for curly; she even did it in front of him

jimmy shamed and attacked curly during the birthday scene and curly didn't react; implying their relationship was never smooth and truly friendly

it was never explicitly shown what anya said to curly. perhaps she never specified jimmy raped her. curly was shocked when she said she was pregnant, he didn't connect it with anything

anya telling jimmy she was pregnant is what made him crash the ship

it's implied anya told swansea about jimmy and he did nothing. he only attacked jimmy a while later, as revenge for daisuke

it's possible curly was only ever visited by jimmy, aside from anya

jimmy crashed the ship 147/365 days into the trip (they've got 7.2 months to go); the same day anya told him she's pregnant. assuming she found out a bit before that, and she could've found out within a month, by the time they got off the ship she would've been around 8 months pregnant - she would NOT have given birth on the ship

swansea had been 15 years sober

curly most likely wouldn't survive the cryopod. entirely skinless and then frozen? hell

curly was the only one to have clearance for the sweetener

curly very pointedly looks at jimmy ALL the time after the crash

after curly's conversation with jimmy (the "feet in cement" one), right before jimmy crashed the ship, the screen goes black and there's heavy breathing, implying curly was left panicking

jimmy gives curly medicine 3 times - first, with anya relatively nearby, a fairly normal intervention; second, with no one nearby, where jimmy assaults curly; third, alone again, he doesn't assault curly but he still cries, he's permanently scared of jimmy

curly was already struggling with insomnia before the crash

while anya was locked in medical, jimmy told daisuke she might do something to curly

anya said the mouthwash couldn't be used as disinfectant and jimmy still did it

jimmy drugged swansea; he convinced daisuke to go in the vent by saying swansea would be proud of him

curly and anya and jimmy all talk of "handling things"

jimmy says curly receives praise all the time; implying he was a good captain (he was also the only one to get exceptional references)

swansea had a wife and kids; daisuke mentions his mother, the creators of the game said curly loved spending time with friends and family. they had people waiting for them

jimmy said cartoon horses excite him and anya's baby is presented as a horse

[esotericbluntbaby]

compensation

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: going against your wishes, your boyfriend decides to fight another match after spraining his wrist the last time he boxed. injured, he returns home to his girlfriend, who can't help but feel more than just "angry."

mentions: boxer!hamzah, bf!hamzah, angsttt, female reader, sub! hamzah, blood, bruises, nsfw!

GUYS IM SORRY I FORGOT TO POST THIS PLS DONT KILL ME

--

this was the first time that hamzah kept you in the dark, betraying your trust in him.

he was always a strong-willed, passionate boy; in fact, it was one of the things you found attractive in him. he kickstarted his youtube with his resilience and determination. giving up was simply not an option for him; one way or another, plan after plan, he'd get his goal even if it meant he had to cut off his limbs and sell them. if hamzah wanted something, he would get it, similar to a horse kicking whenever it's being restrained. though, normally, he knew when to stop pushing, especially when the cost was more than the benefit.

the last time hamzah boxed, his wrist fractured like a 6 year old cracks a wishbone. you, obviously, knew that getting hurt was apart of his hobby; you didn't like it, but you accepted that it was inevitable for some part of him to be banged up and broken. he allowed you to stay in the hospital with him during the time he was getting monitored, meaning that you were allowed to hear the doctor tell him that he had to wait 6 weeks to box again.

during the hospital visit, hamzah realized he had a match in exactly 5 weeks. you argued with him, telling him that there would be no way in hell that he'd be able to box until his wrist is fixed. of course, being as stubborn as a mule, hamzah argued back that he had to fight if his life depended on it. eventually, the night settled in as you laid in bed together that night, cuddling; he told you that you were right. reassuring you that he wouldn't be fighting, he kissed you goodnight. you thought you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

that was, until tonight, an hour after the match: when hamzah walked in the front door, bloody and bruised.

his eye began to swell, darkening around the indents of his skull. the black eye that adorned his face was accompanied by a deep gash that exposed the layer beneath his skin. he looked at you with guilt plastered in his banged up face, furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips being muted by the extent of his injuries. you didn't have to guess where he was: you felt betrayed by the fact that you knew exactly what he went out to do. alongside his injuries and deception, came a girlfriend who wasn't going to speak to him.

--

not a single word was said when you grabbed his other wrist and walked to the bathroom with him; the room was filled with silence and guilt radiating off of him. he was currently sitting on the toilet seat as you rummaged around the medicine cabinet for materials that would help you fix his wounds. though you were upset, you weren't going to leave him to tend to his own injuries; you were still his girlfriend, after all. sitting on the floor, you grabbed his wrist to check how worsened it became.

"baby-"

"no, hamzah."

from your previous arguments, you knew that hamzah has a habit of overloading you with pet names. he knew he fucked up; you know he fucked up. him starting his sentence with "baby" helped you realize that he knew he's in the doghouse.

taking the textured, cotton gauze, you began to wrap his wrist with a softness that foiled your emotions towards him. you felt his eyes trained on you like the aimbot of a video game; his gazed fixated on every single movement you made. he noticed the way that you still looked so pretty even when you were mad at him. the way your face looked, tensed and full of agitation, created a pool of guilt that he swam in. he hated making you upset, but he simply needed to box. it was passion. it was commitment. he had to do it; at least, that's what he was telling himself. however, no matter how much he told himself that he had to fight, he knew it was wrong of him to go against your wishes and back. he knew you wanted the best for him and his physical being.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being stupid and i shouldn't have went behind your back like that."

you listened to him apologize, yet, didn't respond. in fact, you didn't even look at him. there was no acknowledgement of his apology; it was almost like it never even happened in the first place. he needed to know how truly upset you were. instead, you focused on wrapping his wrist with a second layer of gauze, to keep everything in place.

"baby, please. just talk to me- i don't care if you cuss me out or give me hell for betraying you like that, just- please talk to me," his mannerisms were tense and rushed, "how do i fix this? how do i get you to speak to me? i'll do anything- i swear- you want me to quit boxing completely? i will. you want me to do all the housework in this house? i will- i'll do every single chore. shit, if even just sitting in a corner for days with no food or water would get you to speak to me, i'd do that. please, baby- please."

you finished wrapping the gauze by the time he finished his speech about what he'd do to get you to speak to him. you began to touch his face, examining the bruise on his eye and cheekbone like a scientist looking through a microscope. suddenly, he grabbed you by the cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

"i'm sorry. please, just speak to me. i'll do anything. talk to me. i just wanna hear your voice."

listening to him yearn for your voice made you feel a certain type of way. yes, you were mad. however, in a way, this whole situation was turning you on. you hated to admit it, but your boyfriend looked attractive with a black eye and bruised cheekbone. the fact that he was begging for you to speak to him made the sexual tension you were feeling within you even worse. his submissive side was creating a potion of ecstasy in your stomach; you wanted to see how far he'd go.

you sighed, "i don't know anymore, hamzah. you told me you wouldn't. i trust you less."

"i know, pretty, i'm sorry. i'll earn it back, i promise. i shouldn't have gone tonight. i was being an idiot."

standing up as his face followed where your eyes were, you rubbed it against his open wound, earning a wince from him as he gripped onto your waist. butterflies emerged in your stomach, causing you to feel similar to how light a fairy is.

"thanks for the warning," he said with sarcasm and irritation laced in his voice, opening his eyes from the hard shut he indulged in

"you don't deserve one."

he pulled you onto his lap, causing you to straddle him on the toilet seat. taking your cheeks, he cupped your face in his hands and sighed. he looked at you with a level of submissiveness you haven't seen in him. normally, hamzah was the dominant one; yet, you didn't mind that the roles switched.

"what can i do to get you to not be mad at me?"

"i dunno. you're a smart boy," you grabbed his cheek and stroked it with your thumb, "figure it out, baby."

you saw a lightbulb flicker on in his eyes. he sensed the tension in the room wasn't only angry, but there was also sexual tension in its silver lining.

"you want me to make it up to you?"

you leaned towards his ear, now whispering, "how are you gonna do that, hamzah?"

you felt something poke at your ass from beneath you, a slight twitch emerging from it too. your words made him as hard as a rock.

that's so fucking hot.

"baby, i thought you were mad at me."

"oh, i am. trust me, i'm fucking pissed."

he kissed you on the cheek, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the jawline, "i'm sorry."

he kissed you on the lips, "i'm sorry."

moving down to your neck, he kissed it longer than the pecks he gave you previously. you felt a sucking motion, as well as his tongue swirling on your sweet spot, shortly after. your breath got heavier, almost as if your lungs were being weighed down by hot air. your lips parted as he sucked a dark spot onto your neck.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl. forgive me?"

"not yet."

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "why not?"

"i need more than that."

"tell me what you need, pretty. i'll do it."

you leaned closer to his ear, kissing his neck and the area between, "you know what i want from you."

standing up from the toilet seat, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. your lips began to intertwine with his as he walked through the hallway, your tongues melting together like two lollipops on a hot day. he laid you down on the bed, still kissing you with everything he had; he needs you to forgive him.

letting go of your lips, he moved closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your shorts and leaving you in your underwear. feeling exposed in front of hamzah was always nerveracking in your own way; however, this time it was different. you knew hamzah had to please you, leaving you with a newfound confidence.

"are you okay with this?" he asked, exhibiting a level of care that you were all too familiar with.

"do whatever you want to me, hamzah."

taking your underwear off, you were left laying on top of your sheets in a tank top. his arms wrapped around your legs like a snake to its prey, prying your legs apart with a sense of desperation.

"you're so pretty like this baby," he kissed the inner part of your thigh, "you're so fucking pretty."

he spit on the area between your legs, earning a subtle gasp from you. his tongue began to lap on you, dropping saliva on the area of you that was already wet. between your legs, you felt the roughness and neediness of his tongue. his hands squeezed your inner thighs as pleasure began to unravel the metaphoric yarn located in your stomach. hamzah was eating the fuck out of you, leading to your moans getting louder and louder with each and every movement his tongue created against you.

his tongue produced a dance that only the both of you would know. some parts were as fast as light, while other ones were full of yearning and slowness; he knew exactly how to balance it for you to feel the best that you could feel.

your hands made its way to his hair, "you're so pretty like this, hamzah. my boy- my pretty boy."

his movements got faster as his grip against your thighs tightened even more, as if you were going to fly away if he let go. similar to his hands, you squeezed his hair as his movements quickened in pace; you could feel the yarn unraveling like a rubber band about to snap.

"f-fuck- hamzah, i'm close-"

he kissed your core, before his tongue sped to a pace you haven't felt before. you watched him eat you out like there was no tomorrow, leaving loud moans echoing the room, before he felt you release into his mouth. kissing it once again, he looked up at you as his hands massaged the pillows that he was in between. you looked at each other with love while he watched your heavy breathing and fucked-out expression.

"forgive me?"

"i forgive you. please go box someone else, baby."

confusion was apparent in his face, "what?"

"you're so fucking hot when you're bruised and yearning."

--

author's note!

this is so short omfg i hate using anatomical words for smut LOL more coming soon!

[strwberri-milk]

heyyy, could i request lads men forgetting readers birthday or anniversary? hurt comfort pls 🥹

You understand that Zayne's job is incredibly important and you would never hold it against him for forgetting these dates but you also know that you're still going to feel hurt no matter how much you rationalise it. You woke up that morning, knowing that today should have been a special day, that he remembered to book it off months in advance and the two of you would be together.

When you see him getting ready for work you feel your heart drop, watching silently as he puts together his lunch and grabs his things. He doesn't notice you're up, thinking that you're still asleep and you take that opportunity to run back into bed and feign sleep again. You'd feel awful if you let Zayne go to work worrying about missing something this important so you decide it'd be kinder to just let him go to work in peace.

It's not until he looks at his schedule after a complicated surgery right from the moment he got into work that he realises what day it is today. He feels awful about it, immediately trying to figure out what surgeries he could offload onto the others so he can try and get home to you as soon as possible. Thankfully, all the other staff are emphatic about his situation, assisting him in getting home as soon as he can.

Thankfully, he's usually prepared in advance when it comes to gifts so he doesn't have to buy you anything last minute. He does make it a point to go and grab you a bouquet as well as some little treats/snacks of all your favourite things. When he comes home he finds you curled up in bed, trying to cheer yourself up. He hates how he made you feel and silently slides in behind you, holding you tightly as he whispers that he's sorry for forgetting about you. He promises that he'll make it up to you another night when the two of you are free, promising an evening at a restaurant you love while he currently placates you with the food and flowers he brought.

Xavier was so exhausted that he accidentally slept through the plans that the two of you made. You didn't even know it happened until you reappeared from the bedroom, watching him sleep peacefully on the bed. You can't bring yourself to wake him, sighing as you move to tuck him in.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, sitting up with a jolt as he realises that he missed your date. He rushes to bed only to find you dead asleep, dried tear tracks on your face. The sight breaks his heart, and he immediately starts making plans to try and fix his mistake.

When you come home one evening you're a little panicked because you can't see anything. You reach around blindly, trying to find a light switch to turn on some light in the pitch black darkness. confused when you realise you can't move the switch. You're about to call for Xavier when he makes his presence known beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to the living room. You're expecting to run into your coffee table but you're confused when you don't, kneeling on the ground as he counts down after covering your eyes.

You hear the click of a button and he uncovers your eyes, showing you the room illuminated by seemingly hundreds of little stars. You look around in surprise by the assortment of fairy lights and stars, a little surprised as you realise you're also sat in front of a meal comprised of your favourite takeout.

He gives you a heartfelt apology, promising that he didn't do it on purpose and he's felt awful about it the entire time. He promises that he'll clean all of this up after the two of you are finished. He doesn't want you to take on any of the stress about this at all, pampering you in extra gifts as an additional apology.

Rafayel is amazing whenever it comes to remembering important dates. His life revolves around you so that's why you find it so odd that the day comes and goes with absolutely no fanfare. It's so out of character that you literally gaslight yourself into thinking that you had the dates mixed up, mentioning it to him offhandedly how it's so weird that you thought yesterday was your anniversary but maybe it actually wasn't. Your birthday is an entirely different scenario though - you just tell him that it's okay if he's too busy to do anything and hopefully you can do something next year.

Rafayel is devastated, internally falling to his knees and sobbing while externally all you see is him humming thoughtfully. Internally he's trying to figure out what the hell happened for him to have dropped the ball. He's so panicking, pulling out his phone to book reservations at the fanciest restaurant he can think of and paying an exorbitant amount of money to do so. He also has so many gifts for you that at this point, he could just pull from a pile he has hidden in his home, telling you that you can have this for now because the main event is coming at your dinner reservation.

It doesn't take you long for you to realise that he actually kinda did fuck up and totally forgot about it when you hear him talking to Thomas about how he can't take on any projects at all because he's busy trying to make sure you don't hate him for forgetting a major event. You end up asking him about it right then and there, basically confronting him about why he forgot. He promises you it wasn't intentional and that he just had so much fun preparing for the even that he fully forgot to actually carry through with his plans.

He ends up making it up to you in bed. You mope and pout and bury yourself underneath the luxurious sheets and refuses to let him in. He basically just lays on top of you, burying his face into your neck and begging for forgiveness. You refuse to give it to him that easily, deciding to make him mope and pout more. He holds you tightly, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as he tells you he'll make it up to you by giving you his credit card. You jokingly tell him that's more than enough before getting serious and telling him how upset you are. He swears it won't happen again and to his credit, it never does.

Sylus couldn't get out of a previous commitment, mentally noting that it was a special day and aiming to follow through with absolutely no problem. Unfortunately, his meeting dragged and by the time it finished he had even more things to do which left you standing in his bedroom, dressed extravagantly for a missed reservation.

You cry to yourself quietly in the room as you get yourself undressed for the evening. It doesn't really hit you until you're laying in bed in your pajamas, staring up at the ceiling as you tell yourself that he didn't mean to do it on purpose.

He comes in as you're crying, listening to your soft sniffles. When you go quiet in hopes of attempting to convince him you weren't just sobbing your eyes out he feels even worse, quickly putting two and two together. He realises what he just missed, looking back at his phone and seeing the reservation cancellation.

He immediately scoops you up in his arms. You try to resist him at first but falter when your body settles into his familiar warmth. He coos at you, whispering apologies into your ear. You want to tell him too little too late but you also know that he never would want to see you crying like this, especially not because of him.

He holds you all night, telling you that you can ask him for anything and he'll make it happen for you. He already does but the guilt of this weighs on him so heavily that he knows that no matter what stands in his way, he won't let it stop him from giving you everything that you want. He also makes sure that it doesn't happen again, wanting you to feel like you could always trust him. If he lost your trust on top of that he'd never forgive himself, telling you that you're everything to him.

[wolvietxt]

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.��� you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3