#haven't written fanfics in a while

[whatswrong7]

Part 2 Part 3 Ghost didn't think much of you at first. You were just the incapable rookie to him. Constantly getting lost and needing backup on missions. He was actually annoyed at you and your incompetence, trying to stay as far out of your way as possible. But without fail, on almost every mission, your voice would pop into his ear calling for help as you inevitably fucked up, or bit off more than you could chew, or got yourself injured. He didn't even understand how you made it onto the task force, and he told Soap as much, which would usually just get a laugh and not much of a real response. He'd avoid your attempts at chit chat and small talk, barking orders at you to go do something else, unless you were at base, where he settled for just ignoring you until you furrowed your brow and went off.

And then you saved Johnny. His earpiece had gotten destroyed a few minutes earlier, the last thing he was able to say a vague description of his location. Price, Gaz, and Ghost were all preoccupied with their own fights. Ghosts mind seized up as his body continued the motions, aiming and shooting with deadly accuracy. He was gone. Soap was as good as gone, and just like his family, he wouldn't be able to save him. He couldn't breathe, all the gear too heavy on his body as his lungs threatened to collapse. Dead. Dead, dead, dead, all because of him, him, h-

"I got him"

Your voice rasped through the tiny machine, sounding out of breath and unsteady. You didn't respond to anything else, the rest of them hurrying to finish up and head to the chopper, Ghost silently hoping, praying. And there Johnny was, huffing and breathing heavily as a medic took care of him, quickly confirming to the newly arrived team he would be just fine. Ghost breathed a sigh of relief, just to turn to you and get the breath knocked out of him again. You were also getting quickly helped, blood coating you as the medic worked to remove the bullets from all areas of your body you had been hit in. Your usually bright eyes were heavy lidded, as you lazily looked around, barely glancing at Simon. Your shoulder had to get put back into place after popping it out of its socket- and by god, you were a proper mess, thick blood all over your skin and blending in with your uniform, your arm hanging limp by your side as it was held and shoved back into place, and barely able to keep your eyes open.

Ghost had never seen anything more beautiful.

[altcvnningham]

of a demon in my view

william “case” calderon x f!reader

summary: when the team return to the rook after visiting the science facility in kentucky you hear a bump in the night. good thing case is back to protect you, right? (takes place after the 'emergence' mission. inspired by this post. please heed the tags!!) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, dubious consent, f!reader, angst, (case is) under the influence (of the cradle), rough sex, size difference/kink, biting, choking, case is hung, animalistic/primal behaviour?? i guess?? reader is confused but loves case too much, case is obsessed w reader, aftercare (ish), author goes mad with power at the use of italics wc: 4.8k

a/n: umm sorry to case + the case enjoyers, i wish i’d written something softer for him first... trust that my first full nsfw fic on here would be icky nasty dubcon w poor confused reader. promise she likes it. since there’s not a whole lot of case content to base his characterisation on, i hope this suffices!! shoutout to lovely lacie @dearlydevoured, case's actual irl gf who put up w my brainrot while i wrote this <3 title from “alone”, edgar allan poe.

You wake gasping.

The bedroom is pitch black, offering little but a sliver of moonlight to orient yourself, cutting the room split in two as you try to discern what the hell that sound was. A slam, booming like thunder and carried in with the draft and the dust. It takes much to hear it across the old house, the Rook as big as it is barren, and it takes much more again to wake you. But whatever it is, it had, and your body jolts in its instinct to get up and investigate.

But as you do, you stop. You’re half a leg out of bed and a finger upon the nearby flashlight when you catch something in your periphery. You don’t even look at it head on- the figure in the open door. Just stare ahead at the wall and freeze, trying to clock if whatever stands there has spotted you sooner than you’d spotted it.

Any other night, Case would have awoken before you. Hell, he would have dealt with the problem himself before you’d even stirred. But the space in the bed where he usually sleeps is cold, and it had been all night- they’d left for Kentucky a couple days ago now, and you hadn’t received much word in between. Only a call from Marshall on the way back, to keep an eye on Case when he returns. That he wasn’t quite right.

But you know Case better than anyone. You know he already isn’t really quite right as he is; you never minded it, the odd pauses between words and the bitten tongue, like he’s always holding something back, or the distant way he sometimes seems to regard you from across a room, before the colour floods back to his face and he finds the courage to smile. Whatever warmth you possess encourages a similar feeling in himself, and Case had found himself sweet on you quicker than he would most. He sees in you a kindred spirit, maybe. A missing piece. Enough that when he sleeps next to you, the screaming stops. Most nights.

But whatever it is in the door, you’re almost sure it isn’t Case. Almost. Until—

Breathing. Quick, shallow, raspy. For a second it doesn’t even sound human, until you recognise it- the same sound when he wakes from a nightmare, the same panting in your ear when you hold him tight and let him ride it out. The fear, primal, pacified by your patience and care. Your heart tugs- it’s him. You know it’s him.

With that knowledge alone enough to brave your panic, you turn your head to the open door, and regard the figure stood in it with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh, god, Case. It’s you. Jesus,” you huff, a hand clutched to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”

A smile, sheepish, spreads over your lips as he just stands there in the doorway, filling it with his shadow. Tall, stocky, broad-shouldered as he is, arms held stiffly at his sides as he just stands there, shapeless face cast in darkness. His hulking figure eclipsing the moonlight trying to come in from the hallway windows. You can’t see his expression, only the whites of his eyes, and though it’s hard to tell at first, they look to be open wide. And staring at you.

Your smile slowly drops. You sit up.

“Case? What’s wrong?”

But he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t say anything. Just- fucking- just stands there- just you and him, locked eyes, for a fleeting moment feeling like prey and predator at a stand-off in a too-open clearing. Vulnerable, is the feeling that creeps up your spine and staples you there, still and rigid in the bed.

There’s a pause. He blinks. You think he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, because he comes into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel, but where he’d usually sigh, sit on the bed, and undress, he just moves straight towards you. Unhurried, but urgent. Single-minded in his pursuit.

Case’s knee dips into the mattress, sinking under his weight, and though you aren’t scared you feel the urge to move back into the bed, hitting the headboard in your scuffle.

“Case, you’re still dressed,” you worry, voice lilted like a question. He must suddenly notice, or perhaps hear your concern, because he glances down at himself, though decidedly mustn’t care at all- even as you go for the zipper of his windbreaker yourself, he’s wholly intent instead on closing in on you. Scarred hands curl around the headboard as he leans in to kiss you- no, to- smell you? He noses your hair, behind your ear, licking a greedy stripe up the side of your neck. You do your best to ignore it, focusing your quivering fingers upon the zipper, and somehow you manage to push the jacket off him and onto the floor. His hands are immediately on you then, dug into the back of your hair and cradling your skull as he kisses sharply along your jaw, your cheek, the corners of your babbling mouth.

“H-hey, um,” is all you can manage as you’re jostled by his movements. He isn’t rough, isn’t even hurting you, but his fingers dig into your arms and pull at your hair in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncharacteristically desperate, like you’ll slip into dust any second. It’s enough to make you wince. “Case- Case, c’mon. Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can—”

“Want you.” Is all he says.

“What?”

“Want you,” he repeats, an animal grunt in an octave you’ve never heard before. It thrills you as much as it frightens you, but you steel your focus, more concerned than you are anything else. That excitement that tingles at the base of your spine is unimportant, insignificant in the grand scheme, when he’s acting so strange.

“Case, I think you should sit down a sec,” you say, trying gently to pry his hands off you, but he won’t budge. He’s stronger than you- much stronger- and before you can open your mouth to protest his hands are on your waist, pulling you out of the bed and stringing you out atop the blanket like you weigh nothing. “Wh- oh!”

You land with a hiccup, disoriented as he climbs on top of you, and in your befuddled state you’re half worried about shoes on the bed as he wedges a leg between yours, coarse grey cargo pants chafing your sleep-soft thighs. A tiny yip makes its way out of you as you bear the sudden weight of him- as is always so stifling, yet now seems suffocating- a thick scarred forearm braced in the pillow beside your head as he buries his nose in your neck, not quite kissing but breathing you in, huffing like a dog, something primal, savage.

It’s so unfamiliar, and yet so like Case; never having seen him this way but always sensed, known, that there lingered in him something like this, some growling thing seated deep inside just waiting to get out, biding its time and snarling. It frightens you, but not enough to fight it off. Just enough to lay there and let whatever thing that’s reared its ugly head in him feel you out, get its bearings of the girl trembling beneath him.

You catch a scent on his shirt then, tart as it wrinkles your nose. It’s a strange smell, acrid, not entirely unpleasant but foreign to you- like chemicals or detergent, coppery like blood but lacking its warmth. It clings to Case’s clothes like something parasitic. You breathe it in, and strangely it has a texture, almost like smoke, but whatever it is your body rejects it, tangled in a cough as your vision blurs. It’s enough then to just let him close over you as he likes, pressing your face to his hair instead as he mouths at your neck, starved.

You’re burned by the heat of him. Heavy as he envelopes himself around you, greedy hands moving down your body to touch and grab and grope, undecided whether he wants to be gentle, whether he can be, calloused hands like sandpaper as he slides them under your shirt. Your own hands try to turn his jaw so you might see his face and deduce the expression into an answer, a reasoning for his behaviour. But every touch you give has him shuddering beneath you, near enough purring as he careens his cheek into your hand, lapping up your warmth.

Case feels like he’s on fire. Tunnel-visioned. Drunk, almost. He’d cooled off whatever substance he’d breathed in that facility on the flight back to Bulgaria, but part of it still sticks to him like sap, simmering and seething all red and angry in a place inside he can’t reach. He’d claw it out of himself if he could, if he had the guts, but he swears he could smell you from the fucking front door- and by then it was over, decided for him before he even knew what he was doing. Something else took hold then, brutish and hungry, overcome with the base animal need to stalk, hunt, fuck.

His hands run down your body, kissing wetly into your open palm. You whimper frantic and confused as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, falling frail as petals somewhere off the bed. You gasp as he pushes himself forward, hips bullying your legs apart, while he peels back your shirt to knead your breasts and latch his mouth upon a perked nipple with a moan.

“Hey, slow- slow down,” you rasp, barely a whisper, dying on an open-mouthed sigh as a spike of pleasure needles you. You can’t help it. It’s him, Case, always so soft with you, so slow and gentle, now pawing at you like he’d sooner die than go without touching you. Your hands knot into his hair as he sucks at your nipple, tangled at the base of his neck, unsure whether you’re trying to push him off or pull him closer. “I think we should- just- calm down and—“

“No,” Case says, a low noise, almost strangled as he unlatches himself from you, shaking his head. He sounds pained, sick, emitting a whine as he unfolds himself, hands wrestling with his belt. In your sudden shyness, feeling all too exposed, you pull your shirt down and make a move to close your legs, but Case’s hand nudges your knee, as thoughtless as if he were swatting a fly as he pries them back open.

“Gotta have you now, baby, I-I gotta,” he mumbles, repeating it under his breath over and over like a mantra. Is it for you to hear? Is it for himself? You don’t know. But even as you try and move his hand away it’s a hopeless thing. He’s firm, resolute. Won’t so much as let you budge. He slides his belt off with one hand, shoving his cargo pants and boxers down his hips, and stamps your arm back at the side of your head with the other, wrenched tight around your wrist.

“O-ow, careful, Case—”

Your words are cut short by a jarring thud. His cock thumps thick and heavy against your tummy, and wide-eyed, you freeze. Oh. Case tugs around the base to give it some hopeless attention, something, anything to take the edge off. The shock of it all pulls out a breathless whine from you. He’s never usually so forward. He rocks himself slow against you, moving his hips down, nudging your clit with the leaking head of his aching dick. It’s- it’s so much that you don’t know whether to stop him or just surrender, craning your neck down to try and catch a glimpse of- of—

Fuck, you forget how big it is. Every time. It always looks so much more intimidating than it feels, but that’s because Case has always been careful with you, patient, always working you up on his fingers first before even attempting to split you open on him, even then only feeding you inch by tentative inch until he’s seated nice and deep inside you. Eager, but takes his time with you, never in any rush to give his sweet girl what she needs.

But you have the feeling that this time is different. Not- not bad, but- different. His hands are hard on you, bruising, kisses impatient and starving, even the way he’s slowly fucking his tip against your clit, hazy-eyed and mindless as he watches himself slide the length of his shaft between your folds, so pink and sweet- it’s maddening. It’s only then that you realise you’re moaning, bleating like cornered prey.

As if suddenly reminded of the fact he ought to prep you, he shoves two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, sucking them wet before pulling them out with a pop and delving his hand between your legs. It’s done so fast you flinch, a panicked sound pulled out of you. His usual patience is swapped with hurried desperation, a flit of his eyes to yours- your lips, your face, God, the prettiest thing he’s seen in his life- measuring your reaction. Your shock and confusion must be evident in your wilted expression, because he moves his fingers just a little slower, watching with enamoured reverence as your face flushes hot, savouring the way he can see the thoughts just spill out of your head like honey as it empties itself for him. So, so pretty.

“U-um—” you stammer, as dumb as the day you were born. You want to say something, want him to say something, but your mind goes blank. Whatever good sense might linger is gone- there’s only Case, much too broad and much too big in your bed as he looms over you. He slides his fingers against your clit, tender with need; he thumbs at your slick entrance, soaking his knuckle as he teases against it, and moans at how reflexively it clenches around him, begging to be filled. How badly it wants him. He barely humours your poor, needy pussy as he slides his middle finger inside, thick as it stretches you, just about managing the first knuckle before you keen, body bowing into him.

“G-God, Case, please—”

Sobriety spurs vaguely into him then, the light coming back into his eyes as he blinks down at you, strewn like a blushing favour over the pillow. His perfect girl, his. As he looks at you, he slides his finger out of you slowly, relishing with a faraway look on his face the way you crumple and cry, grasping at his wrist to try and pull him back in again. He thinks he’d go mad for it. For you, he thinks he’d die.

“S’okay,” he grumbles under his breath, a click of his tongue as he tuts at you like one might a skittish animal. He pulls back, lining his cock up with your soaked entrance, his pupils blown black, drunk. “I’m gonna make it better. M’gonna make it better, baby, I promise.”

He has to make it better. Has to. Has to apologise for what he’s doing, how he’s acting- he has to apologise for what he is, the thing growling inside him, tearing, clawing, screaming to get out—

He’s still sucking the syrup of you off his fingers as he pushes himself inside you, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a loud, broken groan. He’s so lost to the white haze of bliss for a second as your slick heat all but swallows him in, pushing only a little resistance at the sudden intrusion and God, he knows you’re not used to it so quick, so soon, but you’re his good girl, his baby, and he knows you can take it.

And you’re not quite used to the stretch even on a good day- feeling it rip into you now is near agony. Your mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Useless anyway, given Case bends down and closes his own around it, tongue delving hot inside to seek yours. It’s so fast and so much that you barely find time to adjust, just letting your mouth loll open and surrender itself to him as he tongues you, trying so hard to focus on accommodating to his cock pushing- forcing- its way into you, too much, too much, too big—

The hand around your wrist loosens as though some pliant drug has washed cold over him, and you open your eyes for just a second, enough to catch the way his dilate, black melting into the white before he sinks himself all the way inside you. Filling you to the hilt, suffocating. Bliss is written into every line of his face, softening as he lets out a whine. He bottoms out, and you see it in him- complete and utter relief. Some awful agony in him quelled immediately, his body slack against yours. He feels, in you, complete. Home.

It’s evident enough that it puts you at ease, whatever it is that’s compelled him like this. He’s not trying to hurt you. You don’t think. He’s just rather like a big dog that believes itself to be no larger than a puppy, unaware of its own weight and strength. Case’s body goes almost flat atop yours and the only way he notices at all is how it pushes a wheeze out of you, a silent beg for release.

But just then you feel his hips pulling back, cock sliding out of you inch by agonising inch. A whimpering plea is all you’re given to let out before he slams back into you again and fuck, it’s too much, he’s too big, you’re not used to—

“F-fuck, Case, wait—”

Your legs tremor involuntarily as they part further to let him closer, let him in, his hips welded to yours as he buries himself right to the fucking root of you. Case groans, delirious as his face falls against your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Case- s’too much, you’re—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, an attempt at comfort that leaves you dizzier than it does much else. He licks a wet kiss to your neck, meant to calm you, but only riles himself up more, setting off a dormant bloodthirst in him; he does it again, and this time he- he bites you.

You squeal. “O-ow!”

Like an apology he can’t voice he laps his tongue flat against your skin, mulling hungrily over the bitten flesh like he’s savouring it. It’s only when he’s sated himself on you that his hips start moving, slow, languid thrusts that quicken each time you yelp, hurried pace picking up once he feels you clench reflexively around him.

And he’s usually so gentle when he fucks you, almost hesitant, always like he’s half afraid of breaking you. Not like this. He fucks into you mindlessly, a rabid thing with a single razor sharp splinter of desire- you. Wants you. Has to have you, has to split you open and- take you. Fuck you so there’s nothing left in him to think of or breathe in but you. Every thrust is merciless and messy, Case pounding into you again and again as the sound of him fucking into your wet cunt smacks luridly in the air; loud enough that it makes you wince, cringing to hear yourself so shamelessly, how your body makes itself so slick and malleable just for him. His hips slam into you faster than you can take it- but you can take it, you can, he insists, demands it, grunting it into your ear, baby, please, jus’ take it for me, take it take it take it—

Your orgasm slams into you, a violent punch that singes you hot-white and blind; your thighs clench around his hips of their own accord and pull him in even deeper- as if there’s any more room- unbidden as you cry out, wailing helplessly as he just- keeps- fucking you. Wave after wave of pleasure drowning you over and over and over. It almost terrifies you, how willingly gone your body leaves itself, all sense and reason fleeing you all to make room for this- him.

You babble incomprehensibly as you ride it out, words lost in your throes of euphoria, smothered completely beneath the sweet and tender violence of him, your ravaged cunt milking and just taking him in its refusal to let go.

You don’t know if you’re crying- it all feels so good you can barely make sense of where you are- but through the red haze of it all you feel Case’s hand cup your cheek, caress your face, mumbling choked apologies into your shoulder as he keeps impaling you on his cock, chasing his pleasure into you. It’s the sweetest thing, his voice very almost pathetic, incongruous to the way the rest of him seems dead-set on pummelling you into the mattress as he garbles a knotted string of I’m sorry, baby, can’t help it, s’too good, I’m sorry—

As if you’d even care if he wasn’t. As if you wouldn’t let him break you and cradle the pieces in his mottled hands. As if you wouldn’t let him carve out a home inside of you, broken and bloodied, and nestle himself within. Where no one can hurt him ever again, where nobody could ever find him. Nobody but you.

You’d promise him that much, you think- the times when he wakes up screaming in the night, when he sits up in bed and stares empty at the wall, when mid-conversation he’s just suddenly stunned into white-noise silence, the Case you know, the Case that’s yours, absent for but a moment. Replaced by something else entirely, something you’re not quite sure you recognise. You take him then, like you take him now, your body so dumb and fragile in his big arms as he fucks you hard, cock punching into you so bad you go dizzy.

And isn’t this much like that? Don’t you love him even now, as he is? While he violently breaks you?

“C-Case,” you choke, his chest pressed so tightly to yours you can hardly breathe. His hand snakes up your neck, closing around your throat with a satisfied moan, stars dotted in your view. You feel something cresting again, down your legs, up your spine, the back of your neck— “Oh, god, Case, please, I’m gonna—”

But you don’t know what you’re gonna. It hits you before you can even find out. You come again, you think, some viciously delectable feeling severing you and flinging your body straight up off the mattress, holding him to you, begging him closer, as though he could be any more than he already was. Flesh melting into flesh, sweat sticky and waxen, indistinguishable from his. Inseparable. As you cry out again, he groans, thick and low and not quite human, spilling himself so deep inside you that you feel it pooling hot in your gut, molten sweet; your own climax is slow, tender agony, gorging you open, rippling warm and pink behind closed eyes like the thin warbling of blood in water… and then… and then…

It’s a short moment later, or maybe a few, when the black spots in your vision clear.

You’re staring up at the ceiling, cracked white, a picture much like Case’s eyes had been in the doorway, veins struck blood lightning across marble sclera. He’s there too, you can hear him, his voice a distant echo as you feel large hands cup your face, your whole world oscillating.

It’s bliss. It’s perfect. You lie there, barely coming to, your body sinking into the mattress as though you weren’t even there, floating, feeling so, so nice.

When the shadow pulls over your vision, you smile. Case holds himself over you, his thumb peeling back your eyelid, letting out a choked sound of relief when your eyes, lucid, finally fix on him.

“Oh- oh, thank god- oh- baby, I’m so—”

He scoops you up like a ragdoll in his arms, clutching you so tight to his chest that you can feel the erratic thrumming of his heart, quick as a rabbit’s to the slow drum of yours. A series of strangled noises leave him as he buries his face into your shoulder, wet, whether from kisses or crying, you don’t know- but you know that you love him, and he’s yours. It’s the only thing on your emptied mind as your face burrows against him, breathing him in. That strange chemical smell is long gone now, enveloping you back into the warm embrace of pine and petrichor, the smell of home. Of him. It’s all you can think of, the only thing you can form into words, when you mumble, exhausted, into his chest.

“‘Love you, Case.”

And he must hear it, because his heartbeat slows then, decelerating a steady hum to match your own. His death grip on you loosens, his body going slack as he falls into you. Whatever noise that screams endless in his mind seems to cease, because through it all he hears you, hushing and cooing at him as you pull your fingers softly up his arm, pulling him slowly, slowly, down into bed. You stay still as he sifts frantic hands over you, smoothing you over like he’s trying to keep the shape of you, checking you like he would for bruises. You know this is his way of taking care of you, of fixing you, of making everything right and keeping his precious baby together with all her pieces intact; he kisses you slow but trembling, lips finding every swath of skin he knows he’s bitten, pinched, groped too hard.

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, quiet and worriedly into your hair. He kisses, again and again. “Didn’t mean to be so rough. Didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Look- feel.”

You find his hand in the dark, pulling it around yourself to press it against your chest, your heart beating heavy against his palm. You keep it there, proof of your wellness, showing him you’re unharmed. Where it matters, anyway. You’re so strung out from your orgasm that all you can do, want to do, is just lie there and hold him, body limp and satisfied in spite of it all.

It’s just that, then, quiet, the soft sounds of his breathing slowing in time to yours, a conscious effort to calm himself, to prove to you that he can be, that he isn’t that thing that lingered in the doorway glowering at you- to prove to himself that he isn’t a monster.

He tells you again that he’s sorry, but you just tut your forgiveness and shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And he tries to tell you why, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Just the voice in the back of his head again, the knife kept lodged in his throat all this time. We don’t talk about that. His vision warps, chromatic as he blinks away pictures of the lab, the lights, the Cradle. We can’t talk about that.

Case just sighs then, settling into your arms and cocooning himself around you like he’s not the very thing he’s trying to protect you from. He thinks he tells you he loves you too- that, at least, he knows is his- but he isn’t sure if you hear, fallen asleep before you can utter a response.

He just looks at you, and he’s completely besotted. Utterly and madly. He kisses you sweet and gentle, stamping his one last apology as soft fingers thread through your hair. He’ll fix it, he vows, for you, for you. Then he slides in next to you, curling his arms around your tummy to pull you in close, swearing until he falls asleep to make good on that promise. Then, as sleep slowly takes him, there are no more bumps in the night.

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

here's some benreys for y'all!!! it's meal time little ones!!!! nobody starves today. i provide

also random gordo he's here too i guess-

[athousandbyeol]

st(r)ay.

he dreamed of warm hugs. tender caresses on the crown of his hair. tidying the messy curls of his bangs behind reddening ears. and he would giggle. he would blush. he would have tears in his eyes. all good things. everything wonderful.

he dreamed of a pair of piercing eyes. that gaze was never directed at someone else but him. and he would replay that scenario every night, each scene was an animation against the emptiness of the ceiling—before he could remember how lonely his nights were before he came. because he was alive when those eyes were on him—he felt so seen.

and that infamous cold smile. he saw it through the haze in his vision and the daze in his mind. and he couldn't remember anything else but that smirk, the smugness of it all.

the roughness of his palms against the softness of his own. they flutter like broken butterfly wings. but still so mesmerising. when their fingers intertwined, he saw a splash of colour, in all shades of black and blue and grey and him.

sheng wang dreamed of jiang tian.

he saw jiang tian in the recesses of his imagination. there were tears in his eyes. they fell. and fell. but jiang tian was still quiet—why was he so silent?

and sheng wang tried reaching out. but the distance between them grew the more he crossed the forbidden line. jiang tian was untouchable. elusive. like the nightmare he had as a child. like the memories of his father's fading warmth on his skin, the conversations between them, tiki-taka. and by then, sheng wang realised, everything was in vain.

so he opens his eyes.

he opens his eyes and sees a shadow of light against jiang tian's face. his features gradually soften as the moonshine dances elsewhere, promising the stars to tango. and its darkness again, in all of its glory, bestowing on the sleeping jiang tian. but in sheng wang's vision, he has always been the brightest. nothing could ever compare to jiang tian's blinding shine.

oh.

and sheng wang feels the overwhelming urge to hold him. to embrace him. to be with him. because he has always been curious—those little touches were lethal, and sheng wang's already addicted. there's so much more in jiang tian that sheng wang wishes to desire. can he?

the sense of security washes over him like a growing tide, making his lungs tighten, and sheng wang could never forget how jiang tian made him feel.

and he feels so much. too much.

he could never forget how jiang tian made him be.

jiang tian is now drenched in red.

sheng wang knows this is a warning, a sign—don't. they sound like white noise in his ears, these no's and don'ts and pleas. sheng wang couldn't care less. because temptation has always been so delicious, and sheng wang's always a bit reckless.

so he leans closer. just enough to count the long lashes brushing against jiang tian's cheekbones, lulling him to sleep. just enough to remember the zeal of jiang tian's presence, ever-so-grounding, like an old tree under the pouring rain. just enough to understand that he loves.

he loves jiang tian so. he hopes jiang tian won't go.

his heart, oh, his poor heart. sheng wang believes that jiang tian could hear it. the roar. the growl. but maybe sheng wang wants jiang tian to listen. listen to the voice calling his name ever since—ever since he knew what wanting is—ever since he understood what loving is.

it's cold. so sheng wang pulls the blanket further up, covering both of them, sheltering them from the potent glare of these red lights. and when he breathes jiang tian in, sheng wang surrenders. he shudders.

don't leave me.

sheng wang shatters.

[inklessletter]

Another kind of WIP

[9haharharley1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black, Jack Frost/Kozmotis Pitchiner Characters: Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Kozmotis Pitchiner Additional Tags: Cat/Human Hybrids, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, rating will definitely go up, Catboy!Jack, Pitch is a bit of a creep, but thats just a given when i write him Summary:

How he came to be the owner of one extremely lively catboy was a matter of some debate, but the fact of the matter was that Pitch now had a very active catboy in his custody.

[rottenentity]

broken crown | rdr2

redemption marks him like the scars of a hunted beast, noble yet weathered, as time carves its claim.

contains: introspection, self reflection, guilt, penance and what you would usually except to come out of a shitty fic about arthur morgan.

He moves through the dawn like a deer startled from the underbrush, all sinew and silence, the weight of him pressing into the earth yet leaving no mark behind. The man—if he can still be called that, for there is so little left of him—wears his penance in his shoulders, sloped beneath the burden of a life spent taking more than it ever gave. His breath steams in the frigid air, slow and heavy, curling upward like smoke from an extinguished fire.

His steps are deliberate, unhurried, as though he knows the end of the trail lies not far ahead and there’s no need to rush toward it. Each movement of his body tells a story of injury, of repair that never quite took; there’s a hitch in his gait where something once broke and healed crooked, a shiver in his hands that speaks of wounds too deep to close. The way he tilts his head, listening to the creak of the trees, suggests a man waiting for the crack of a rifle—always listening, always ready.

The air around him feels heavy, laden with the gravity of a storm yet to break. It clings to him, as if the world itself knows what he is and cannot let him go. A predator? No. That would be too simple, too clean. A predator hunts without malice, kills without remorse. He is something messier, a creature whose purpose was undone by its own hand. The blood on his skin has been scrubbed away, but the scent of it lingers, sharp and metallic, a stain that cannot be seen yet never fades.

His face is gaunt now, the hollows beneath his cheekbones deepening with each passing day. A beard cloaks the sharp angles, but it cannot hide the erosion of time, of sickness, of guilt. His eyes, though—those are the eyes of a stag caught in the sights of its pursuer, wide and wet and wild. They glint with something primal, something feral, as if he might bolt at any moment, gallop into the trees and vanish into the wilderness where no man could follow.

Yet he doesn’t. He stays. He faces the world with the quiet dignity of a beast resigned to its fate, a creature that knows the hunt is over but will not bow its head until the blade is upon its neck.

The wind pulls at him, whispering through the tatters of his coat, a garment too worn to keep out the cold but too familiar to cast aside. He wears it like a second skin, a patchwork of his own making, each tear and stitch a testament to the miles he’s traveled and the battles he’s survived. The weight of it drags at his shoulders, yet he doesn’t shed it. Like the antlers of a stag in winter, it is both a crown and a curse.

His hands are calloused, thick and rough like bark stripped from a tree. They are not the hands of a man who should cradle life, yet they do. In the crook of his arm, he carries a rabbit—its body limp and bloodless, its fur damp with the dew of an early morning hunt. He sets it down with reverence, laying it on a bed of moss as if it were an offering. To what god, what spirit, what fleeting notion of salvation, he doesn’t know. Perhaps he offers it to the earth itself, the only thing that has ever held him without judgment.

The mountains loom in the distance, jagged peaks scraping at the clouds like the ribs of some great beast long dead. He stares at them as though they are a mirror, their barren slopes reflecting his own erosion. He has climbed them before, felt their chill bite into his lungs, but now they seem insurmountable, unreachable. The effort it would take to ascend them would be his undoing. He knows this. Yet he yearns for the summit, for the thin air and the silence that comes with it.

There is a sickness in him, an unspoken thing that gnaws at his insides, hollowing him out from within. It is not a predator, but a parasite—a slow death, creeping and insidious, feeding on the marrow of his bones. He feels it in the ache of his joints, in the fire that burns low and steady in his chest, in the way his breath catches and shudders with each exhale. He does not fear it. He welcomes it.

For what is there left to fear? Not death. He has seen it too many times, met it in the eyes of men and beasts alike. He has carried it in his hands, felt its weight, smelled its stink. It is an old companion, one he neither loves nor loathes, only acknowledges.

What he fears is living. Not for himself, but for the weight of what he leaves behind. The ripples his absence will create in the lives of those who have clung to him despite his failings. He is a stag with a broken antler, a creature marked for death yet still standing, still breathing, still fighting to stay upright in a world that would see him fall.

And so he moves forward, step by step, stride by stride, the weight of the world pressing down but never breaking him. He is both beast and man, both hunter and hunted, a creature caught between life and death, forever treading the thin line that separates the two.

There is no salvation for creatures like him, no heaven or hell, only the endless expanse of the wilderness and the quiet hum of his own breath. And that is enough. It has to be.

[localcanadiancreature62]

Lobotomy husbands fic cuz ive been waiting on making this until i drew the rest of the fucked up zodiac member clone group but yeah no i need them now. Also heyy this is technically their first actual interaction since i've been going on and on about them being husbands yet i haven't written them properly interacting except for that one intro thing.

Title - Perfect Day in the Perfect World

Bill watches Ford do some paperwork for his Oregon Institute of Oddology company as he waits for him to finish work so that he can finally spend time together with his genius. The triangle grins happily at Ford with his eye,who then gives him a tired smile in return as he yawns while going back to filling out forms in order to give other businesses permission to use his company's useful gadgetry. Bill keeps supervising his researcher husband while floating at his side as he kept grinning,but then he noticed the man shaking as he held the pen in his hand. Crushing it in his fist as the ink splattered everywhere. The genius keeps looking at the mess he made in a tired daze before realizing what had happened as Bill then floated closer toward him in concern,summoning a cloth to help Ford clean up the mess before he could do anything himself.

"Fordsy,what the heck was that?. Are you okay?,maybe you should take a break." Bill asks as he took a worried glance toward the man who just dismissively waved his hand at his triangular partner in order to assure him that he's fine. "I'm fine,my dear muse. I think that three days of trying to fill out these papers ever since Fiddleford decided that we should take turns is getting to me,i just need some rest and i'll be in tip top shape. I'll be with you in bed in a bit after i get these done." Ford explains as the isosceles still looks at him in concern but he lets it slide as his Fordsy has always been this stubborn.

"Fine. Don't overwork yourself too hard,Sixer. I'll be waiting~." Bill remarks as the flirty comment makes the man chuckle,with him floating away after he had finished wiping off his genius' inky mess. The triangle waits for a few minutes,which later turned into a few hours as he groans while bored out of his mind trying to wait for Ford. 'I wonder what he's doing now. He's taking a long time over there,although fleshbag work has always been lengthy and all. And that weird outburst.. I didn't look into his thoughts this time,but the way he started shaking before he destroyed the pen made it very clear that he was pretty stressed. I'm the reason why he's like this. I think that part of the reason why he's been so stressed lately is because of the aching feeling that there's something wrong with his life,and it's eating him up from the inside.' Bill thought to himself as he realized that the reason why Ford has been recently acting weird and high strung was actually him,he was the problem.

Although he wasn't willing to confront the fact that he had to deal with said problem,as that meant letting go of Ford. The isosceles then sighed as he brushed off that thought and kept waiting for his genius in the bedroom so that they could sleep together.

Only for him to hear glass shattering from the man's office as he then quickly floated over to the other room as he then prepared to blast flames at the intruder who entered their condo,but he then realizes that there's no threat after seeing that there was no intruder and just Ford himself staring at a broken vase while disoriented as he then ceased the fire from his hands. "Ford,what happened?." Bill asks as he looked at his genius in concern once more. "Oh uh. I accidentally knocked into a vase while zoning out again. Luckily,none of the glass got onto my hands or face. I'm okay,Bill." Ford replied as he gave his triangle a tired smile,snapping out of his dissociative daze.

"Oh.. He's disassociating again. That's a problem." Bill says as he voices his thoughts outloud,replying more to himself than his genius. "What?. What problem?." Ford questions,confused about what his husband just said. "Uhh nevermind. I'm glad that you're okay. I honestly thought that some dumb idiot tried to break into our house,but it was just your silly goose messing up again." Bill remarks as he then snapped his fingers to fix the vase as it then returned to it's original state on the small table near Ford. Ford then smiled at his dear muse while looking at him with adoring eyes,being glad that the triangle still loves him even in his difficult mental state.

"You know my muse,i'm happy to know that you still care about me even in my.. unstable mental state. I'm sorry to bother you with my mistakes when your All Seeing Greatness should be used for extraordinary things rather than my mortal failings." Ford says while looking at the isosceles in slight guilt,as he deems that a mere mortal like him pales in comparison to the brilliance of his near-god husband as the triangle's eye widens in surprise over the man's comment. "Fordsy,you're never a bother to me. You're my husband and i love you. I'll take care of you and deal with your mistakes for as long as you live." Bill reassures while he gave the man a gentle smile as the genius lets out a light chuckle,not expecting anything else from his husband but sheer adoration as he feels comforted by the triangle's words.

"Good then. Now let's go sleep,hm?. I finished the paperwork as i was heading out to bed earlier." Ford replied as Bill nodded while the triangle grabs his hand and holds it tight as the two walk over to the bedroom,or more like Bill floats and Ford walks alongside him. Bill makes it to the bed as Ford then begins to undo his tie after taking off his labcoat while the triangle watches him as he waited for his researcher husband to lay beside him as the man tiredly smiles at him once more but then before he could fully take off his tie,he feels a sharp pain in his skull as he groans in pain while beginning to dissociate as he clutches his own head while the triangle immediately comes to his aid as he asks him what's wrong only to get no response as he realizes what's happening. "Fordsy?. Fordsy?!. What happened?!." Bill exclaims but then he stops once he gets no response,watching as the man stares at the ground in an unfocused daze as he realizes that the man is dissociating again.

The triangle then resorts to shaking him back to normal since he knew the exact reason why this is happening,the constant memory erasure that he kept subjecting his poor genius to and so he figured that trying to erase things again would only make the problem worse. 'I shouldn't have resorted to memory erasing to fix every argument or problem we ever had. I just want him to be happy,but i never wanted it to turn out like this. The fixed state of my reality warping powers is getting rejected by his mind,and it's destroying him from the inside.' Bill thought to himself as he tearfully kept trying to shake his husband back into his original state. Then it clicked. As if a switch was flipped,Ford snaps out of his dissociative daze and blinks as he looks at the crying isosceles while a bit disoriented from the dissociative episode.

Ford's expression softens as he took a guilty glance at the triangle as he caressed his face,gently rubbing his finger over Bill's tears. "You're crying.. I did it again,didn't i? I had another episode. I'm sorry,my dear muse. I can't keep worrying you like this." Ford remarks as the triangle then hugs him as he smiled at his triangular husband. "It's okay. I just thought that you wouldn't come back this time,i thought that you broke permanently. This is a problem even my powers can't fix,but that's fine as long as you still get to be with me." Bill explains with a tinge of guilt,knowing that he caused this as he then stopped crying once he felt his genius' warm embrace. "I guess so. I'd be glad to keep being with you even with my broken mind,my dear muse. My triangle. My dearest Cipher~." Ford says as he then pulled away from the embrace as he kissed the isosceles straight on the eye mouth as he blushed,deciding to make up for those upsetting episodes by giving his beloved a tender kiss. Bill kisses back as he then lightly makes out with the genius,dragging him to the bed so that they could make out more comfortably. The two keep going at it for a while as various passionate groans and whimpers fill the room,but then after a while Bill realizes that his husband hasn't slept in three days yet he's putting all of his energy on him. He then pulls away in order to let the man sleep as the genius looks in confusion.

"Oh?. I thought we were going to take it a bit further?~." Ford asks as he slyly looks at the isosceles. "Yeah,but you need your rest. Do i need to remind you that you haven't had any proper sleep in three days,Fordsy?." Bill remarks as the genius looks up at him in slight embarrassment as he realizes that he does need rest and that he ended up letting himself get a bit too carried away with his husband. "Ah,right. I apologize,your intoxicating taste was too tempting~." Ford explains as the triangle then blushed from the comment. "Oh stop it. Now,sleep." Bill demands as the researcher complied and took off his sweater vest as well as his tie,only leaving his red collar shirt as he then laid beside the triangle who put on his own sleepwear in the form of a night cap with a snap of his fingers. Ford then shut his eyes as he embraced the triangle who turned off the light with a finger snap,with him shutting his own eye as well as the two went to sleep. Only Bill didn't fall asleep,he stayed up thinking about how he could make it up to his genius since he outright caused his mind to be shattered with the constant memory erasure. But then he had an idea. 'I feel terrible for basically breaking Fordsy's mind with the memory erasing. I need to make it up to him,even if he doesn't know why i'll be doing it. I need to make him happy,i need to fix this even for a little bit. Aha. I'll plan a day just for him,with all of his favorite things and favorite places. a Perfect Day in the Perfect World.' Bill thought to himself as he then let himself rest,planning to wake up early in order to plan out the day for his beloved.

The following day,Bill wakes up and slowly moves away from his genius' arms as the man continues sleeping while being unaware of his husband's great plan for him. He then goes over to the kitchen and summons all of Ford's favorite breakfast dishes such as jellybean cereal nutella waffles cream and strawberry crepes et cetera. Then he books a science museum a space observatory for stargazing a taxidermy center for extinct cryptid specimens and various other nerdy places for his genius. And a gift in the form of a light show that'll activate with a snap of his fingers,the light show will draw out Ford's favorite constellation "William" onto the sky via his flames. Plus he had Fiddleford deal with the company's duties for now,thus leaving the Oregon Institute of Oddology to the hillbilly and giving Ford a day off. Now that everything is done and all planned out,the triangle then waits for his researcher husband to wake up as he sat there in his chair at the kitchen while looking through the man's Journals to pass the time.

After about three hours of waiting,Ford finally wakes up at 8am as he yawns and stretches while walking down the spiral stairs. Bill grins as his eye shines brightly from being overjoyed to see his beloved as the man tiredly waves at him while smiling as he sits down in his chair. "Good morning,my dear muse.." Ford says groggily as he slumps his head on the table,not yet realizing the copious amounts of breakfast that the triangle has prepared for him. "Good morning,Fordsy!. How did you sleep?." Bill asks in a chipper tone,excited to spend the day with his beloved. "I slept well.. Still a bit tired though.. But i'm happy to see you." Ford replied as he then smiled at the triangle as he then walked over to hug him,kissing him on the forehead as he put him in a tight embrace as Bill blushed.

The man then noticed the several plates of breakfast littering the table,as he realized that they're all his favorite dishes while still hugging his husband. "My muse,you did all of this for me?." Ford questions as he eyed the various dishes on the table. "Yup!. They're all for you. And i have more surprises planned for today,as i want to give you a day off with just us since i noticed how stressed you were yesterday." Bill explains as the researcher's eyes widen in shock as he then lightly chuckles from the triangle's grand gesture. "I'm glad that you're always thinking of me. I'm happy to have you as my partner,Bill." Ford remarks as he smiled while the isosceles smiled back. "Of course. I love you Fordsy and i'll take any opportunity to show it. And me too. Now eat up,we have a big day ahead of us." Bill replied as the genius nods as he then let go of his beloved as he sat back in his chair to eat the glorious feast the triangle has prepared for him while his triangular husband watches him with an adoring eye.

Ford finishes his food after a while and Bill offers to do the dishes for him despite the fact that he could easily snap the plates back to normal,the genius wanted to do it but Bill insisted that he let him do something for him since he compromises so much for him so Ford let him. After that,the married couple have a blast at the Gravity Falls Science Museum and finish enjoying all of the exhibits before noon as Bill happily listened to Ford ramble about each one according to their topics. By the time noon comes around,Bill and Ford have lunch at a fancy restaurant elsewhere in Oregon where the triangle insists that he let the man choose every dish since the day is for him after all and he obliged as they have a wonderful meal while discussing the past stories they had together. They then go stargazing at the Portland Observatory and the couple have fun naming every constellation together while Ford teased Bill every time he got one wrong,they stayed there until they realized it was evening/late afternoon. Then Bill took him to the Salem Taxidermy Center to look at a bunch of extinct cryptid taxidermy specimens,where Ford happily studied and rambled about every exhibit. The two then went to the other nerdy places that Bill booked for them both,spending time together while not caring about how late at night it was. Then before they went home,the two had fun talking at a bar while getting absolutely inebriated although more so Ford than Bill as the man decided to use his de-atomizer gun to vaporize the members of a bar fight there in his drunken stupor. He would've killed literally everyone there if Bill hadn't intervened and by intervened i mean he reversed the vaporizing bar fight with his new ability to control time itself.

Bill then had to take a very drunk Ford back to their condo before the man killed anyone else with his de-atomizer gun,with him carrying the man bridal style while floating back home as the genius incoherently rambled about how much he loved the triangle. "I love you,Bill." Ford remarks as he absentmindedly poked the isosceles' bowtie a few times while still being carried. "Fordsy,this is the billionth time you've said that." Bill says in slight annoyance as he kept floating back to their condo. "I know,but it's true. You deserve to *hic* hear it more than once~." Ford teases as the triangle blushes in response. He then recalls how much fun he had with his beloved muse the whole day,smiling at the thought of his husband doing all of that for him despite the fact that a mere mortal like him is unworthy of such treatment (Ford ur secret insecurities are showing).

"Why did *hic* you do this for me?. The whole day i mean. Besides wanting to spend time with me without any work in the way " Ford asks,genuinely curious about his beloved's reasoning for planning such a fantastic day as the triangle arrives in front of the condo only to stop to respond to his genius. "Well,i wanted to make you happy. Since that.. problem regarding your broken mind upset you,and me,both of us really. I wanted to give us both a break from dealing with that." Bill explains as he then put the man down,putting him in a side hug in order to stop him from stumbling. "Oh.. But my muse,you already make me happy just by being here with me." Ford replied,a little saddened by the thought of his dearest feeling obligated to fix things because of that unstable mind of his but he appreciated his efforts regardless. "I know. But i wanted to plan a special day for my special man anyway~." Bill flirts as the man blushed in response.

"Ah. I'm so glad that you notice whenever i'm upset,and that you do everything in your power to make it better. You're a wonderful husband,Bill." Ford says as he smiled at the triangle,who smiled back at him. "I know. Now let's go home and talk a little bit about our fun day before going to bed. And maybe get a little frisky~." Bill teased as the genius blushed even deeper,although this time the redness of his face isn't coming from the alcohol and rather from the arousal he felt from the thought of getting to be pleasured by his muse again after a while of not being able to feel the triangle's hands on him due to his CEO work. "O-Okay. As you wish,my dearest husband." Ford remarks as the triangle then helped him walk back to their house but then Bill remembered that he had another surprise left for his genius so he stopped floating as he then snapped his fingers,the "William" constellation being drawn out in the night sky with his flames as the man looks up in awe. "Ta-da!. It's your favorite,the constellation that looks a lot like a certain charming triangle~. I decided to show it to you since you can't see it normally anymore with the clouds and all." Bill explains as the man then kissed him on the cheek as thanks as he then blushed gold. "Thank you,my dear muse. For all of the wonderful surprises you gave me today,including this one." Ford replied as he then smiled at Bill,who grinned back at him.

"You're welcome,Fordsy. I love you." Bill remarks as the man embraced him. "I love you too. We should go home now. I'm hungry for a steak dinner,and for you~." Ford teases as the triangle blushed even deeper than his genius was as he knew what the man meant by that,then they kept walking back to the condo as Bill summoned a steak dinner while not being able to wait to fuck Ford as he desperately fidgeted in his chair. The man chuckles as he saw how antsy his dear muse was,making sure to eat up fast so that he won't wait for long. He then finished up his steak as Bill snapped his fingers to reverse the plates back to their clean state,then he quickly teleported him and Ford to the bedroom while then removing the man's clothes with a snap of his fingers. The triangle eyed the man hungrily as Ford blushed and panted at the thought of being touched by his beloved again after a while of not experiencing his hands on his member due to work,with Bill chuckling as the genius already wet the bed when he hasn't touched him yet. Bill then put his finger on the man's lips to signal him to quiet down his whimpers,while looking at him slyly as he knew that they're going to he at this for a while.

[revasserium]

anon request: why they call it falling x osamu miya

126. why they call it falling

osamu; 1,078 words; fluff and the most fleeting of suggestive themes; really just a character study on the miya twins + reader as a conduit for character dev

he has always had someone who knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly how he was feeling. because when god made twins (or so osamu thinks), they got really fucking lazy and probably just hit ctrl+v one too many times.

when he meets you for a first time, he wonders if this is what it felt like for a hurricane and a typhoon to finally learn about each other, the only difference between them being where they occur — only an entire ocean and half a world apart.

“i think… i met someone,” he says.

“i think… i’m done with volleyball after high school ends,” he says.

“i think you’re an idiot,” atsumu says.

“do you… think i’m an idiot?” osamu asks, sitting across from you on a summer evening, long after practice has been over, but the stickiness of the day still lingers on his skin. tsumu is still mad at him, but what else is new?

you regard him for a minute, pressing your lips into a soft, thin line as you stare out across the darkening horizon.

“no…” you say finally, looking down at your hands, loose in your lap. osamu looks down at his own hands, loose in his lap, his palms littered with calluses from all the hours of practice. all the hours of dreaming.

“i don’t think you’re an idiot.”

osamu smiles, nodding, “thanks…”

the truth is that it’s been way too long since he’s felt like the shadow of himself, or perhaps of someone else, and it’s been way too long since he’s really known what it felt like to do something with his whole entire soul and feel good about it. and that’s a kind of growing up too — so he learns — that’s a kind of changing.

“we wanted to be the best,” he admits, chuckling to himself, the thought of it now somehow ridiculous in a way that it’s never been to him before. he shakes his head and sighs, shaking our his bangs from his eyes as he casts his gaze up towards the first burgeoning stars.

“you still can — what’s stopping you?” you ask, your grin going lopsided in the way he likes. and when he looks back at you, he sees the world reflected in your eyes.

later that night, when he is making music of your body with his lips skimming a line along the sharp of your exposed collarbones, when his fingers are tugging you apart, when you are pushing back against him, pushing him back into the mattress of his own bed and atsumu is nowhere to be found (probably still sulking somewhere with the rest of the team), you pull back and smile at him — the lopsided smile he loves so much and he can’t help but lean up to kiss it from your lips.

and he feels it in his own body then, the years and years and years of his practice, the years and years and years of his hard work. him and his twin brother — the mirrored half of himself, the light to (perhaps) his shadow. ying and yang and all that slow, smooth jazz.

he grins too and kisses you. he kisses you hard and fast and he makes music of his own body then, too. because his body has long since been an instrument and he was born knowing how to play every single one of its notes.

“stay,” he says, after he’s had his fill of you, because a part of him knows that he’ll be just as hungry later.

“maybe,” you answer, even as you both hear his brother come home.

atsumu comes back to find both of you asleep, the sheets twisted over your very, very naked bodies. and a part of him wants to hate it but another part of him doesn’t. he can’t.

because this is what happens when a hurricane and a typhoon learn about each other for the very first time — they are so, so much the same thing, made different only by their times and places. but they are still just beating hearts and half-caught breaths — they are still just wind and rain and a tunnel between the sea and the never-ending sky.

“what are you gonna do?” atsumu asks, not looking at his twin.

osamu shrugs, “dunno… maybe i’ll make rice balls.”

“hn. you do make good riceballs.”

“i… i think i really like her, y’know.”

atsumu heaves a long, deep breath. he nods.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu grins, “right. of course you do.”

and the truth is that when god made twins, they probably hit ctrl+v one too many times, and they have always known things about each other that no one else will ever know or fully understand. like, the things that make them different, totally and inexplicably.

“he’s gonna be the best in the world,” osamu says, his eyes bright as twin stars as you sit next to him, the pair of you glued to the match on the tv screen. there’s an apron around samu’s waist and rice sticking to his fingers.

you almost laugh.

“he already is,” you say.

it takes three seconds of osamu to turn to you, his grin going lopsided as he watches you watch him.

“i — i think i love you.”

and you really do laugh this time.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu only rolls his eyes, goes back to pressing the musubi between his palms as the commercial break cuts to some curry commercial featuring an incredibly deadpanned kageyama. he packs the rice in tight and hands it to you.

“how’s it taste?”

you take your time savoring the flavor, grinning as you take another huge bite. the smile on osamu’s face spreads and spreads and spreads.

“like the best in the world,” you say, before shoving the whole thing into your mouth just to make osamu laugh.

“you’re… an idiot.”

you swallow hard and reach for a glass of water.

osamu catches your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, letting his lips linger there even as the commercial break ends.

“i know,” you say, nodding as you both turn back to the screen. the rice is warm and fresh and the nori is crispy and just the perfect amount of salty.

“yeah, i know."

[ronihilator]

i need,,, a few,,

[farshootergotme]

New Dick Grayson fic! (only Dick Grayson fic because this is actually my first time writing anything about him)

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[piquanteye]

An Equivalent Exchange, Ch 3

What started as a fun Tomione one-shot a few months ago has now turned into a multi-shot ... with feelings. It's um. It began as smut but now the characters have decided to do their own thing. Not my fault really.

On Ao3.

Here's a lil snippet from Ch 3:

During the last week of term, she realises just how much she’d grown accustomed to seeing his face in class, hearing his smooth voice, and thinking to herself: mine. She'd used to watch him, her expression carefully blank, as their professors praised his flawless arithmancy proofs, or his perfectly brewed potion samples - his lips had curled into that practised smile, bright and warm like the sunlight filtering through the window behind him; it lit up half the room - and from across the tables she'd thought about how she would later kiss those same lips in a dark alcove somewhere on the third floor; she'd loosen his tie, his belt buckle and all his pretenses, and hear his voice, his real voice, low and rough and desperate in her ear. But now obviously those thoughts do not occur to her anymore. Because he is not hers and never was.

To those who are waiting for Limits of Power update, uh um I'm so sorry. It's not abandoned, I've just been fighting the urge to re-write it. And i got side-tracked by learning art stuff. I even have the next chapter sitting in my drafts so the words are there, they just need some (more) time to cook.

[iminyourbookshelf]

Theory time! Codeflippa isn't intentionally evil, but the excutuion of her actions are evil. Like what she is doing is good for one person, but harms another. I have no idea how explain it so have a little writing thing

Juanaflippa stared down at the code monster talking to her dad. It smiled at him with open arms. His voice was pained and desperate as he thought he'd "reunited" with her. A pang of jealously went through her heart. This 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, was impersonating her. It was taking the affection she could no longer have.

She watched as the day went on, the imposter wasn't even like her. It forgot things. It ate meat, she wouldn’t have. It didn't even speak Spanish, like she would've done with her Papa.. where ever he was.

It took everything she wished so dearly she had in the afterlife. Flippa was just grateful she didn't have to hear her dad sing someone else to sleep. He did still tuck it in. He told it he loved it. Flippa had never heard him say "I love you" or "I'm sorry" so much before. Besides her final goodbye.

She watched him go to sleep. In the same house as the code. Surely nobody would notice if she came down there, right? Her dad couldn't see ghosts.

It took all the energy she had to not just cry out at the monster. It tilted it's head at her, binary code flashing in its eyes as if attempting to calculate her simple apperance.

"Why are you here?" She signed quickly. "What do you want from him."

The code replied with an odd smile. It knew something she didn't.

"Y0u w4nt t0 s33 h1m 4g4in?"

She nodded.

"H3'll b3 w1th y0u s00n."

It pointed to her sleep dad, particularly at his hand. Flippa quietly went over. Her eyes widened in surprise.

A small trail of flickering binary covered part of his hand. It was buzzing, and made his hand twitch. Or more likely, glitch.

"Is it hurting him?" She signed nervously to the code.

It nodded, though with no look of malice.

"Will it kill him?"

It paused, taking a moment to write on its sign. The tension in waiting was making her worry. Codes took long to write.

"I w1ll h4v3 @ d4d, 4nd y0urs w1ll jo1n y0u. Y0u w1ll h4v3 a par3nt aga1n."

It was a conflicting statement. No child wants their parent to die, at least she didn't. But, she missed him. She loved her dad and papa more than anything. Her dad wasn't that happy down there either.. she saw how desperate he was when he thought he got her back.

Maybe he'd be happier up here, with her and Tílin. Like they were.

Before Flippa could reply, the code watched her fade slowly as the apparition dissipated. Ju4n4Fl1pp4 smiled. Once the code took over his body, he'd be up there with the other Juanaflippa. Then she could finally have her own family.

[asharaks]

longest sentence

flesh rends beneath his blade, and I raise my drippingwet hand; Zevran laughs, sunbright-somewhere, his blade arcing water, droplets catching the rainbow, and You whisper beneath my skin; Morrigan sneers, and ozone fills the thin air, leaves me breathless and reeling; and I hold out my sword in supplication, in sanctification, and catch her lightning.

stats: 55 words, 9 commas, 3 semicolons :3

tagged by @vampireposter and @ikarons mwahhhh<3 tagging @bladesmitten @fllagellant @baronmpontmercy !!

[jafndaegur]

laugh away the sadness in the summertime

Rating: Teen

Ship: Lan Xichen x Jiang Cheng

Song: Woven Fates by Holostars Tempus

Word Count: 5.1K

Gift for tuples on AO3 for the @mdzs-mixtape

Summary:

“Perhaps, though I can't say I'm any less angry than I usually am. Just better at not unleashing it wantonly.” Jiang Cheng kicked an offensive clump of grass. “I've learned though, on matters that were purposefully kept from my knowledge that I can't blame myself for not knowing, y’know?”

Lan Xichen regarded him quietly without answering. Could it really be that simple?

“At least that's what I think. But perhaps I'm not making much sense.” Jiang Cheng winced.

“Not at all,” Lan Xichen smiled gently. “If anything, you’ve given me something to ponder. Something that makes my previous involvements less…bleak.”

Jiang Cheng smiled. “I’m happy I could help, Zewu-jun.”

Lan Xichen found himself taken aback. Jiang Cheng's smile wasn't something sardonic or sneering like he'd seen in the past. But once again, it was a hint at a youth he'd seen long ago. It was hesitant and boyish, a refreshing sight after so many memories of fox-curled lips plastered to the sparks against snow.

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