#I’m skittering across the floor on all fours

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

heartslabyul washroom

Yes, I am making a whole separate post for this—

WAHHHHHHH 😭 WhAt THE hECKIE, IT’S SO CUTE????????!??!?????????!!!!!???????

It seems the washroom was modeled after the scene where Alice meets the talking flowers. The curved ceiling being patterned like the sky, the floor resembling grass, and all the floral and foliage decorations really give the sense of being outdoors!! I especially love how the flowers are incorporated; they act as lamps (you can see that their centers are giving off light) as well as mirrors. The leafy wall in the back seems to be washing machines or dryers?? The whole washroom has such calming, relaxing vibes, and I bet it smells nice too :0

The jars underneath are also so interesting—they of course resemble the Drink Me bottles from Alice in Wonderland, but it seems they’re serving as sinks here. The mouth of the bottle is actually solid and forms a bowl, and it seems like water might flow from the silver leaves between the bowl and the mirror. I’m guessing that the bottles drain into whatever sewer system NRC has from there. Or maybe the liquids inside the jar-sinks is hand soap…? (But I like to headcanon thar the petals of some flowers are soap strips… You just rub your hands on them to get some.)

I want this washroom… Move over, Heartslabyul 😭 I’m about to camp out there every day and make your washroom my new home…

Edit: I don’t know why this post blew up, but I find it very funny that we’re scrutinizing and evaluating the washroom so hard 😂 Imagine the Heartslabyul boys staring at us as we examine the room all over to understand how tf this stuff functions…

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ a hazy shade of winter | angus tully *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Angus is literally so mean, but he's like that in the movie anyways.

summary: Carol's parents send her to spend the winter break with her uncle at Barton Academy, and a certain curly-haired boy takes an immediate (dis)liking to her.

word count: 2790

a/n: I watched the Holdovers like 2 nights ago and I’m obsessed with it now so here’s this! Maybe a second chapter coming?

Misery. Absolute fucking misery. That’s all Angus could see for the foreseeable future. Just an ocean of black, sticky misery, stretching out to the horizon in every direction. As he settled his bony rear on the hard edge of the ping-pong table and listened to Hunham gleefully dole out their sentences, he thought he would vomit any moment, or drop dead. He kind of hoped he would. He scoured his eyes over the pitiful creatures he’d be bunking with this winter break; two little boys: a religious fanatic and a foreign exchage student, the school’s star quaterback, and fucking Kountze. Five little Christmas orphans. Angus would blame karma, if he believed in that hippy-dippy shit. The most unbelievably unfair part of all this was that he wouldn’t even be able to jack off in peace since all five of them would be bunking in rooms one and two of the infirmary, with Hunham in room four. God knows why they couldn’t use room three, but Hunham seemed determined to avoid any questions pertaining to that.

Just when he thought his holiday couldn’t get any worse, the girl arrived. She skittered in like a mouse, out of breath, red-faced and shaking like a handbag dog. Six little Christmas orphans.

“Ah, you’re here.” Hunham extended his hand welcomingly, and gestured to her to step forward.

She crept over, giving the ping-pong table and couch full of boys a wide berth, then nervously shook Hunham’s hand and scuttled away to sit on the floor and tuck her knees up under the frumpy men’s jumper that swallowed her whole, like a turtle retreating into a shell. She waved at the five of them, cherry lips curling into a tight smile.

“Is that a girl?” Kountze said, loudly.

“Indeed, it is. Students, this is Miss Carol Hunham, my niece. She will be joining us at Barton for the winter break.”

“Teddy Kountze.” The little freak said, practically falling over himself to shake her hand. He looked ridiculous crouching there beside her like he was about to accost a rabbit at a petting zoo. If brown-nosing was a sport, he’d be a world classer. “Wonderful to meet you. If you need a tour guide, come to me. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

She nodded in thanks, regarding him with huge puppydog eyes. Angus thought she must be dumb or tongueless. Five-foot-nothing, wearing unfashionably tapered plaid pants and Chelsea boots that were all the rage a decade ago, huge turtle-shell glasses that made her brown eyes bulge out of her head like a salmon… the only cool thing about her was her dirty blonde shag haircut, but even that came across as trying too hard. With that, and those round cheeks and fat mushroom of a nose, Angus was almost unsurprised to hear she was related to Wall-Eye. Almost.

“You’ll be taking her nowhere without a chaperone, Mr Kountze. Now, gentlemen, and lady, off you go to the infirmary building.” Hunham’s one good eye roved over the room, then settled on Angus. “Mr Tully.” He addressed him in his weasley way, voice dripping with schadenfreude. "Be a gentleman and help Miss Hunham take her bags to room three."

Now it made sense why they'd been forced to leave it empty. The little fuck had a whole room to herself.

"I'm not a gentleman." He responded, insolently as possible.

"Then play the part."

"Fine." The ping-pong table screeched backwards as he stood up, grabbed his case and stormed over to the girl who leaped to her feet, eyeing him warily as he marched her out of the room and collected one of her ridiculously heavy suitcases and set off outside with the puppy in tow.

"Um." She began, her voice a pathetic whimper. "I'm Carol Hunham."

"I heard."

"And you?"

"Angus Tully. Are you deaf or something?"

"He d-didn't say your first name." Angus grunted in response. "So, you're- you're holding over?"

"What?" The question was so insipid it made him stop in his tracks and gawk at her. "Of course I'm holding over! Are you stupid?"

"Sorry." She whispered, averting her eyes. Angus felt a rush of regret as her lip trembled, but he swallowed it and marched on.

The air was biting cold, and Angus wished he had two jackets on- or better yet, a hot-blooded model on each arm- but unfortunately he was stuck between this girl making goo-goo eyes at Kountze and her machiavellian gargoyle of an uncle. As the rest of them caught up, his simmering rage suddenly bubbled over and he broke the silence in a voice thick with hatred.

“This is the most bullshit ever! If we have to stay, why’d we have to draw Wall-eye?”

“Uh, y’know he used to be a student, right?” Quaterback drawled.

“Yeah, that’s why he knows how to inflict maximum pain on us, the sadistic fuck.”

“Yeah.” Quaterback agreed with a giggly laugh. “I mean, no offence Hunham, but your uncle sucks.”

“I don’t know him.” The girl had retreated to the fringe of the group, and when she spoke up her voice didn’t command much attention.

“At least we didn’t draw Decker, he’d be perving all over us.” Kountze sidled up alongside her and let his arm brush against her. “And we wouldn’t have Carol here with us.”

Angus rolled his eyes, but felt vindicated when he noticed her pull away from him, almost fearfully.

“Hey, guys, hold up for a second.” Angus leaned up against the pickup at the side of the road and lit up a cigarette, eager to relieve all this tension.

“No, I got something else.” Kountze pulled out a stinking doobie and gestured for his lighter. “Gimme that.”

“Hey, don’t smoke that out here.” He chided. “I don’t wanna get busted by Wall-eye.”

“Don’t be such a pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy.” Angus felt his blood pressure rise. “I just don’t want to get up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”

Kountze didn’t bother responding, just blew out a fat drag and smiled in satisfaction.

“Teddy Kountze.” He said, offering the joint to Quaterback and trying to sling an arm around Carol but she sidestepped him to Angus’s amusement.

“Jason Smith.” Quaterback responded with a sickeningly charismatic smile.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Fucking bootlicker. “You wanna hit this?”

He cast a glance up the road, but Wall-eye was nowhere to be seen. “Uh, yeah.” 

He took a puff and offered it to Carol.

“No, thanks.” She held up her mittened hand. “I-I hear pot can give you the heebie-jeebies.”

“The heebie-jeebies.” Jason repeated, grinning. “Cute.”

She was sort of cute- Angus begrudgingly admitted now that he’d seen her up close- in that pitiful way that those fucked up little pug-dogs are cute. He wondered if she had asthma. Besides, it’s not like he cared. At least, if somebody like her could be cute, maybe he was too, with his hawkish nose, narrow eyes, five o’clock shadow, gangly limbs, scraggly hair… No, that’s ridiculous. Unless… He wondered if she thought he was.

“It’s mellow stuff, babe.” Kountze assured her.

She blushed and shook her head, then turned her massive obsidian orbs to Angus.

“C-can I…?”

He sighed heavily, arranging his face into a scowl before he handed over the cigarette. She took a dainty puff, then handed it back. He took a drag himself, savouring the knowledge that his lips were touching the same place that a girl’s had just rested.

“More?” He offered it back.

“No, thanks. I don’t really… y’know.”

“‘Course you don’t.” He scoffed and stuffed it back in his mouth. “Such a pristine girl, I bet you never did anything wrong in your life.”

Flushing, she averted her eyes.

“So, how’d you get stuck holding over?” Kountze queried, his demeanor forced casual.

“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack,” Jason said cheerfully. “But my dad put his foot down, said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”

“So why don’t you just cut your hair?” Angus snorted, feeling a fresh rush of anger. How could you throw away a perfectly good winter break just because you’re sentimentally attached to your godamn freak flag?

“Civil disobedience, man.” He grinned.

“I dig it.” Carol spoke up suddenly. “Conformity is a dangerous thing.”

“See, she gets it.” Jason put his arm around her shoulder.

“You like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young?” Her blonde lashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. Angus could have puked all over the sidewalk, and Kounze looked like he might actually do it.

“Man, I love ‘em!”

“Almost Cut My Hair?”

“My anthem.” He nodded solemnly. “That album was my whole life last summer.”

“Neat.”

Angus noticed her head tilt to rest on his shoulder as he offered her the joint. This time she took it, allowing herself a long drag. He gritted his teeth and fought off the urge to deck that filthy hippy then and there.

“Anyway,” Jason waved his hand, as if clearing the conversational slate. “My dad’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was kinda hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”

Jason’s hand made its way into Carol’s hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. Angus’s fist closed involuntarily while Kountze’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, lip slightly curled in frustration.

“What about you, Mr Moto?” He said, locking onto his target. “Why are you here?”

“Uh, no. My name is Ye-Joon.” The boy explained innocently. “Uh, my family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Kountze laughed and looked around for approval, to which he found none.

“Uh, wh-what’s a rickshaw?” Ye-Joon seemed genuinely baffled.

“You’re an asshole, Kountze.” Angus said darkly. “Your mind’s a cesspool, and a shallow one at that.”

“Who’s the asshole, Tully?” He sneered back. “You’re the one who blew up history.”

“Hey.” Jason held out his hand gently, then turned to the other kid. “What’s your story, man?”

“Alex Ollerman.” He responded, his voice stronger than the other boy’s. All that faith in a higher power, I guess. “I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?” The kid nodded proudly.

“Don’t you guys wear some kind of, like, magic underwear?” Kountze gawped.

“That’s a common misconception.” Alex began. It seemed he had all his bases covered, and he turned to address the Korean kid too, as if he might convince someone to join. “Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when we-”

“Hey, what’s up with the townies?” Kountze interrupted, already distracted by something shiny. Angus was mildly relieved he wouldn’t be hearing any more panty-talk- he’d had quite enough for one day, what with his bathing suit and all- but, his relief quickly turned to annoyance when he noticed the two men coming down the road, hauling a Christmas tree between them.

“Hey!” He hollered. “What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us.” One of them responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna put it back in the lot.” The other explained. “We do it every year.”

Angus turned back to the group and shook his head darkly.

“This is the most bullshit ever.”

______________________________

Angus didn’t think he’d ever be so happy to be in the infirmary, but when they stepped into the heated building, he might have sighed in relief if he wasn't in such a black mood. His arms absolutely caned from carrying that stupid suitcase, and Kountze had been smack talking the whole way up the hill. He thought the only thing worse than bunking with the two kids would be sleeping in with Kountze while he tries to tickle Jason’s balls. He’d much prefer to cosy up in the girl’s room, irritating as her face may be. He abandoned his luggage outside room two and hauled Carol’s down the hallway while she pattered along at his heels.

"Why do you need two cases, anyway?" He sneered, stealing the comfort of silence. "You can't have that much shit to carry."

"It's-" She paused and cleared her throat. "Well... well, why should I tell you, huh? You're- you're-"

"What? An asshole? A jerk? A philistine, as your mole uncle says? Y’know, I'm pretty sure there's a faculty rule against targeted insults towards pupils."

"You're mean." She admitted in a small voice. "And I don't know why."

"Yeah, well get used to it sweetheart. Just wait till Kountze gets over your gyno-gimmick and starts treating you like he does everyone else, you'll be begging for 'mean.' And by the way, you’re just antagonising him by hanging all over Jason all the time.”

“What’s Jason got to do with it?” She snapped, raising her voice for the first time.

“Aw, I hit a nerve, huh?” He delighted in watching her face turn scarlet.

"Y-y'know, when you stood up for Ye-Joon earlier, I thought you might actually be cool. I'm disappointed."

She said nothing else, just ducked her head and ran ahead to open the door for him. Baffled, he barged past her and dumped the suitcase on the nearest bed.

“Thanks.” She whispered.

"Why are you even here, anyway?" He rounded on her, suddenly tired of the way she let him walk all over her. "I mean, other than to ruin the ambience with that hideous sweater-"

That did it. She let out a choking sob and made for the door.

"Hey, hey wait!" He flailed out his long limbs and caught her around the arm, but she wrenched herself from his grip and made off down the hall, away from Hunham and the other boys to Angus' relief. "Carol, wait I didn't mean it."

She didn’t respond, just sped off and careened around the corner. Angus caught up just in time to see the door of the broom closet swing shut. He clucked his tongue and sat down on the hard floor outside, feeling a wave of disgust as he listened to quiet weeping. Gently, he rapped the door with his knuckles.

“Carol?”

“Go away.”

“Carol, I’m sorry.”

“Go away!”

He paused for a moment, and considered his options.

“Your sweater isn’t actually ugly, by the way. I was just ribbing you, y’know? Horseplay?”

“No.” She said firmly, voice muffled through the wood. “No, I know ribbing and that wasn’t it. Y-you were being cruel, and you wanted to see me cry, I know it.”

“What? No!”

“You enjoy it, don’t you? You’re so miserable, the only fun left for you is making everyone else feel as wretched as you.”

He swallowed thickly, feeling a lump of shame coating his Adam’s apple. He took another long moment to collect himself. He resented how easily she read him, but if he wanted to keep her from finking, he’d have to choose his words carefully, and eat a large portion of his pride.

“It’s true.” His stomach roiled in revulsion as he grovelled to her. “I’m sore about holding over, and I wanted to take it out on someone, and you looked like easy pickings. I’m brash, I’m rude, I hate everyone including myself, and I make it everyone else’s problem.”

She paused her sniffling, as if sizing him up.

“Well.” She said thickly. “Thank you for admitting it. That was very… self reflective.”

“I go to a shrink, I kind of have to be self reflective.”

“Ah.” She sniffled. “You can leave me alone now.”

“I would,” Oddly, it felt good to tell somebody… Good enough that he was able to go back to being sly. “But this closet doesn’t open from the inside. Every time we get a new janitor they get locked in here. Happens like twice a year.” She said nothing, but Angus heard her breathing pick up in pace. “I mean, I can always leave you in here.”

“No!” She said urgently. “Let me out, please.”

“I will, if you promise not to fink.”

“I-I won’t fink. If you leave me be, I won’t fink. Pinky promise.”

“Alright. I’ll stay as far away from you as humanly possible.” He clambered to his feet and opened the door for her. She was already standing, and as soon as she saw the light, she tried to scoot out beside him, but he moved his arm to stop her. “Pinky promise, remember?”

Begrudgingly, she curled her finger around his, then slipped out past him and returned to her room. Angus watched her go, and something broke inside his chest as the door closed behind her.

[wreckedandpolemic]

forgive me? - matty healy

prompt: lovers' quarrel

(mdni) and we continue ahead with valentine75!! ok pls do not look too closely at the argument here i suck so hard at angst i cant even half ass it as a setup for porn lol

warnings: oral (f receiving), hand stuff, idk there isn't huge amounts to this

The silence in your flat is deafening, stretching between you and Matty like a chasm, your anger welling so deeply at the bottom that you want to drown him in it.

“I’m sorry?” he ventures, and you whip around to face him. The sheepish grin he wears is, admittedly, distractingly adorable; usually, it’s enough to melt you at least a little, but this time you can barely see it through your blinding anger.

You scoff. “You’re sorry, huh? Oh, well, I guess that makes it totally fucking fine, then!” You kick off your shoes with more force than necessary, sending your expensive heels skittering across the floor. “Tonight was important to me, do you even realise that? Are you so up your own arse that you think everyone wants to be on the Matty show twenty-four seven, or do you just not care?” A sense of sick satisfaction spreads as he processes your words, expression crumbling for a split-second and reforming into a sharp sort of anger that warns that Matty isn’t going to make this easy for you.

Which suits you just fine. You’ve never been one for an easy win. Never been much for losing, either. You fold your arms as Matty rounds on you. “I’m up my own arse? That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from you, treatin’ me like a fuckin’ toddler all night!” He’s gesticulating wildly, accent thickening through his frustration, and it takes a tremendous amount of your self-control not to laugh. “Matty, don’t touch that. Matty, don’t talk to him. Matty, come back here.” He puts on an affectation of your voice and accent that’s equal parts insulting and hilarious, and you’re lucky he doesn’t pick up on your quiet snort of laughter. “You actually said come back here! Like I’m a damn dog!”

“Dog would’ve been better behaved, probably,” you mutter. “Wouldn’t have got belligerently drunk and accosted the press, either.” Matty steps closer, breathing hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips tantalisingly. Your traitorous eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and pink and wet and tempting, and it’s a mission to haul your mind back on track.

“I didn’t fucking ‘accost’ anyone. I told them to get the fucking cameras out of my face, ‘cos I wasn’t gonna give them a fuckin’ story at your fuckin’ event.” Matty defends, and, okay, the sentiment is there, but he had just made everything endlessly worse.

Groaning, you bury your head in your hands. “I told you. I fucking asked you, one time, just nod your head, smile, say you’re proud of me. Was that so fucking hard for you?” You hadn’t meant to admit that part. That it stung not to have his approval.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Matty snaps. “Of course I’m fucking proud of you. You’re a fucking star. Just wish you weren’t so embarrassed of me,” he adds, and whatever part of your anger that had crumbled at first sharpens in your chest again at his attempt to guilt-trip you.

He’s not being fair — of course you’re not embarrassed by him, but his behaviour fucking embarrassed you! “You told a fucking crowd of journalists that Jamie, who I have been on a fucking months-long press tour with, and I quote, ‘acts like a massive wanker.’ And he fucking heard you!”

Matty shrugs. “Well, he does. Don’t like the way he talks to you. Could’ve called him a rude cunt, too. Would’ve been even more true.” he mutters sullenly, scowling at the ground.

“God, Matty, you are so— mmph!” You’re cut off by him surging forward, crushing your lips together in a bruising kiss. You pull his lower lip into your mouth and bite down on it, iron spilling over your tongue as the skin tears beneath your teeth. After a long, indulgent moment, you force yourself to shove him away, gasping. “You never fucking listen! You can’t just kiss me ‘cause you don’t wanna hear it,” you snap, pushing down the heat that wells instinctively between your legs.

He’s flushed, breathing hard, unfairly gorgeous like this. “You look so pretty when you’re mad, baby,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear, the gentle touch making you shudder. He’s a master at this; resolving your arguments with doe-eyed pouts and wet, needy kisses.

Your resolve is crumbling. “Matty, don’t,” you warn feebly, lust spinning dizzily in your mind and swelling until your rational thoughts are dissolved. Matty grins, predatory — he has you pinned, and he knows it.

”My pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My little star. Forgive me?” His eyes are wide, faux-innocence shining down at you as your last thread of self-control breaks. It isn’t lost on you that he hasn’t actually apologised, but as his lips press against yours and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, you can’t remember why you care.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to the sofa. Your stomach swoops as he pushes you down, desire thrumming in your veins. Every last thought falls out of your head as it knocks against the armrest, your back arching up towards him. “C’monn,” you whine, reaching out to him where he stands above you, his gaze hot as it roams eagerly across your skin.

Matty climbs over you, adjusting your legs so he can kneel between them, goosebumps breaking out where he slides a hand up your thigh, agonisingly close to where you need it. “Lift your hips for me, love,” he instructs, sliding your dress up your body until a puddle of satin pools around your waist, cool and slick against your heated skin. His warm fingers crook around your panties and he drags them down your legs, exposing your dripping cunt. A soft moan escapes you as he rubs a slow circle into your clit, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “So much better than fighting, hm?” he teases, and a flash of annoyance cuts through the lust as you remember exactly how you got into this position.

”Don’t push it,” you hiss, raking a hand through his curls and tugging harshly. He whimpers deliciously against your skin, a pulse of heat spiking deep in your bones. “I’m still mad at you,” you warn, searching your rapidly-blurring mind for your long-foregone anger.

“So take it out on me,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your cunt, your body tingling under his gaze.

”What?” Your mind is already hazy, the sight of his head low between your thighs infinitely distracting, the promise of his tongue unfathomably tempting.

“I’m going to put my mouth on your sweet little pussy, and I’m going to listen to everything you have to say until you come. Call me names, if you want. Tell me everything I’ve ever done in my life that’s fucked you off, and I won’t say a word.” It’s such a Matty way of resolving an argument that you can’t find a response. “You get to yell at me and you get to get off. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” Matty’s smirk splashes you with a bucket of cold water, latent frustration blooming under your skin — a sudden need to slap the smugness off his face overtakes you.

You beckon him, waiting until his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, a gentle breath brushing against your mouth. He relaxes, expecting a kiss, expecting to be off the hook, and you crack a hand hard across his cheek with a grin. “God, that felt good,” you say as he recoils, rolling your eyes theatrically at his punched-out moan. “Such a fucking slut. Put your mouth to better use before I change my mind.” He shouldn’t make it so easy for you to take back the upper hand.

It’s almost comical how quickly his tongue is buried inside you, a thick pulse of heat sent kicking in your cunt. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you swallow a moan as you bury a hand in his curls. “Wish I could fuck your pretty mouth. Shut you up proper for once.” Matty moans into your cunt, the sound deliciously gratifying as it vibrates through you. “That’s your problem, you know,” you continue, the effort of keeping your voice level monumental against the waves of pleasure rising inside you. “You never fucking shut up. You’re— mmh, so fucking arrogant. You act like— ah!” His teeth scrape over your clit and you cry out, grinding your hips against his face as heat throbs sharply under your skin.

”Go on,” he says, grinning up at you with wet, slick lips. He hisses as you yank his curls harshly, dragging his mouth back to your cunt. He licks at you like a starving man, heat pooling in your belly, your limbs trembling and toes curling.

”You act like the fucking world revolves around you,” you continue, struggling to drag the words to the forefront of your soupy mind. “You’re so fucking— God, Matty, fuck!” you whimper, the rest of your sentence lost in the mind-numbing pleasure swirling through you. Matty isn’t playing fair, licking and sucking and kissing at you sweetly, your world blurring around him.

He pulls away and quirks an eyebrow at you, like he’s waiting for your surrender. As fucking if. You take a moment to catch your breath, fingers digging into the edge of the sofa to anchor yourself before he dips his head again, licking a broad stripe along your cunt that makes you whine pathetically at him. “You’re ridiculously pretentious,” you bite out, gasping as his tongue fucks into you in an obscene, glorious rhythm. Ecstasy coils in your limbs, your body heavy at the edge of oblivion. “Disrespectful. And you just. Don’t. Fucking. Listen.” You punctuate your last words rocking your hips against his face, your cunt fluttering around his tongue.

Matty presses wet kisses to your thighs, sweet and teasing as you whine. “Are you done?”

“Repeat it back to me,” you order as he licks his lips, framed prettily by the V of your legs. “So I know you were listening.”

“I’m irresponsible.” He kisses your inner thigh. “Arrogant. Inappropriate at the worst times.” He licks at your clit and you buck your hips against his face, fighting to hold at bay the flood of heat waiting to overwhelm you. “The people you work with think I’m white trash.”

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging hard enough that you feel him hiss in pain against your skin. “Don’t be a smartarse.”

You can sense that he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it at the last second. “I’m pretentious. Disrespectful,” he continues. “And I just.” He laps at your clit. “Don’t.” Heat floods your body as Matty slides two fingers into your sopping cunt and crooks them at an angle that has molten pleasure spilling over you. “Listen.” He sucks gently on your swollen clit, the pleasure enough to pull you over the edge, ecstasy coiling deliciously around your insides. You whimper, grinding down against his face as you come, your cunt fluttering around Matty’s tongue.

You sigh contentedly. “Good boy,” you murmur, savouring his shudder. “So good when your mouth’s full of my cunt. Like you so much better when you’re not talking.”

Matty looks up, eyes wide and face soaked with you. “Forgive me?” he asks, wearing the same sheepish grin that had failed to sway you before.

You sigh dramatically, the seeds of an idea taking shape in your mind. “Come here,” you say, a fond smile tugging at your lips. It’s a struggle to keep it from turning cruel as he takes the bait. “Silly boy.” Eagerly, Matty climbs over you, cupping your jaw and pressing his lips to yours, gently at first, turning hungry as you swallow down the taste of yourself. He moans into your mouth, grinding his clothed cock against your sensitive core. “Needy, are you?” you tease, a faint edge of danger lacing your tone. “Want me to get you off?” Glassy-eyed, he nods down at you, sweet and pleading. “Use your words.”

He swallows thickly, blinking hard. “Want you to make me cum,” Matty murmurs, casting his eyes down like he’s ashamed. You raise an eyebrow when his gaze lands back on your face, and he adds a reluctant, “Please.”

Sliding out from under him, you lead him into your bedroom, laughing derisively as he strips out of his jeans and boxers before the door even shuts. “God, you’re pathetic,” you scoff, smirking as his eager expression falters slightly with the realisation you haven’t let him off the hook.

“Mhmm,” Matty agrees, switching tack and plying you with sweet doe eyes.

“Get on the bed,” you order, kneeling in his lap when he obeys. His hands wander to the hem of your dress, brushing over your thighs as he starts to lift it, and you swat him away. “Think you deserve to fuck me after the way you acted today?” You glare down at him, pulling at his hair to tip his head up towards you. After a long moment, his internal war clear on his face, Matty shakes his head mutely. “No. But you’re being good now, so…”

Matty inhales sharply when you wrap your hand around his cock, flushed and sticky with want. You pump him slowly, spreading precum over him, and he trembles with the effort of holding himself still, sweetly pliant under your hand. “Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly.

You lean down to press your lips against his, swallowing his needy, suppressed moans. “It’s okay, baby. Being so good. Can fuck my hand if you need to.” You’re being cruel, now, knowing how you’re going to leave him, but it’s sickly thrilling having him in your power like this.

Murmured thanks fall from his lips between sweet little whines, his hips bucking into your fist as his cock leaks over your skin. Languidly, you press your tongue into his mouth, trading long, sloppy kisses broken up by Matty’s pleasured moans.

Taking Matty apart under your skilled hands is easy, now; you’re practised in everything he likes. You dig your thumb into his slit, twist your wrist just so, swallow every sweet noise he makes. His body tenses, his groans deepening, turning rhythmic, signalling his orgasm. You let him chase his release up until the very last second, pulling away and smirking meanly down at him.

Confusion clouds across Matty’s face as he looks up at you, reeling from his ruined orgasm as if you’ve slapped him. You let him catch his breath before you take him in your hand again, working over him, pulling him to the edge again. “Do you have anything to say, baby?”

Matty’s mouth falls open, the struggle to pull any meaning from your words plain on his face. “Please?” he tries, face falling when you shake your head, a moan escaping him as you flick your thumb over his slit. “Thank you,” he mumbles thickly. “I love you.”

You cock your head, appraising him. “That’s nice. But not quite. Try to think a little bit harder, yeah? I know that’s tough when I’ve got you all stupid for me, but try,” you croon, tone sympathetic and deriding all at once.

Matty’s face scrunches in concentration. “‘M sorry!” he chokes out, whining when you press a kiss to the head of his cock.

“That’s it,” you breathe, kissing him softly in reward. “Good boy.” Arousal coils in your belly at the sight of him, breaking into a thoughtless mess under your hands. You stroke over his cock a few times more, watching his stomach tense and relax as his orgasm builds. Then you stop, letting him whine desperately into your mouth.

He hasn’t wised to your game, still hopeful through his lust-hazy gaze. “You embarrassed me today,” you chide. “Why?” You dip your head, lapping over the tip of his cock, letting him thrust into your mouth, a spit trail connecting your skin for a brief moment. You kiss the salt of him back into his mouth, devouring his desperate moans as you stroke him. “I asked you a question,” you murmur against his lips.

There’s an answer forming on his tongue, you can see, watching him struggle to swallow it down. You pull away, lifting your hand to lap the taste of him off your fingers, giving an exaggerated moan. Matty whimpers, desperate, hips rocking against nothing as you batter against his defences. A burst of pleasure licks up your spine when you drag your fingers through your still-soaked cunt. Matty’s answering moan as you wrap your wet fingers around his cock is nothing short of pathetic, low and thick with lust. Clicking your tongue disapprovingly, you repeat your question, the ensuing silence thick with the unsaid. You know the answer, but it’s no fun not to pry it out of him. “I was jealous, okay!” he gasps out. 

He won’t meet your eyes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Aw, I know,” you croon sympathetically. Your touches turn tender, coaxing. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t need to be jealous. Don’t want anyone but you. I’m yours, yeah?” you promise, lifting his head to deliver your words into his shadowed eyes.

“Mine,” he echoes faintly, rolling his hips up into your hand and whining. Your thighs clench at his possessive tone; you love being his, being the only one who gets to have him like this. “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum, fuck!” The last syllable crumbles into a sob as you pull away, ruining him for the final time. “‘M sorry, ‘M sorry, please let me cum,” he whimpers, so sweetly pathetic that you almost want to let him cum.

Almost. Matty’s chest heaves, struggling for breath and sanity as you climb off him, smoothing your dress down nonchalantly. Pouting down at him, you click your tongue condescendingly. “Poor baby. You don’t get to cum tonight, okay? How are you gonna learn a lesson if I give you what you want now?”

He gasps, chokes, twitching as he fights to stay still. “Please?” he murmurs, so quiet that you aren’t sure whether he’s addressing it to you or subconsciously voicing his need.

Either way, you shake your head at him with a shrug. “Get control of yourself and we can watch a movie, yeah?”

Matty gives a shuddering nod as you turn to leave, squaring your shoulders so you don’t look back at him.

After a few minutes, Matty slopes into the living room, dressed but still looking fucked-out, hair wild and eyes downcast. You rest your head in his lap when he comes to sit beside you, smiling blithely and uncaringly up at him.

“Are you still mad?” he ventures, petting your hair tentatively.

“Depends,” you answer, feeling his body tense at your words “Are you gonna pull that shit again?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation, shuddering at the thought of what you just put him through

“Then no,” you grin, and Matty relaxes under you. “But you still don’t get to cum,” you can’t resist adding.

He pouts down at you, but his eyes are shining with mischief, any lingering tension fully faded now. “Can I make you come again, then?”

Sitting up, you climb into his lap and kiss him for a long, luxurious moment, heat swelling between you as his tongue slides against yours. “Say please.”

[yiplee]

Yes! Please write the Kyle and Stan vs Tweek and Craig fight when you have time! Talk about an epic battle! And seeing Tweek and Craig being tickled to death at the same time would be so cute!

Yes omg

Them rn:

Stan&Kyle vs. Tweek&Craig leeets get it 😍✨

Sorry I’m not getting to the other requests I’m just having writers block with them but this I wanna do. Keep the reqs coming!

———————————————————————

Stan, Kyle, Tweek and Craig were all hanging out at Kyle’s house. They were sat on the couch in front of the TV, arguing over what to watch.

Stan and Kyle wanted to watch Terrance and Phillip, while Craig insisted they watched Red Racer. Tweek thought the idea of choosing a side was too much pressure, so he stuck with Craig’s choice as they were usually a pair with things.

“It’s my house, Craig! I should get to choose what to watch!” Kyle argued, pointing an accusatory finger at his monotone friend.

“You invited us over to watch ‘the greatest show of all time’, I didn’t think you meant the dumbest!” Craig retorted.

“Dude, we all like Terrance and Phillip! You’re the only one who likes Red Racer!” Kyle argued back, getting a scoff and eyeroll from Craig.

“Guys, guys, I think there’s only one way to settle this.” Stan interrupted, cocking an eyebrow at the two other boys across the couch.

Tweek jumped in his seat. “AGH! What do you mean?! Are you gonna fight?! GAAH! That’s too much pressure!!” He cried, pulling on his hair.

“No, no! Not like that!” Stan shook his head, cracking his knuckles and sharing a glance with Kyle, who understood instantly and nodded back to him.

Craig blinked in realization. He quickly turned and whispered into Tweek’s ear, and winced as Tweek yelled back into Craig’s ear.

“AHH! That’s WAY too much pressure!!” Tweek shook his head violently. Craig put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“Well? Are we doing this?” Kyle asked, slipping his green gloves off. All four boys looked at eachother, nodding.

“First side to give up loses?” Craig guessed, getting a nod of approval from Stan. And with that, they charged toward eachother like the dramatic kids they are.

Kyle lunged at Craig, digging his fingers into his ribs and getting no reaction from the blank-faced individual.

Meanwhile, below the couch, Stan was trying to hold Tweek still, who was thrashing wilder than an angry piglet.

Back on the couch, Craig grabbed hold of Kyle’s arms and swiftly turned the tables on him. He scribbled his fingers into Kyle’s sides, getting a loud squeal from the boy.

“FUHUHUHUCK! CRAHAHAIG WAHAHAIT!!” Kyle squealed, as Craig began mercilessly scribbling his fingers up and down his sides.

“Oh shit! Kyle!” Stan let go of Tweek, climbing up to the couch to help Kyle. He left Tweek just laying on the ground, panting.

Stan grabbed Craig’s arms from behind and began pulling him away from Kyle, who was thrashing and squealing below him.

Craig proved too strong at first, but when Stan dug into Craig’s armpits, his arms shot back from Kyle to his sides.

“Oh?” Stan raised an eyebrow with a smirk, quickly holding Craig’s arms still. “You go handle Tweek, Kyle. I’ve got this one.” Stan nodded to Kyle, who was already on it.

As Craig was resisting Stan’s fingers, the loud shriek of Tweek was heard as Kyle’s fingers attacked him.

“GAAAHA!! CRAHAHAHAIG HEHEHELP MEHEHE!!” He cried, Thrashing wildly under Kyle’s arms.

“I’m kind of busy, Twee-EEHEEK!” Craig cracked, squirming urgently away from Stan as he scribbled his fingers into his armpits.

“Well? Still wanna watch Red Racer?” Stan called, as he spidered his hands down Craig’s sides, earning a stream of low giggles.

“Yehehes!” Craig said stubbornly. He knew he could outlast Stan, but it was Tweek he was worried about.

Down on the floor, Tweek was shrieking and thrashing as Kyle skittered his fingers along his ribs. “GAAH! STOHOHOP IT! AAAH!!” He screamed, grabbing Kyle’s wrist and biting down on it like an animal.

“AH!” Kyle retracted his hand, rubbing his wrist in pain. “What the hell, dude?!”

Tweek took this opportunity to dash away, climbing onto the couch and trying to separate Craig and Stan.

Kyle climbed up on the couch, him and Stan nodding to eachother. Tweek and Craig were now cornered next to eachother, as Stan and Kyle suddenly skittered all of their fingers across both of them.

“GAAAHAHAHA!! WAHAHAIT!!” Tweek cried out, pulling on his hair and thrashing back and forth. Craig turned away, biting his lip as he fought against the sensations, but they ultimately proved to be too much.

“Okahahahay!! Okay we give uhuhup! We’ll watch your dumb shohohohow!!” Craig conceded.

“GAH! YEAHAHAH! WE GIHIHIVE UHUHUP!!” Tweek shrieked, agreeing with Craig on the movement.

Stan and Kyle moved away from the other two, sharing some smug grins. “Soo, Terrance and Phillip it is then?” Stan said, picking up the remote.

“…Fuck you.” Craig sighed, catching his breath as he sat next to Tweek, who was practically buzzing from the action, as Stan put Terrance and Phillip on.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Tattletale nodded, “Faultline’s crew does anything short of murder.  You can say her personality sucks, you can say her powers suck, but I’ll admit she’s very good at finding hidden strengths in the people that work for her.  See those two guys?  When it came to powers, they got a bad roll of the dice.  Became freaks that couldn’t hope to pass in normal society, wound up homeless or living in the sewers.  There’s a story behind it, but they became a team, she made them effective, and they’ve only messed up one or two jobs so far.”

5.1 is a pretty textbook exposition chapter, get a round-up of all the other baddies we haven't met yet, get the shape of the villain scene for Brockton Bay - these are the guys that Skitter and Friends are going to be taking on, over time, one by one, or just about.

So as a chapter, it is a bit dry, but it's dry with purpose, and it's good to have a bit of a slower bit, and it's not so dry it feels too lecture-y.

Plus, the earlier bit where Coil walks in (is that a body double? I feel like I read that was a body double somewhere? Like, he has his two-timelines ability and all, but even if he's just staying home doing paperwork in one timeline, if he decides to collapse the paperwork timeline... that paperwork needs to get done again. That's actually got to be annoying as fuck, doing the paperwork twice.

And this is the man who wanted to have like three or four jobs by the end? Coil, PRT director, secret ruler of the city and he's a CEO of something, right? Man, Thomas Calvert things both big and incredibly small. If he wasn't, like Kaisar, so monofocused on one city he could still have a great deal of money and influence across more than that.

Of course, that may be while Cauldron was cool with him having a vial, knowing he'd just focus on one city. Does Cauldron manipulate things to tend to make more villains focused on one locale rather than trying to operate over a broader space?

Another group arrived, and it was like you could see a wave of distaste wash over the faces in the room.  I had seen references on the web and news articles about these guys, but they weren’t the sort you took pictures of.  Skidmark, Moist, Squealer.  Two guys and a girl, the lot of them proving that capes weren’t necessarily attractive, successful or immune to the influences of substance abuse.  Hardcore addicts and dealers who happened to have superpowers. Skidmark wore a mask that covered the top half of his face.  The lower half was dark skinned, with badly chapped lips and teeth that looked more like shelled pistachio nuts than anything else.  He stepped up to the table and reached for a chair.  Before he could move it, though, Kaiser kicked the chair out of reach, sending it toppling onto its side, sliding across the floor. “The fuck?” Skidmark snarled. “You can sit in a booth,” Kaiser spoke.  Even though his voice was completely calm, like he was talking to a stranger about the weather, it felt threatening. “This is because I’m black, hunh?  That’s what you’re all about, yeah?” Still calm, Kaiser replied, “You can sit in a booth because you and your team are pathetic, deranged losers that aren’t worth talking to.  The people at this table?  I don’t like them, but I’ll listen to them.  That isn’t the case with you.”

Ah yes, the most pathetic villains canon ever gave us. Though wtf is this Moist guy? He's never been mentioned anywhere in fic or on reddit. I know about Mush and Trainwreck being Merchants, but who is this guy?

Though is this Skidmark being more presentable than usual, or does his usual reputation for being super filthy and whatnot just standard flanderization? Is it based on much more than this?

Also, really, Skidmark. Really? That the best name he could come up with?

[clumsiestgiantess]

Part 6 of the poll story; choice D D)“I don’t mind you staying, but I do mind you harming the neighbor’s cat,” you tell him.  “We can go out tomorrow and find you another form to take.”

“Tomorrow?” Ralyr thinks for a moment, “Alright, I suppose one more day like this won’t kill me.  It hasn’t since I’ve taken this form,” he adds with a chuckle.  Stepping around you, he clambers up an electrical cord towards an an outlet in the wall.  “Wait!” you call confusedly.  The little being turns to you with the cover popped halfway off the wall.  “Yes?”  “What are you doing?  Why are you opening a hole in my wall?”  Ralyr blinks, slowly lifting his hands off the cover.  “I.. I’m going to find a comfortable place to stay the night.  Unless-  Would you rather I go make a burrow in someone else’s walls to keep out of yours?”

Baffled, you slide over beside him, gently reaching around him to shut the cover back against the wall.  “Ralyr, you don’t have to go make camp hiding between walls!  I told you you’re welcome to stay here.  I can get you a bed to sleep in.  It won’t be so hard for me; all you would need is a blanket and a pillow, being so small.”

The gears are turning in his little head.  Ralyr slides down the cord until his feet hit the top of your fist that holds it, landing expertly on the uneven surface.  Your heart skitters at the feeling of his little padded feet against your hand.  His eyes never leave yours, but the fur along his bottom half bristles as you touch.  “A.. bed?  Like a human bed with feathers and fabrics?”  You nod.  “You’re not joking?”  You shake your head.  “Wow, I.. don’t know what to say!  I haven’t slept in a bonafide human bed in…  I don’t think ever.  I’ve wanted to, though.”  A small smile grows on your face, “Well, now’s your chance.”  Gently, you open your hand and he adjusts, stepping onto your palm.  You’re about to lift him up, but he slips smoothly over the edge of your hand and slides down the electrical cord, gracefully coming to a halt at the floor.  “I don’t like to be manhandled,” he tells you simply.

Later that night, there’s a little bedroom made up across the floor in a newly-emptied corner of your room.  You’d offered to make him a place on a shelf or tabletop, but he’d declined.  Ralyr didn’t feel comfortable sleeping somewhere so high up.  “If I had wings it’d be a different story, but I don’t.  I know a girl who does, though.”  You had to step away for a moment just to process how casually he’d said that.  The both of you say your goodnights, Ralyr thanks you one last time, and both of you drift to sleep.  

You’re up before Ralyr the following morning.  On your way to the shower, you pass by his corner of the room.  The little being is curled up in the center of one of your pillows you’d given him, clutching a blanket to himself with only his head and the tip of his tiny tail sticking out of the side.  You have to admit, if only to yourself, that he looks rather cute sleeping cuddled up like that.  

As you get ready for the day ahead, you brainstorm some ideas as to where you can go with your little guest to get him a new form.  Four places come to mind.  There are two parks nearby, one a little further out of the way than the other.  There’s a national park that spans deep into a large forest about thirty minutes away which you have a pass to, but there’s also a neighborhood park down the road.  Even further away, there are two buildings that collaborate with eachother — a farm and a nature center.  However, you only have enough money to get into one of those places, which are on opposite sides of the road.

Will you go to: A) The large protected park

B) The neighborhood park

C) The farm

D) The nature reserve

[jotunkhiicha]

One ending away from getting 8/8 and 8 achievements away from 100% completion on steam! Needless to say, I’ve fallen in love with this game.

So more writing for it!

“𝐽𝑢𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒’𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.”

How had everything good in life fallen with her? How had the darkness weaved its way through every interaction, every single movement and every single light fixture? Why was it so painful to be seen to exist and be something more than the absence of her presence?

How had it come to this? Stuck in a prison beneath the heavens and left to collect weights, personifications of his guilt as it feels like a thousand hands are pushing him down, a thousand angels using their palms to pray for hell to swallow and take him away for what he has done.

Each weight claws at him, drags him closer to that damnation with each step, each thundering step across the metal floor. The sound comforts him, in a strange way, it reminds him he is still real inside this impossibility. It grants him something to focus on, aside from the monsters that skitter across the ceiling, their legs like little pinpricks of terror that inject their venom into his ears as he speeds up to a light jog, but not before stopping to check on her.

When he stops, he hears the scuttling come back and he draws his rifle, searching the darkness and, in a swift movement, he shoots down a creature that comes cascading down from the unfathomable heights of this place, only to crumble in on itself like when a spider is stepped upon—all legs, not much else.

“Sorry,” He mumbles out with a sigh, lowering the rifle as he turns to look at her, “You doing okay? Need anything?”

She shakes her head and smiles slightly at the warmth his questions give, that was a gift in of itself. “Just… want to get out of here. Are you okay though? You’ve been running backwards and forwards.” She tilts her head and steps closer, a warning wail from the darkness echoes as she does so.

He grimaces at her comment. “I’m fine, Yariv, just looking for a way out.”

She frowns. “You’ve called me that before. That’s not… my name. It’s Eliona,” She furrows her brows in thought, “How do you know that name?” Her inquiry is as probing as the shining moonlight upon his sins as he lay in bed—alone—wondering what had become of him.

His gaze dithers, his attention unfocused as the last weight is heaviest in his hand, dragging him deeper, deeper until all he can possibility reconcile with is how he dies; after all, choosing how he dies is the last freedom afforded to a prisoner.

“James?” She calls hesitantly.

Her voice is akin to the light that moths pine for and he’s drawn to it as such, but she feels like a burning flame, too hot to touch and too risky to be near. She threatened the very structure of his thoughts and the smell is strong like gasoline, a roaring fuel to the fire in his veins. It frightens him, this burning finality that she is, the very thing that Prometheus was scorned for, but he could understand why, he could make sense of it in his mind. He could piece together the fragments of his psyche to put something concrete—something tangible beneath his fingertips like the fragile silken delight of expensive sheets.

He steps back from her, realising he’d come to close.

“James? Are you okay?” Eliona looks concerned for him as he rolls back into his steps, tentative but assured in his decision.

“I’ll… come back.” He trails off, his mind racing a mile a minute, much like his heart, and his eyes still do not meet her as he turns back.

He breaks off from temptation, off from the war between man and heart, from beast and jailer and from heaven and earth, and he moves towards those two metallic doors that clang each time he passes their threshold.

This time, however, is different.

There’s a light of the promise of sunrise on the cusp of the four walls in the yard, like a dusting of hope sprinkling over his bristling despair. Would the light of dawn, the promise of a new day, bring with it Mary? His beloved sent from the heavens and come to rouse the evil from within the depths of his depravity so that he might come with her to those gates that he prayed for.

Would she wait for him? Would she call to him?

As the doors clang, a curtain call as the gallows come into view, his name is sung from angels far and wide, but the angel rests in a cell he left it within.

Eliona.

“James!” Her voice breaks with fervent panic and he runs back, he regrets every choice he made that landed her in the position where he is in this yard with the nooses begging him to give their construction a purpose, and she is in there, with the antithesis of his very self pulling rusted metal bars apart with practised ease.

The glow of the red light, the broken lights atop those ornate doors, bathe its mask in the colour of blood and, as James stands here, unable to do a single thing about it, he fears that its form will drink her blood—bathe in her ichor to feel something real.

James throws all of his weight into doors that do not budge, begging them to move so he can do something, so he can die trying to save something that has meaning in this hapless circumstance that has befallen him.

“Eliona!” He calls as he shoves the doors, powerless and left to watch this horror, tuned just for his bewailing, through those impossibly small prison windows as a white hand, gloved and stained in black soot from the blood of all the creatures it slaughtered along the way, snatches her from where she has scurried to.

“No—get off of me!” She screams vehemently, her cry like a thousand needles come to rend the life from his worthless corpse, “James! Help me! James!” She reaches out to him as she is dragged back by the scruff of her collar, like pathetic trash, to bring his palm into hers, interlace their fingers so that she might be pulled free from death’s claw.

In her eyes, he sees terror as the tears slip from her eyes and her screams, though far, bounce back to his ears like a thunderous percussion. Her presence fades, its presence fades, but her gut-wrenching fear plays clear in his mind like a rewound tape with a notch, constantly replaying in his mind to remind him of his weakness and his inability to reconcile with himself.

She called out to him to save her, and what did he do? Nothing.

He did nothing.

Left with nothing but the rain above and the heavy consequence of his actions, his mouth falls agape at the absence of her presence, of her gaze from afar, and he’s infuriated by his own self for leaving her to rot there—to decay amongst the ruins of life as a white flower should.

Perhaps the gallows are precisely where he should be, for he had become nothing more than a criminal, set to die for his actions and allowing those near him to come to harm.

First, it was Maria, in that impossibly long hallway that stretched on for all eternity and, no matter how many times he plays it over in his mind and upon the back of his eyelids, the result is the same. He can still feel her blood upon his cheeks and the clumps of her flesh and bone stuck in his blond hair.

And, now it was Yariv—Eliona—the woman he had met in the fog and come to know as a restless soul in this prison beneath the sky. She hadn’t recalled their conversation in the thick of the fog as she danced amongst the creatures, deftly weaving between them to lead him to a prize amongst the rubble of civilisation. She had only remembered flickers of their interactions when she would bleed through the surface and those eyes, green like luscious foliage that he missed the supple feeling beneath his fingertips, and the time in Heaven’s Night where it turned up again.

What kind of man is he? is he a man at all?

Is he Charon, ferrying people down into hell in exchange for his own life rather than golden coins?

What has he become?

This town has changed him, changed Mary—it has changed everything. Nothing is the same anymore.

And, as his feet carry him to a noose, marked by the Roman numeral 6, he wonders if she stands at the lever, watching to see how he will struggle as he dies.

He pulls down, yanks it with a fervour so that he can meet rapture.

These hands that create,

The hands that take.

[crankycreates]

Untitled fic, a.k.a

"I AM NOT WRITING THIS GODDAMN COFFEESHOP AU" ~Cranky, 23-04-14

AO3 link

Pagan Min x gn!Reader 845 words Coffeeshop AU, barista!Reader, businessman!Pagan, flirting (sort of?), humour (or I tried at least), prologue to a story that may or may not get written...

“Shit!”

You stared at the plate. Or, well, ex-plate. It wasn’t really recognisable as kitchenware after hitting the floor. Pieces had skittered off across the tiles in every direction, like a very sad starburst, made out of shards of probably very expensive china. How the fuck could you be so clumsy? Mindlessly, you dove after the ex-plate, crawling madly around the floor, sweeping your hands over the tiles to gather up the remains before anyone arrived, uttering a string of curses.

“Fuck. Fuck! Shit shit fuck!”

“Such colourful language! Yet somewhat lacking in … vocabulary breadth.”

You whipped around — still on all fours — and were met by the sight of a pair of slightly worn but expensive-looking slippers. Above them, plaid pajama pants. And your eyes travelled up, and up, and past the pajama pants there was an expanse of skin that made your mind white-out for a moment before you took in the face above; its eyes twinkling with what might have been faint amusement. It was very hard to tell from this angle, especially since your mind suddenly snagged on a detail it overlooked before, and your eyes slipped down again — past the chest with its patch of dark hair and down the trail from his navel to the—

“Enjoying yourself down there, hm?”

You squeaked something. There were meant to be words in there but exactly what, you had no idea. You tried again: “I’m sorry— Uh— I broke this plate— I’ll pay for it, of course!”

Which was an utterly ridiculous thing to say to a billionaire. But you were feeling utterly ridiculous at the moment, so.

Pagan, mercifully, twitched his dressing gown closed, and settled back against the kitchen island behind him. Less mercifully, he said, “What if I told you that plate was worth a fortune?”

You stared up at him. Some part of you was a little bit grateful: now that you were blanching at the idea of owing Pagan Min money, you no longer had to worry about him noticing you blushing after having checked out the bulge in his pajamas. From the floor. On your knees.

Fuck.

Okay, alright, okay — backing up for a moment. How the ever-loving fuck had you ended up here?

You’d woken up early, alone in a guest room in Pagan Min’s house. Mansion. Estate? Whatever these things were called, this side of the pond. You’d been cranky and hungry and maybe a bit sad, and absolutely appalled at the notion of approaching the man about breakfast. Or, even worse, using the room phone to call ‘the help’. (’The help’ had been his word for it. He had servants. Fucking servants! In 2014! Jesus.) Like this was some sort of hotel.

So, you’d gotten out of bed and thrown on yesterday’s clothes and shuffled off in search of the kitchen. Or a kitchen, anyway. For all you knew there were more than one. And when you found one, you’d gone looking for a snack, and somehow—

Okay, but none of that explained how you ended up spending the night in Pagan’s guest room in the first place.

“Relax,” Pagan said, lips curving into an amused smirk. “I’m only teasing.”

“Yeah,” you said vacantly. You were still busy reviewing all the questionable life choices that had landed you in this mess.

He cocked his head. “You’re awfully high strung, aren’t you?”

“What?”

Wow. Seriously, smooth. Not like you had any particular hope to impress him or anything — that ship had long sailed, by this point. You felt rather like a stray he’d taken in for the night. Here’s how it happened: Pagan had found you crying outside the Golden Path Café. You were his favourite barista, so of course he would offer you a place to stay after you had been so callously evicted by—

Except that didn’t explain how you came to work at the Golden Path, or why he — the owner of King’s Coffee, the most popular chain of coffee shops in the United Kingdom — frequented the establishment of his competitors/sworn enemies.

“Come on, get up, kid. Can’t have you crawling around on the floor like this. Breakfast and Omelette might get jealous!”

He was smiling now — a nice, friendly smile — and offering you his hand. A perfectly gentlemanly gesture. A host attempting to put their guest at ease with an innocent joke and helping them off the goddamn floor. The way you stared, it might as well have been a tentacle he was holding out to you.

You said, “Uhh,” and took the proffered limb.

So anyway. This would in fact only be the first time Pagan Min rescued you from homelessness, and mortifying as the whole ordeal was, the next would be worse. Perhaps it could all have been avoided if you had come better prepared — if your mother had actually told you anything useful before she died.

Because in truth, for you, it all started with loss. With grief and ashes. With a promise to your dying mother: to bring her back to the UK, and to Lakshmana.

Read it on AO3

[thejostenator]

Golden Boy Orange: Chapter Five

Holy shit, I can't believe it's been so long since the last chapter of this bad boy!

For those of you who don’t know, this is my project to tell AFTG from Matt’s perspective, and this chapter is almost entirely fully original scenes (fun fun fun)! If you haven’t read the first four chapters (or if you need a refresh since it's been aeons since my last update) you can read them on Tumblr, or on Ao3.

Tagging those I know were interested last time (@youhaveahomeinmyheart, @pipebomb-malewife, @accal1a, @sickbunsbro, @tntwme, @shayebutterrrr & @stay-because-now-you-have-a-home) but if you want to be added (or removed) to (or from) the tag list, just let me know!

Wednesday, June 12th:

Wednesdays, Matt decided, were the worst days of the week.

He was aware this was a somewhat controversial train of thought (see: the existence of Mondays), but at least on Mondays Andrew was there to keep Seth at bay. On Wednesdays, Andrew left practice early to grace their therapist, Bee, with his loveable presence, and as soon as he was gone, metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan.

Kevin watched the door swing closed as the Monster left, and waited a beat to let it settle.

"Right," he said bluntly. "Renee, we'll switch you out for Andrew. Matt, if you could move-"

Seth cracked his knuckles loudly, stretching his palms out in front of him, and let out an overlarge yawn, cutting Kevin off mid-instruction.

Kevin raised a single eyebrow. "You have an issue?"

"Yeah, and his name's Kevin fucking Day," Seth answered. "Fuck you think you're playing at, cripple?"

Kevin stepped closer to Seth, atmosphere electric. "Excuse me?"

"You're not the captain, stop trying to tell us what to fucking do."

"I'm from the Ravens. Who, may I remind you, we are going to face in-"

"Fuck. Right. Off." Seth spat.

"Guys," Dan thundered. "Drop it. Both of you."

"If you want to do nothing and get absolutely destroyed," Kevin said through gritted teeth, "go ahead. Be my guest. Its not like the team will make it past the first elimination with him in it anyway."

Seth swung, hitting Kevin with a punch that sent his head jerking to one side while he was still looking at Dan. Low blow. Not undeserved, but still low.

Kevin whipped around, dodging Seth's next punch, and thrust his racquet in the direction of his ribs. All the ways that the situation could go violently, dangerously wrong flashed before Matt’s eyes, and he burst forwards, grabbing Kevin’s racquet from his hands and flinging it away.

It skittered across the floor, scraping the sleek surface, and Kevin seemed to blink back into focus.

“Don’t touch my racquet,” he snapped.

“If you cared about it that much,” Matt shot back, flexing his fingers, “you wouldn’t be using it as a weapon.”

“You hear that, Day?” Seth jeered. “Fucking good-for-nothing cripple.”

Matt moved on instinct alone, putting himself right between Kevin and Seth, grappling them both apart with his bare hands.

“Woah,” he grunted, pushing them both back, then echoing Dan's words, “drop it, both of you!”

Glowering, the two of them backed off in opposite directions.

“Shit, man,” Matt sighed, rubbing at his arms—there was no way he was getting out of that skirmish free of bruises, “I shouldn’t have to offer myself up as a meat shield to get you two to just stop fucking fighting!”

“Now, are you two going to hug and make up?” Dan asked coolly.

“Don’t patronize me,” Kevin scoffed, at the same time as Seth spat out: “I’m not a fucking child, Wilds.”

“Then don’t act like one.” Dan snapped her fingers. “Back to practice.”

Matt stayed rooted in place as the sounds of practice resuming trickled in around him—he got the unnerving feeling that someone was staring at him. When he turned around, it was to find himself in the midst of Neil’s dark gaze. Their new striker watched him, and Matt couldn’t help but shiver at whatever he saw in his eyes.

Saturday, June 16th:

The first thought Matt had was that he didn’t remember setting an alarm. Groaning, he rolled over and fumbled for his violently buzzing phone. Rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand, he squinted at the glowing screen. It was hard to believe it was actually his phone he was holding and not the sun, considering the light streaming from it. 

The time read 9:48AM, and he was getting a call from an unknown number.

If only to yell at whoever was calling him for having the gall to do it so early, Matt answered.

“Who’s this?” Matt murmured. It came out pretty much unintelligible. “Why’re you calling so early?”

“Matt, it’s Neil,” came a tinny voice, hoarse and drawn, barely more than a whisper. Like he’d lost his voice screaming, or just been winded. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I’m up,” Matt said, fighting back a yawn as he sat up in bed. “Where’ve you been? I didn’t hear you come back last night.”

“I’m in Columbia with Andrew.”

“You’re—” Matt was awake in an instant. “What?”

He burst up from bed, letting the sheets fly in every which direction, and scrambled for the door to his room. He couldn’t help the images flashing through his mind, flickers of memories from when Andrew took him to Columbia. Flashing neon lights, bass so loud the floor beneath him pulsed, and pain. So, so much pain.

“Jesus, Neil, what the hell did you do that for? Did he—” He couldn’t even stomach asking the question. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” came Neil’s simple reply. Something in his tone didn’t ring true.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Matt ground out, and he meant it. He really did.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Dan asked, groggily rubbing her eyes from where she had passed out on Matt’s couch. “What’s happening? Is it Neil?”

“He’s in Columbia,” Matt answered, angling the phone away from his ear.

Dan rocketed up from the couch, half-staggering, and leant against the back for support. “Jesus Christ.”

The doubt was worming its way back into Matt’s mind. Neil really hadn’t sounded truthful when he said he was fine. 

“Seriously,” he pressed, speaking into the phone again, “are you okay?”

"I’m fine,” Neil repeated, exasperated this time, “but I need a favour.”

Matt nodded, even though he knew Neil couldn’t see him.

“I think Andrew’s going to come looking for something of mine today,” Neil continued. “If I’m not there, can you keep him out of our room? I’ll owe you one.”

Matt could barely believe his own ears. “You won’t owe me anything,” he replied slowly. “Didn’t I tell you I’m good for it?”

“Thank you,” came Neil’s tinny reply. There seemed to be genuine relief in his voice.

Matt decided in that instant that he wouldn’t just fight the Monsters for Neil. He would do anything.

Matt spent most of the day before the Monster’s return just sitting on the single, dirt-green bench in the campus car park, just waiting for Neil to come back. Renee came out with a hot chocolate at one point, and then she stuck around to give him some company.

“You know that, whatever they did, it was something they needed to do?” Renee asked softly.

Matt’s grip tightened on the metal ridge of the bench. He refused to look at her. “Neil posed no threat to them,” he gritted out.

From the corner of his eye, Renee shrugged serenely. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do,” Matt spat out, eyes staring dead ahead. Neil’s gaze earlier flashed through his mind, but he dismissed the thought. Neil was innocent as a man could be, dark gaze or no.

Renee paused, opening her mouth to say something, then seemingly thinking better of it. She went back inside without another word.

Matt didn’t turn around to watch as she left. If there was one thing Renee was good at, it was reading the room. She didn’t pick sides. It was her thing. But she also knew that, one way or another, she’d have to now.

When the Monsters arrived, Neil wasn’t with them.

“Come on, my dear Matthew, Mattathias, Mattholomew,” Andrew said slowly, head tilted to one side, manic grin lighting up his face. “We’ve known each other for so long.”

“Then you should know by now I’m not going to let you in,” Matt said coldly, arms crossed over his chest just to stop him from reaching out and choking Andrew on the spot. There was no way in hell he was letting him through the door.

“This is cruelty,” Andrew responded, hand splayed out over his chest. He leaned forwards conspiratorially, voice lowering. “If I were you, I’d spare everyone all the fuss and just let me in. Neil asked me to collect something for him, and I am only too happy to oblige.”

“Since you’re apparently so close now,” Matt hissed, “maybe you can tell me where he is.”

Andrew dismissed the question with an airy wave of his hand. “Out and about.”

Matt snorted. “Get your ass out of here, Minyard.”

Andrew twitched. “It sure would be a shame if all the shots I deflect in practice tomorrow just happen to rocket towards your ankles, wouldn’t it? You might break something.”

“Like you could be bothered to raise an arm in practice,” Dan snorted from behind Matt.

“With the right motivation,” Andrew replied slyly. “And Matt is being very motivating right now? O Captain, my Captain, perhaps you could—”

“If I’d have known this was all it took to motivate you, I would have done it long ago,” Dan replied. “You’re not getting any sympathy from me, monster.”

“Oh, you wound me,” Andrew said. “But it's your loss, really, it is.”

“Andrew,” came Renee’s sweet voice as she appeared behind him. “Hello.”

Matt whipped his head up to face her, and they just stared at each other for a beat, standing on opposite sides of Andrew. Matt glared, and Renee stared back at him coolly.

Something indescribable flashed in her eyes.

“Renee,” Andrew grinned. “You remembered my name. I’m honoured. Now, if you would be so kind as to get these two to just let me in, for I am but a weary traveller who—”

“Actually,” she said gently, “I think it would be best if you went back to your own dorm.”

Everyone froze. Renee had chosen her side.

“Oh,” Andrew said. It was as if the smile had been struck clean from his face. “Oh, this is different.”

“It is different, Andrew,” Renee said. “Thank you for understanding.”

Andrew looked her up and down like he was seeing her in a new light. Matt couldn’t help but feel like he was doing the same.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Andrew said.

“I hope so,” came Renee’s serene reply, and she watched calmly as Andrew turned and left.

Matt was left lost for words

[shady-scripter]

Whumptober Day3

(Solitary Confinement)

Did…did you guys expect levels of silly? Well damn, you were kinds very wrong. However, I still remain silly

Anyway, if Someone has read The Sunbearer Trials, PLEASE TALK TO ME AND/OR RECOMMEND ME FANFICTION BECAUSE OW-

Crazy? He was crazy once. He was locked in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats. Rats made him crazy. Crazy-

He didn’t know how many days it’d been. Four? Seventeen? Fifty? All he knew was that these guys were going to pay and pay hard.

He hadn’t eaten in so long, he was actually tempted to eat the slob they set down for him. He stayed in his corner wondering if this was what all of them got. Is Nico okay? Is Hazel okay? Frank? Leo? Piper? Annabeth…?

He tried to shake those thoughts away, the impending doom looming over him. He could worry about them as soon as he got this chain off and he could escape. He didn’t want to be alone again.

The same vicious saying circled around in his head. It was once an annoying joke at camp, coming from the internet and all, but damn was Percy feeling it right now.

Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats. Rats made him crazy. They skittered across the floors when he was most quiet, poking at the food he refused to eat. He let them, but their constant squeaking was going to make him go insane.

He already heard the voices of his friends. He already saw mirages of his mother’s blue chocolate chip cookies. He missed them…his friends, but mostly those cookies.

The ones he hated the most were the ones with Annabeth as the center. She coaxed him with hope of escape, saying that they’d see each other again. What if they didn’t? What if he never got out of here? Would she hate him?

He knew that she shouldn’t, but what if she did? What if his mother heard about something that he did and didn’t tell her? What could he go back to after this? Would Camp take him?

Percy chuckled at his own thoughts.

Camp? What camp? Camp Half-Blood was gone. He was there when it was attacked. He didn’t want to kill those people, they were only doing there job. He wish that he killed them. He should’ve killed every last one of them. Especially because of what they did to Leo.

The thought hit Percy like a bus. They have Leo too…

And all he could do, is cry. He’s cries for hours upon hours a day. He cries for his friends, his family, himself. He rolled in self pity. Part of him was disgusted by himself, the other part was just tired and didn’t care.

“Percy?” It wasn’t real. He begged himself not to look, but he did anyway. His wise girl…

She was just as he remembered her. Tan skin, blonde hair, gray eyes. By the gods could he get lost in those eyes of hers. “We can do this! Just as we always have. Let’s do this together, yeah?”

He turned his head away, covering his ears. “Not real..” he croaked, his tears only falling faster.

“Percy, how could you say that I’m not real? I thought that you loved me!” Her voice was cracked and broken as if he had put a spear through her chest.

“I-“ he choked on his words. Of course he loved her. Most of the things that he had ever done was for her! “Leave me alone!” He tried to close out all of the surrounding noise, but her voice was still so clear it hurt.

It was all a lie! Nothing was real! He was alone! She wasn’t here, but fuck he wished she was. He wanted to hug her, to feel her, to kiss her…

“Percy!” Another voice screamed. It wasn’t Annabeth’s, it was the voice of a friend long gone.

He let out a choked up sob. “No! Please!” He didn’t want to hear his voice. Sometimes he found himself wishing that he did, but why did it take this to make him hear.

He was scraping at his ears, begging them to rip off. “No, no, no, no, no!” He curled himself in a ball, crying into his knees.

He felt like a kid again, crying to his mom about the things he went through. About fighting monsters three times his size or those times that he almost died or when Annabeth almost died, when Jason did die…

He felt like he was reliving that trauma. From the Minotaur, from Chronos, from Gaia. The things he grinned and beared because he had to be strong or no one else would.

“No, no, no! Please! MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed.

He heard no more voices, only the sound of silence.

[gaydepressedtheatrekid]

What One Drink Starts Chapter 3: No Evidence

Plants with dark leaves swayed from the wind entering the shattered windows. Hundreds of plants staked their claim in the main greenhouse after years of not being cut back. The interconnected buildings had been abandoned by all but one person.

The main greenhouse was several hundred feet long, and a few dozen wide. Dirty windows were shattered with pieces of glass glittering in the rising sun high in the sky, or frames were completely empty. The iron frame that originally held the frame in position was rusted into pieces, leaving the plants curling on the ceiling and roof to hold it together.

An old radio played crackling music as it strained to connect a signal, this deep in the forest. The radio sat on the floor covered in dirt and fallen leaves. Bugs skittered across the floor as nightfall came like a whisper.

Deep in the guts of a smaller greenhouse, two people feared for their lives. They were tied to the ceiling by rope made of bark and hung like pigs ready for slaughter. They struggled against their bonds as ants crawled up and down their bodies.

The sound of metal being sharpened behind them was as ominous as a flickering lightbulb in a basement.

Florence smiled at her guests as she sharpened an arrow. “Good news, I’m letting you two run.” She tightened the straps of her arm guard and kicked the switch to slowly lower the captives to the ground.

Seconds later, they sprawled together on the ground. Their ropes were cut and Florence watched them dash as fast as they could from the sum of everything of the past five days holding them at a disadvantage.

She watched them run out of sight and switched off the lights. She pulled her bow from its holster and took in a deep breath. “Bad news, I’m in the mood to hunt.”

She gripped the bow and loosely nocked an arrow without drawing it back. A sadistic smile creeped onto her face as she started to hunt.

Florence nodded along quickly with the music screaming from the radio moved to be on a rotting shelf as a chainsaw roared in her hands. Dark splotches were splattered across the plants hugging the walls and white shavings were strewn across the floor. 

She set the tool down and took off her sticky apron. After tossing it in the back of her truck, she picked up the limbs (Soymida Febrifuga) she cut and tossed them in the bed of her truck. The jars full of dark liquid siphoned from the limbs before they had been chopped off were set there as well in boxes of two, four, and six. A tarp was thrown over the back of the bed to keep them from flying out. She grabbed the paper stained red from the mess and put the folded up paper in her pocket.

The old sleeper crankily woke up when the key was shoved into the ignition. The engine roared to life as the driver cranked up the music and started to drive away from her home.

Her hands pounded against the wheel as the music sunk into her bones and her lips mouthed the words. This song, the Nightcore version, always got her blood pumping after she finished a job.

No other headlights were on the back road she was on, making her put more pressure on the pedal. She cracked the window and took a deep breath of all the clean air she could get as she went in the direction of the polluted city.

Her hands slowed as the song changed to a slower, but still upbeat one. She made it to the narrow bridge she used to drive over the river. She glanced to over the barrier of the bridge and out at the boats splashing across the water.

Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!

The red and blue lights blinded her in the rearview mirror and the siren howled over the radio. 

Florence rolled the window down all the way and stuck her hand out the window in acknowledgement. After making it off the bridge, she pulled to the side of the road.

She glanced in the side mirror to watch a cop make his way to her truck. She turned the truck off and leaned against the door.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop asked when he made it to the window. His eyes scanned the inside of the truck as he leaned against the top of the door.

“I do not, sir,” Florence responded, looking up at him. Her eyes flicked to his nametag.

‘Officer Bender?’ She thought with a hidden grin.

He nodded at the bed of the truck. “What’s the red stuff leaking out of the back?”

Florence pulled into the drive way of the unassuming house with a smile on her face. She hopped out and cracked her knuckles. Grabbing the paper stuffed in her pocket, she checked the printed address.

She walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. Her hands adjusted the box.

The door opened a few moments later to show a middle-aged man behind the screen. He smiled brightly at the sight of Florence holding the box.

“Hello, Mr. Fairfax. I’ve got your order here.” Florence held up the box. “Would you like me to bring it inside?”

“Yes, please,” he said, opening the door all the way and holding it open. “Again, thank you for this on such short notice. I couldn’t find any other way to get this red gold in the winter.”

Florence walked past him and set the box down gently. She pulled out the paper and smoothed it out on the counter. She grabbed a pen and held it out to the man. “Of course, no problem. I know I could never live with myself if I kept all the goods of my hobby.”

Mr. Fairfield signed the paper and walked past Florence to the fridge. He opened it and scanned it quickly. “Would you like a slice of pie my wife made? She made it with our last order from you.”

“That, Mr. Fairfield—” Florence opened the box and pulled out the jars— “would be wonderful.”

After a bit of time just talking to catch up and eating pie, Florence bade her customer goodbye to deliver the other orders.

“‘Mr. Fairfield, four jars of Red Currant Jelly without the seeds.’”

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

Isolated Scene for Perusing and Consideration

look i only write so fast. consistent uploads are the devils work and his good soldiers are struggling alright

S/n’s wandering fingers single out D/n’s jugular in a second, and pull it free of his neck, caressing the band of flesh, before they begin to pluck on it. Shudders rack D/n’s body, but S/n’s expression never twists out of their soft, patient smile, shushing D/n as whimpers start to slide from the intact portion of his throat, legs swimming against the floor.

“Don’t squirm, pet. If you think this is torture now, you wouldn’t like how it feels when fingers go through this pretty little vein of yours,” they whisper, letting their gaze wander onto X/n and R/n, staring on in unfiltered horror, frozen in place for fear of instigating an unrecoverable outcome.

S/n begins to run fingers up and down the vein, D/n choking out sobs as tears well below his eyes, desperately muting himself as S/n croons into his ear. 

“Very good, pet. You’re learning. Let’s hope your friends do the same, yeah?” X/n and R/n stiffen as S/n gradually stands, pulling D/n upwards with their off hand, steading his shaking legs as they start to circle towards the door. S/n rolls their head to the middle of the room. It is a command, but X/n and R/n hesitate nonetheless. S/n’s gaze tightens, but it is far less notable than the movement of their fingernails, red-streaked enamel rolling a sleeve of rubber taut.

The noise that seeps from D/n’s lungs is thoroughly human, a broken, wet sound that echoes over the creak of floorboards as his companions dive to the center of the room. S/n smiles, cruelty pinned between their teeth, and continues to back towards the hallway, eyeing X/n and R/n’s attempts to follow, but leaving them mostly uninterrupted. Anytime they get particularly bold, S/n merely returns attention to the vein between their fingers, letting a shaking D/n bring half of the room to a shuddering stop.

It judders similarly when S/n reaches the door, shifting D/n’s weight to their non-dominant leg and contorting towards the handle, maintaining balance with a palm still threaded through D/n’s throat. He eyes warily as his partners creep forward, desperation wracking through silent steps, biting further into his tongue as S/n whips back into the room, pressing their face alongside his.

“Well played, everyone! Especially you, pet, we’re all very proud. But I’m afraid we’ve run out of time, and I really must run.” The fingers in D/n’s neck untangle in a single, messy second, an arc of scarlet flicking over his shoulder as S/n throws him forward. X/n and R/n pitch forward to catch him, a warm flowing mass pressing into X/n’s shoulder as S/n disappears around the door. His shirt turns damp as they ease D/n onto their side, blood seeping through fingers as X/n cradles spasming muscles to his chest. R/n is teetering, half-crouched and frozen, eyes flicking between the doorway and D/n’s heaving body, skittering onto X/n’s when they register movement. 

The swaying tightens to shakes, skin nearly vibrating as R/n claws down the instinct to ricochet across the room, biting into their tongue to hold their eyes still as well. X/n finds it within himself to nod, forcing his jaw downwards in an arc that makes to bones creak a little. R/n barely hears it, the slam of the door bouncing away from the wall drowning it out. Their body is clipping walls and railing and doorframes, patchwork bruises decorating their arms as they search, but it doesn’t matter. Limbs ache and spasm and pain is a memory because R/n is a live-wire, and that could carry them to the ends of the universe, gliding -fallingstumblingscreaming- down three and four and five flights of stairs and into the crowds of a bar street on a Friday night. 

A scream roars up a cement stairwell, beating against the freshly laid stairs, echoing up and up and into the top of a sky scraper with its intestines waving at the pressing, humid night.

[monstersandmaw]

Male ‘yautja inspired’ alien x gender neutral reader - Part Eight (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Content: violence, threat, some minor injury to the reader, blood. Wordcount: 4311

Your comments on the last one - tags and reblogs especially - made me cackle with pure delight. Thank you. As an early birthday present from me to you, here’s the next part. I hope you enjoy it! It’s been a while since I’ve written ‘action’ like this, so I hope it works! Can’t wait for you to let me know, as always.

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw)

Don’t scream.

Don’t fucking scream.

Do not be that person. Do not. Fucking. Scream.

With cold sweat prickling down your spine and your heartbeat thudding in your throat, you inched your hand over for the tranquiliser pistol that you had set near your pillow only a few hours earlier, just in case. Thank god it was a specially-engineered military issue one, not the unwieldy kind of rifle that vets use on safari from the safety of the back of a jeep.

God, since when did sleeping bags make so much fucking noise?

Was it still out there? You couldn't hear it any more, but it was hard to hear anything behind the pounding of blood in your ears.

The machete lay in its sheath beside the gun, and you picked that up too. Glinting steel slid easily over leather, and then you froze again. The hilt felt clumsy and awkward in your hand. Your fingers refused to hold the grip of the tranquiliser gun properly out of sheer terror. Nothing was working right; you couldn’t see; you couldn’t think. Your finger refused to close on the trigger.

Fuck. The safety was still on anyway.

“Shitshitshit…” you hissed.

In a vain attempt to get your thoughts out of tail-spin, you sucked in a deep, sudden breath and held your lungs at their fullest capacity for a good three seconds before silently exhaling to a long count.

A single, muffled footfall outside sent pine cones skittering against the thin, insubstantial canvas of the tent, and the growling began again in a low, teasing taunt.

It was playing with you.

You genuinely thought you might piss yourself with terror as you just crouched there in the dark, shaking and clinging to your ineffectual weapons.

The footage that Red had showed you of its black, articulated tail going right up through the tough, thick hide of his companion flashed once again across your mind, and you kept on replaying the way the tail had actually lifted their eight-foot tall body right up off the jungle floor like an offering on a spike, with the curved, obsidian talon at the tip of the tail buried deep in their flesh like a harpoon.

Shit.

Croc had been tough enough to survive having his entire left arm ripped off during the crash, but another warrior of his calibre had died to this enemy from the cold reaches of space in the blink of an eye. What chance did a soft, untrained human like you stand?

They cannot be destroyed by radiation. They cannot be poisoned or trapped. They can only be killed by the most skilled of warriors with the truest of aim and the deadliest weapons. The metals and alloys you currently use are insufficient to cause fatal damage to them. The voice of the High Elder rattled through the empty corridors of your brain and you barely stifled a yelp of terror as you stared at the gun and knife in your shaking hands. It wasn’t even a proper gun. There was no doubt about it; you were alone, and you were going to die.

Something pressed down on the canvas of the tent above you and you shrank away against the back wall with a strangled scream. Three black, glittering claws punctured the material and dragged long, slow slices across the fabric with a horrible rending sound. As the rips in the tent widened, out in the deeper darkness beyond, something glinted.

Teeth.

A drop of foaming, acidic drool melted through the polymer canvas and dripped onto the mat between your legs. It etched a small, frothing divot into the surface before the reaction burned itself out, and you tilted your face up to find a maw full of cylindrical teeth bearing down on you like a shark about to attack. Moonlight glanced off the shiny carapace of its elongated head, and a low, delighted growl filled the air as it regarded its trapped prey.

Without even thinking about it, you raised the tranquiliser gun and unloaded two darts directly into the creature’s open mouth. The darts sank deep into its soft palate and it staggered back with a screech that tore at your eardrums. It flailed wildly and crashed into the underbrush nearby, and you seized the opportunity to get out of your tent, lashing out blindly with the machete and tearing the rest of the fabric open before lurching off into the clearing. Out in the open, you felt like a mouse driven from a hole by a snake.

The creature writhed in a patch of brambles for just a moment before it found its feet and rounded on you.

Six feet tall, lanky, bipedal, and composed of a glossy black carapace, flashing teeth, and a tail measuring half as long again as its body, the thing darted at you through the darkness faster than your eyes could follow. It seemed to disappear completely into the shadows only to reappear on your left with another shriek of rage and an open, attacking maw.

You fired the gun but it missed wildly. You only had six shots and you’d used half of them already. Each dart apparently had enough in it to tranquilise one of Big Red’s kind in five seconds flat, but it didn’t seem to have had any effect on their enemy beyond a moment of fleeting annoyance and discomfort.

In another flash of moonlight on shiny, black chitin, it was onto you. It barrelled you backwards into the wreckage of your tent and you landed hard enough that all the air was knocked from your lungs in a stunning blow that left you wheezing. In a tangle of tent poles and canvas, its claws began tearing into your clothes as well before it spun away to extricate itself from the collapsed and splintered tent and start its attack anew.

As it left, it lashed at your face with its scythe-like tail. Searing pain shot across your cheek and you instinctively brought your palm to your face. It came away slick and hot and your skin burned in the aftermath.

With a cry you never would have thought yourself capable of making, you screamed a defiant challenge at the creature, like some kind of berserker before a last stand. You raised the gun and held the machete level in your other hand. If you were going to die, you were not going to go down without a fight.

The creature seemed slightly amused by your reaction.

As it bounded off the nearest tree trunks like a playful cat hunting a small bird, you squeezed the trigger again and caught it between the plates of its armoured throat with your fourth shot.

You just barely flung yourself to the ground in time as it lunged at you, half hoping to slash at its underbelly with the machete as you did, but the blade just glanced off it like a child playing make-believe knights with sticks and dustbin lids.

The edge did sink deep into its flailing tail as it sailed past though, and the creature hissed and screeched. The momentum of its leap ripped the weapon right out of your hand, but the machete stayed lodged in the tail and the creature roared and landed hard in a spray of dry pine needles on the other side of the clearing.

“Oh good, now I’ve just pissed you off,” you muttered as you staggered to your feet again. Now you had fifty percent less weaponry at your disposal, and, thanks to your efforts, the creature had acquired a new and deadly spike in its tail. Wonderful.

Two shots left.

It flipped itself upright again onto its hind legs just as a cloud scudded across the face of the moon, plunging the forest into darkness. The creature took full advantage of your sudden and complete blindness, and launched itself at you.

With another scream you raised your hands as it collided with you again, knocking you to the ground. You crossed your forearms in front of your face just in time to catch it under its lower jaw and deflect the attack. A heartbeat later and it might have closed its mouth around your throat. You shoved at its neck as hard as you could while snapping teeth filled your face and its claws raked into the dirt on either side of your head.

It was still toying with you; cat and mouse, dragging it out for its own entertainment. If it had wanted you dead, it would have simply ripped you to ribbons the moment you left the tent.

Somehow though, you got the gun up with one hand and fired twice more into its horrible mouth in quick succession before the futile ‘click click click’ of an empty magazine made your heart stop beating. That was it. You were out of options and the thing was showing no sign of slowing down.

Desperately you struggled to keep its bear-trap maw out of your face, but you knew you couldn't keep it up forever. Your fingers were slipping, losing purchase on the shiny, chitinous body and the useless gun dropped to the forest floor beside your head. Acid burned at your fingers and slick palms. Spittle sprayed from its array of teeth, hitting the ground around your face and fizzling as its acid drool hit the pine needles. Desperately you tilted your head to the side, closing your eyes instinctively as flecks of it landed in your hair and on your forehead. Adrenaline kept the pain away for the time being, but you supposed a few freckles of acid burn weren’t going to matter much when it was chewing you to pieces in a few minutes’ time anyway.

With one last, long, desperate scream of defiance, you shoved everything you had into one final push against its throat. In response, its injured tail lanced down out of the night and embedded itself in the forest floor beside your ear, just nicking the skin, though you barely felt it.

Oddly enough, the creature seemed enraged to have missed your head with its tail — perhaps the machete had damaged some nerves after all — and it reared upwards in confusion, giving your exhausted arms a moment’s respite. Then you blinked in surprise as it staggered and lurched to one side and brought its clawed fingers to its mouth like it was trying to pull the darts out. So those four tranquiliser shots had done something after all.

It shook its head, perhaps trying to clear its vision, and dropped down to all fours to advance on you again like a hyena, gnashing its jaws and spitting everywhere. While the tranquiliser had clearly done something, it would not be enough to take it down, and you were out of options.

Just as a part of you prepared yourself to die, something whistled through the air and the creature was blown back off its feet to land with a thud two metres away across the clearing, near your ruined tent. You could just make out a long, javelin shaft protruding from its stomach.

A wild, furious, screaming roar sounded from the trees behind you an instant later.

While you just lay there on your back, stunned and shaking, a shadow leapt right over you, briefly silhouetted against the face of the moon. As you watched, as if in slow-motion, you realised they were missing an arm.

“Croc?”

A heartbeat later, as the enemy staggered back to its feet with a now-familiar looking spear still sticking out of its torso, a second missile soared overhead and embedded itself into the chest of the already impaled creature, accompanied by a deeper, more primal roar. Red.

They’d come for you.

Somehow, they’d known.

You started to cry.

Seemingly heedless of the two harpoons that had stabbed massive holes in its chest, the creature tore itself free of them, dragging the spear points out through its own chest and stomach, before hurling itself at the second figure who had come charging out of the underbrush like death incarnate.

Big Red stood over you and bellowed a challenge at the creature. His mandibles flared as wide as they could go, and his arms and chest and shoulders heaved with barely-contained, protective rage. Each step he took towards it and away from you, you felt the ground tremble. He hunched forwards, ready, focused, and Croc circled the enemy on the other side. It was like their sparring match but now they were working together, and the creature had two, fresh warriors to face down while phosphorescent, blue blood spurted and seeped down its shiny carapace.

Even with the tranquiliser in its system, the enemy wasn’t about to give up easily, and even injured, it was still fast and agile, using the trees and the intermittent darkness for cover. It soon sensed that they were protecting you, and it kept trying to circle back to you. It slipped from a branch though when Croc shot it down with a blaster, and it landed with a thud in the leaf litter almost right beside you.

You scrambled back and Red charged forwards with another ear-splitting roar. He caught it around its middle with one arm and slammed his whole bodyweight into it, driving it back with his big shoulder and ramming it into a tree as it reached its wicked claws out for you. To your horror though, you watched as it changed its mind, scrabbled to get a good hold with its claws on Red’s arms, and then sank its festering, foaming jaws deep into his neck.

Big Red screamed in rage and pain and raised both hands, trying to rip the creature’s head right off its neck where it was latched like a leech to his jugular.

While he struggled and staggered backwards, the creature thrashed its tail, but Croc raced forwards, dodged inside the reach of the whip like appendage, and stabbed upwards repeatedly under its elongated skull with a twin-bladed knife until it sagged and loosened its hold, and Red finally tore its head clean off its shoulders. The carcass sprayed some more of its violently-blue, glowing blood around the clearing and then tumbled away to lie twitching in the dirt.

Croc wasted no time and surged forwards for Big Red who had sagged against the tree trunk, grabbing something from his belt and immediately raising his arm to jab Red directly in the throat with what looked like a glowing green syringe. Big Red staggered, slipped sideways, and fell to one knee beside you, heaving and gasping.

Trembling all over, you eased yourself to sit upright, wide eyed with horror. “Red?”

His own luminescent blood was spattering down onto the pine needles too, mingling with the blue of the enemy’s.

Neither one of them responded and you stared, transfixed, as Red keeled over and started to convulse even before he fell to the ground. Croc let out a single scream of horror and distress, his mandibles wide, and he cradled Red’s head in his remaining right hand as Red juddered and shook and bled all over himself. Horrible sucking sounds escaped his foaming, closing throat, his eyes rolled back behind pale membranes, and his limbs went rigid as the creature’s poison hit his system.

“Red!” you screamed and tried to crawl closer but Croc warned you off with a terrifying roar. He didn’t have a free hand to keep you back, but his expression did the job well enough and you froze. “Red…?”

Overhead, a searing white light blasted down out of the dark sky, illuminating everything with a painfully bright glow. The treetops then began to whip and lash about in the downdraft of the approaching vessel, and your ears popped under the sudden boom of engines as it came to a hovering halt above the canopy.

A single figure then descended on a black rope, and for a moment through the adrenaline and delayed shock, you couldn’t figure out whether the new arrivals were Croc and Red’s people or your own until a massive figure crouched down beside you and chittered something at you.

A second later, they were shoved bodily aside with a protective snarl, and Croc’s familiar face filled your vision as he crouched.

“Red?”

“He’ll be fine,” Croc said, though he still sounded panicked. “He’s fine. They’ll take care of him. Are you badly hurt?”

Mutely, you shook your head and tried to see past Croc’s body to where Red was lying eerily still. “Not really. Just… maybe some acid… and a cut…”

“Come here,” Croc said, and he drew you into his one-armed hug while the unfamiliar alien turned from staring at Croc in amazement to dealing with Red with the calm air of a paramedic.

“Croc,” you sobbed, and the events of the last few minutes swept over you.

You were shaking uncontrollably, but he held you close. “We’re here,” he crooned. “You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s dead. You fought with honour. You’re safe. I’ll protect you.”

“Croc, Red…?”

“Shh,” he said, and drew back. “Come on. We need to get you out of here. Take what you need from your tent… and we’ll take care of you.”

You rose on shaky legs and grabbed your rucksack from the wreck of your little tent, stuffing your water bottle and phone into one of the side pockets. There was only the sleeping bag and mattress left, but you didn’t grab either of them before you staggered out into the clearing again. The gun lay empty somewhere among the pine needles, and you had no idea where the machete had gone in the chaos.

In the harsh lights of the ship, you saw Big Red lying completely immobile on the floor, with the newcomer bending over him. “Red?” you whimpered, taking a step towards him. A hand grabbed your wrist and you instinctively twisted out of it. “No! Red!”

Croc growled your name and grabbed for you again, holding firm this time and turning you physically away to face him. “Let them do their job,” he said. “They will heal him. The antivenom won’t take long to work. They got here in time. Let them work.”

“Red…”

“Come,” Croc said, and he led you away to the dangling rope that hung between the trees from the silver ship above. As you cricked your neck up to stare at it, you saw that it was exactly the same as Croc and Big Red’s ship had been, except that it was whole and undamaged, and flying.

Croc clipped you mutely into a harness while you just stood there, and you soon found yourself being drawn up into the open belly of the ship. About halfway up, you realised how much your hands and face were hurting.

Inside, another of their kind stared openly at you before shaking themselves and helping you out of the harness. This one was much shorter than Croc and Red, and was completely white with red eyes and pink ‘dreads’. The third member of this crew, you presumed, was flying the ship.

“Hi,” you said stupidly, and the leucistic alien stepped back a pace before flaring their mandibles at you in something resembling a wary threat display from a cobra. From behind you, another hissing started, and you whipped around to see Croc being winched through the hatch to land in a perfectly-balanced fighting stance. He un-clipped himself and then stepped between you and the other alien, looming over them to growl something at them in their own language. Whatever he said clearly had significance, because they looked at you anew, then bowed their head.

“Come on,” Croc said, guiding you to one side as the alien who had been tending to Big Red lifted him through the hatch on a special stretcher. Their ghostly companion helped to get him to one side and you stared at Big Red’s still, limp, bleeding body lying on the cargo bay floor.

“Croc,” you whispered. He looked so vulnerable.

“He’ll be alright,” Croc said again, though he sounded tense.

You staggered, your knees suddenly going out from underneath you, and before you had even realised you were going to pass out, everything warped and blurred, and you fell backwards in a dead faint.

Waking was a slow process. You clawed your way back to consciousness through a thick, groggy, cotton-wool fog that filled your mind and made everything slow and hard to process.

You finally opened your eyes to find yourself lying on a firm but comfortable surface, with low, warm lighting illuminating smooth, carbon-fibre walls and what looked like a carved amber panel on the opposite wall.

You were surprisingly comfortable, cosy even beneath the blankets, and there was something breathing steadily next to you.

You blinked. A familiar pattern of cream and ochre and iron oxide skin came into focus and you gasped and sat bolt upright, staring. You were lying at Big Red’s right side, and his chest was rising and falling with a regular, healthy rhythm. He had a squashy-looking poultice of some kind over the left side of his throat and bandages around his collarbones, and you gasped softly when you saw that a couple of his ‘dreads’ had been bitten off halfway down their length, but he was alive.

Bowing your head to touch your forehead to his chest as relief washed through you, you stifled a sob and slid your arm around his torso, squeezing. He inhaled more deeply and turned his head with a low, repeated clicking sound in his throat.

“Red…” you whispered and looked up to find him blinking slowly at you. “You ok?”

Carefully, he nodded and turned his head back to stare up at the ceiling. His right arm tightened around you though, and he pulled you down to lie almost on top of his chest. He closed his eyes again, apparently exhausted, and began to purr.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, clinging to him, but some time later, a door opened nearby with a soft hiss, and you startled and snapped your head up. Croc strode in and ‘smiled’ his mandibles at you when he saw you, and you relaxed.

“Hey,” you rasped. You hadn’t noticed how thirsty you were until then.

He bowed his head. “Are you alright?” he asked and you nodded. He spoke to Red in their language and Red clicked something back at him. “Good,” was all he said.

“Croc, what’s going to happen now? Where are we?”

He nodded and adopted an easy kind of ‘parade rest’ stance while he talked to you. “We are back at the clearing where we crashed. Our commander has given us orders to take you to your facility directly.”

“Croc, you can’t! They’ll shoot you down!” you blurted, sitting bolt upright. “They won’t be expecting it.” You paused and said, “I can try to contact them once I get back in range. I think something on your ship disrupted my GPS equipment on the way out here. My maps stopped working, and I didn’t test it but I’m fairly sure my satellite phone wouldn’t work either. If I can get in touch with them, I can tell them not to attack…”

He nodded. “Are you well enough to come to the bridge and speak via link with our commander?”

You blinked. “Croc, I’m not… I’m not a diplomat or anything… I’m just a researcher…”

He clicked reassuringly at you and Red moved his hand to the small of your back.

“We aren’t here to start a war,” Croc said. “We just want to return you so that you can tell your people the High Elder’s message. With communications open, we can find a solution. You have seen first hand now what you’re up against.” He paused and tilted his head a little. “You need our help.”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Yeah, we do.”

“You fought like one of us though,” Croc grinned. “We saw you as we approached.”

Red clicked proudly at you and stroked another circle across your back before his hand fell softly away. He was too tired to keep it there.

With a sigh, you slid carefully off the bed and looked down at your ripped and torn clothes. Only then did you remember the way the creature’s tail had cut your cheek too, but when you brought your hand to your face, you found only the slightest bump across your skin.

“What…?” you asked, looking at Croc. “And the acid too…?” You stared at your palms that were both smooth and only a little marked in places.

He grinned and gestured towards Red’s poultice. “It is not just our weapons and technology that is superior to yours. Turns out our medicine works on humans as well.”

“Tell me you didn’t just find that out?” you said. “I’m not a guinea pig…”

Croc didn’t seem to know what a guinea pig was or the significance, but he shook his head. “We knew already,” he said.

“Right. Ok, well, I guess I’ll come and talk to this commander of yours and see if we can figure out how to contact my boss.” You turned to Big Red and placed your palm in the centre of his ridged, muscular chest. “Get some rest,” you said. “And… thank you for coming for me. I don’t know how you knew, but… thank you.”

Red didn’t seem to have the energy to form human speech, but he clicked something at Croc who nodded and turned to you.

“Come,” he said and you followed him out of the room, casting one last look back at Red, who already seemed to be asleep on the low, comfortable bed.

___

Am I forgiven yet? Did we like seeing the lads in action? Do we like the glimpses of the new friends? Is Red gonna be ok?

Next Chapter -->

Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and kind words and asks and tags and reblogs on this project so far! It means so much to me!

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[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

29 with the Spidey boys :)

29. Tickling the other one

“And it’s coming down to five…four…three…two…and time!” Peter Three announced, springing up from the couch with an expectant clap of his hands. “Come on, Peter Two, you said you’d be done with that commission within an hour and an hour it’s been. Time to kick back and relax!”

“An hour was maybe more of a guesstimate,” Peter Two murmured distractedly without lifting his head from his drawing pad. “I’ve almost got it. I just need to finish the highlights, okay?”

“Dude, we already had to put the ice cream back in the freezer cos we’ve been waiting so long!” Peter One groaned, flinging himself across the couch to stretch a pleading arm out. “It’s still gonna be there after the show! Come on-n-n, be with us!”

“Look, I’ve got a track record of falling behind that I’m trying not to compound anymore. Somebody’s paying me to get this piece done on time.”

Dropping his arm with a dull thump, Peter huffed petulantly. “Do we have to pay you to hang out with us? Isn’t our love payment enough?”

“Hey, now, don’t be overdramatic. I’ll polish this up and then you’ll have me for the rest of the weekend. It just needs a couple more touchups over here and…” Two trailed off, slipping back into his hyperfocus mode.

When he was this intent on his work, it was easy to lose track of his surroundings—which was why he didn’t sense Peter Three sidling up behind him until dexterous fingers skittered across the back of his neck and behind his ear. A squeaky yelp burst out of him as he lurched, highlighter skidding haphazardly across his portrait.

Both of them froze, processing the angry white streak through carefully blended color, and then Peter Three stuttered a curse as he recoiled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I was just trying to mess with you, I didn’t mean to—”

Inhaling deeply, Peter Two slapped the drawing pad onto the desk, hauled his chair back and rounded on his middle brother. “Okay then. Fine. You want my full attention? You got it! Come here!”

What followed was a blurry scramble of flailing limbs and panicked curses as Peter Three dove headlong for the bathroom, the only sanctuary in the apartment that could put a door between him and his doom. Peter Two wasn’t having it, slinging a web at his retreating form to reel him back into a wrangled bear hug.

“Do you know how much time I spent on that piece?!” he demanded, shaking him briefly before jamming a hand into his shirt to scrabble at his stomach. “Oh, that’s right, you were timing it down to the minute! How about I make you pay for every minute I just wasted on that, huh?!”

“No, no, no, no! I said I’m sorr-hh-hee!” Three wailed, fruitlessly pedaling to curl in on himself but that only trapped Two’s tickly fingers against him, wriggling across his ribs. “Aghh! Help! P-Peter One, do someth-hh-ing! Help me-ee-hee-hee!”

“Fat chance, man! You’re on your own!” Peter One shot back, peeking with wide eyes over the back of the couch. He had opted to take cover as soon as Peter Two came out of his chair.

“T-Traitor! I’m gonna remember tha-ha-hat!”

“You’re gonna remember all of this!” Peter Two assured, opposite hand viciously digging into his underarm to earn a startled screech. “You’re gonna learn your lesson and never pester me while I’m drawing again!”

“Okay, okay, okay-ha-hay!”

“You pester me, I pester you! You got that?!”

“G-Got it!”

“We’re clear?”

“Crystal clear-hee-hear!”

“Swear it to me!”

“No more p-pestering, I prom-hi-hi-ise! Jus’—Jus’ let me breathe!” Peter Three pleaded.

Finally satisfied, Peter Two took pity and let him melt into a boneless heap on the floor. For a moment or two, his gasps for air were the only sound in the room, then Two folded his arms and sent a pointed look at Peter One. “And as for you…”

“W-Wait, what? What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do, you little stink bug. You were sitting right there with a clear line of sight; you knew what was about to happen. Did you do anything to stop him from messing with me?”

“Um…no?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, that makes you an accessory to his scheme.” Peter One couldn’t help but gulp, shrinking down as Two offered him a thin smirk. “You get five seconds to run.”

[pastafossa]

Matt and tfaws Bucky would be disasters together and I love them regardless. Neither of them would have a full braincell between them and that’s ok I love them anyways- ∩^ω^∩

Ok but this idea has had me laughing for DAYS, because these two—I love them, but there truly would be precisely zero sense, which means Sam and Reader would essentially be left to manage the two of them and their insanity, which would be hysterical. So have this thing I managed to put together in between everything else of these two being, well, themselves.

—

The four of you were pinned down under heavy gunfire. You’d only just managed to barricade yourselves behind some overturned steel tables before the firefight had started, and now you all were crouched low, bullets whining past overhead and steadily chipping away at the plaster walls behind you. Trapped on the eighth floor, at least two of you—Sam with his wings, and Bucky with his, well, super-soldier-ness—could have taken the leap out a window, but that wasn’t quite an option when this many people were shooting at you. 

“How are there this many?” Sam shouted. He tried to edge up over the table to look but a renewed burst of gunfire had him ducking back down. “This is way more than—what happened to counting?!” 

“Dude, I can’t believe we’re fighting Captain America!”

“I mean, I counted the guys on the first eight floors,” Matt said, managing to look sheepish even with his face half-covered by his mask. 

You and Sam turned to stare at him, and you blinked in disbelief. “D, there are ten floors.”

He licked his lips. “I figured most of them would be on the botto—”

“Ten floors, D!” you bellowed. 

“In his defense,” Bucky said easily, looking entirely unbothered as he reloaded his clip, “wasn’t like we weren’t going in even with all of them. I don’t see the issue.”

“Someone’s about to throw a home-made grenade, but the fuse is too long,” Matt said helpfully. “Just toss it back when it gets here.”

“Grenade!” came a shout from across the room, and a moment later a grenade did indeed plunk down by Bucky’s feet. He reached out and picked it up, chucking it back. Panicked shouts cut above the sound of gunfire as people scattered, and then a distant thud rattled the floorboards. 

“I told you not to throw those shitty grenades, Todd!”

“The issue,” Sam grit out, trying to bring everyone back around, “is that we could have been prepared if we knew how many guys there were.”

“Why didn’t you do your bird thing?” Bucky leaned up, firing off a few shots before ducking back down just in time to avoid return fire. “Coulda sent your red canary in to scope it out.”

“Redwing! His name is Redwing, and that would be great if you hadn’t damaged him trying to make him carry takeout from ten differe—”

“If we could focus on the men trying to kill us,” you groaned “that would be great.”

Bucky gestured towards the other side of the room. “Look, if you think about it, we have ‘em where we want ‘em. All grouped up.”

“Grouped up and shooting at us,” you muttered. “And I’m out of bullets.”

“I’ve got a metal arm.” Bucky waved his arm in demonstration. “It’s fine.”

“That is helpful,” Matt agreed.

“Some of us are not super soldiers!” You pointed at Sam. “Mortal!” Then you pointed at yourself and Matt. “Mortal, and in case you forgot, D? You too: mortal!” 

“Jesus Christ, Todd, stop throwing—”

“Grenade!”

This time it was Matt that reached up, plucking the grenade from the air. Then he shifted and leaned around the side of the table just far enough to toss the grenade back. It rebounded off the wall, skittering its way across the floor. Once more came the thunderous sound of footsteps as people darted out of the way, followed by startled screams and a muffled bang! 

“Holy shit! That was Daredevil! That was—”

“I swear to God, Todd, you throw one again—” 

Sam slowly pounded his head back against the table. “Why did we think we should put these two together?”

“Hubris,” you said grimly.

Matt reached over and patted your leg.  

“I have an idea,” Bucky said, nodding to himself. “So they have grenades, right?”

“Oh, you mean those things they’ve been throwing at us for the last two minutes?” Sam rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Bucky glanced at Matt. “How many do they have left?”

“Eight, all with fuses that are too long,” Matt responded instantly, tilting his head to the side as he listened. “Wait—seven. Todd’s about to light another one.”

Sam stared at him in bafflement. “How the hell are you doing that, man?”

“Todd’s… counting. Loudly?”

Todd had not, in fact, been counting loudly.

Sam’s face radiated skepticism. “And you could hear that? Over gunfire.”

“I could hear it,” Bucky interrupted. “Maybe your hearing is just shit.”

“TODD, DON’T YOU DA—” 

“GRENADE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” 

Sam glanced over the barricade and then swung his shield up, smoothly bouncing the grenade back across the room. Predictably, there was a chorus of screams and another bang!

You popped your head up over the edge of the table. “You are not fucking Bruce Willis, you idiot! Stop throwing those!”

“That’s what I keep trying to tell him! Todd, you fucking idiot—”

Matt reached up and yanked you back down.

“Who—“

“Grenaa-a-a-ade!” 

Bucky surged up just in time to catch the grenade and hurl it back, the grenade whistling through the air with such force it punched its way through two walls, goons scattering like a startled flock of birds. Then he ducked back down, throwing you a look as there was another distant explosion. “You need to be more careful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Really? I need to be careful?”

“I told you: I have a metal arm. I can take some hits.” 

“Just tell us your idea, Buck. Please,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I got a good look just now and the grenade bag is just sitting there. So what if I shoot the grenades—”

“You are not shooting a bag of grenades!” Sam barked. 

Matt cleared his throat. “Also I can’t kill people.”

“And it might kill us.” You gestured at the lot of you. “I’m kind of concerned no one’s pointed that out yet.” 

“I can respect no killing,” Bucky said solemnly to Matt. “So is it even if I shoot and not you? That counts?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s a thin line but—”

“What if I tell them I’m going to shoot the grenades so they can run?”

“I think you’re forgetting we’re on the same floor as the grenade bag,” Sam snorted. “What happens when the floor gives? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m the only one with wings.”

“It’s only eight floors. Just flap your wings and carry them down.”

"Why are you like this?!"

“I think it could work,” Matt said, tilting his head as he set a hand against the floorboards. “The construction is sound enough and the grenades are pretty weak. So we tell them, they run, you shoot the grenades, and then we get back to the stairs.”

“This is a horrible plan, and I blame all of you,” you muttered. At Sam’s cleared throat, you quickly amended your statement. “Except you, Sam. You’re an angel.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding pleased. Then he narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “See? At least someone here’s got sense.”

“I’m fucking angelic, what are you talking about?” Bucky objected. “She loves me!”

“You told me I was an angel yesterday,” Matt said to you, lips quirking. “I’m starting to think you say that to everyone you’re caught in a firefight with.”

"I’m gonna shoot the grenades,” Bucky muttered.

Sam held up his hands. “Ok, wait a second, can we just—”

“I’m shooting your grenade bag, assholes!” Bucky bellowed, reaching a metal arm up to point. “Get running!”

“Wait, is that the Winter Soldier’s arm?! I thought his hair was longer—”

“Oh fuck—”

“It’s fine.” Matt threw you a feral grin, as Bucky began firing. “They’re really shitty grenades.”

                                                            -x-

The four of you, surrounded by shattered glass and rubble, stared up at the building. 

“I think that went well,” Bucky said.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, making sure to enunciate every word. “The building is on fire.”

Indeed, it was: the top four floors of the building now almost entirely consumed by billowing smoke and orange tongues of flame that spilled from the cracked windows.

“Not a big fire.” Matt cleared his throat. “And no one died.”

“Yeah, even got this asshole out.” Bucky held up Todd. Todd, in response, yowled and kicked, desperately trying to free himself from Bucky’s hold and the parking meter Bucky had bent and twisted around him. After a second, Bucky shook him. “Stop being annoying.”

“And they needed to renovate anyway,” Matt said with a smirk. “There was some black mold in the bathroom on floor six.”

“See?” Bucky pointed out, grinning. “We helped.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, as the distant warble of sirens grew closer. “This was not helping.”

“I’m hungry,” Bucky said blithely, tossing an angry Todd up onto the sidewalk. “Takeout?”

“Dude, seriously?” Sam barked. “You’re hungry? Now?”

You glanced at Matt and then did a double-take. “Jesus, D!"

“It’s a minor graze,” Matt reassured you, another droplet of blood dribbling down his arm. “Just hit the less bullet-proof part of the suit.”

“There is no less-bulletproof, D! It either is, or it isn’t—”

Bucky frowned and then nodded. “Ok, you go get bandaged up, and then we get takeout.”

“I could eat after that,” Matt agreed. “There’s some good Chinese food two blocks west if we want to eat there.”

“What is happening?” you whispered, a deep sense of dread welling up inside you because this sounded too much like… friendship. 

“Cool, we’ll meet you there.” Bucky slapped at Sam’s arm and sauntered off. “Come on, Cap.”

“I’m going to go home, bandage up and change,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss your cheek fondly. “See you soon.” And then he was gone, slipping off into the shadows of a nearby alley.

Sam and you stood there a moment, staring up at the burning building. 

“We need to make an agreement right now,” you said slowly, “to never leave them unsupervised.”

“I hear that.” Sam shoved his hand in your direction and you shook it solemnly. 

You cleared your throat. “Actually, which means we should probably—”

“Yeah, I need to—I need to follow him, he’ll—”

“And I need to go make sure D actually, like, takes care of his—”

“Good god,” Sam sighed, turning to jog after Bucky as you turned and headed after Matt. “What the fuck have we done?”

[mythicamagic]

Fangs of Silver: Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome Higurashi has her work cut out for her, hunting one of the most elusive and powerful werewolves known to man: the Killing Perfection. Sesskag smut oneshot. Werewolf Sesshoumaru/monster hunter Kagome. 

Rated M

Words: 4,700

Read on Ao3 and Dokuga

AN: for @cookieasylum​ for an art trade. Thanks bud! Hope you like it

Fangs of Silver

Warning: werewolf x human smut, knotting, menstrual sex

---

Two fingers unfurled to touch the moonlit forest floor, tracing the outline of a large paw-print stamped into dirt. Even splaying her palm wide with four fingers and thumb outstretched, Kagome couldn't hope to meet its size, dwarfed in comparison.

"Looks like I've found you again," she muttered, straightening from her crouch. Walking onwards and listening out for any hint of movement within the imposing woods- tall anorexic trees completely still with sharp looking branches- blue eyes remained alert, watchful.

She'd been tracking this one for God knew how long now. Months. Had it been a year yet? Though even the smallest victory of finding his tracks left no time for celebration.

Kagome frowned to herself. This particular beast wasn't usually so careless. He evaded her during daylight hours by wading through streams or keeping to rocky terrain, never giving the same name when mingling with villagers. Even when the Full Moon hit- he managed to be elusive and surprisingly clever. The smartest one she'd been sent to hunt. This time he'd either been sloppy or…

Kagome glimpsed something through a gap in the lower trees, located further down the hill. Smoke?

Surely he wasn't trying to trap her with something so obvious.

Frowning, Kagome set down her weapon and snuffed out the flames of her torch, checking her supplies. Enough silver bullets. Enough jewel shards. Her guns were in good shape, but she was out of herbal supplements to repress a certain annoyance that also occurred every month. Wincing, she put a hand to her lower abdomen, feeling it cramp.

Crap, not now.

She'd have to ignore it. She couldn't afford to lose this guy due to Mother Nature kicking her continually in the gut.

This beast had committed countless acts of violence- leaving behind a trail of bodies in their respective towns and villages. Unlike usual werewolves who sloppily left bitten survivors to run amok, this beast made no mistakes. He seemed to kill specific people and left them firmly for dead. He never inflicted the curse upon anyone. Surprisingly his victims were usually reported to be less than innocent citizens.

Due to the killings- a bounty had been placed on what the authorities referred to as 'the Killing Perfection.'

Creeping down a steep incline, Kagome stepped as lightly as possible within the relative darkness of the trees -autumn leaves crunching beneath her boots.

A lonesome house in the woods stood like a mourner in a graveyard under the light of the Full Moon, dark wood faintly eroded by time. Vines held the chimney in a stranglehold, but smoke puffing out of the top revealed it to be in working order despite the dilapidated state of the house.

Slipping around the side of the building and ducking out of sight from any windows, Kagome stopped with her back to the wall, loading her rifle while stooped into a crouch.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Kagome wasted no time. She pushed off and rounded the corner, kicking open the front door with the barrel of her gun trained inside.

Empty?

Kagome didn't let her guard down, slowly inching inside and glancing around.

The fireplace was lit with healthy flames- a kettle sat off to the side, an empty mug not too far away. Everything else in the room had a layer of dust costing it, but the armchair lay newly cleaned. Footprints trailed around the ashen floor, some human, some wolf prints.

Kagome searched the lower floor that comprised of mostly empty rooms, before pointing her gun up towards the stairs, setting foot on the first step.

It groaned loudly beneath her weight.

Wincing, blue eyes snapped to the top of the dark stairs for any tell-tale signs of movement.

Wandering up to the second floor cautiously and looking around revealed nothing more than dust bunnies.

Kagome frowned, eyeing the open window. Had he jumped down and escaped?

Sighing with disappointment, she shouldered her gun and trailed downstairs.

I suppose I can sweep the outside to pick up his trail again, but I bet he's long gone. He probably lit the chimney to distract me before making his escape and transforming for the night.

Wandering over to the kettle, she touched its side.

Still lukewarm. He'd literally just been there.

And I was too late.

Kagome groaned.

"What a disappointed noise. Were you aching to see me that badly?"

Stiffening, her heart jumped. The silky sounding words had come from behind her.

Pivoting on one heel, Kagome turned her weapon on the man lounging in the armchair.

His image blurred, snatching up her gun to lurch the barrel upwards just as she fired, the blast piercing the ceiling- some debris raining down.

Golden eyes sparked, snapping the barrel in two before throwing her to the floor with impressive strength.

Kagome gasped, back colliding hard with the wooden floors, winded. She quickly grabbed one of her pistols and trained it on the man- who had disappeared again.

"W-what?" she panted. "It's a Full Moon. Why haven't you transformed?"

"Ah, you wish for me to change? Very well," his voice rumbled from outside.

Fur blocked out the moonlight pouring in from the shutters, brushing along the side of the house. Quiet, hungry panting filled her ears.

Kagome quickly fired at the windows, but the shadows melted away, causing her to wonder if it had been a trick of the light.

"I heard tell of a woman who subdues my kind before using shards of a blessed jewel to revert them back into humans…"

Paws padded around the house, nails dragging- scraping the forest floor. "You have pursued me for some time. Did you hope to transform me into a mortal like those you have hunted before me? Break my curse?" the male uttered.

"I knew you were strong, so I didn't have much hope of using them. Taking you back alive to stand trial for all the things you've done is a tall order," Kagome grunted, lower stomach clenching. She quietly hissed. Cycle blood likely marred her trousers now.

"Indeed. Even if you shot me with one of your infamous jewels though, it would not work."

A figure bent down, twisting through the front door with the ease of a feline through bars. Sleek silver fur gleamed with a fiery hue, bathed in the hearth's orange light.

Saliva dripped from exposed canines, muzzle pulled back.

The werewolf towered over her in size. He had the look of a distorted wolf- pale torso resembling a man due to broad shoulders and defined abdomen. He shifted to stand upright, hind legs strong, capable of supporting his weight. Thick hackles rose, paws more akin to hands tipped with killer claws.

Unlike the other beasts she'd faced, this one had peculiar red markings slashing over his cheeks, lower legs and flank. Glowing red eyes burned with the heat of the sun.

"You unknowingly came in search of a Pure Blood. I cannot be 'fixed' little hunter. This is how I was born," he purred, mouth unmoving, whispering honeyed words in her mind.

Those eyes strayed down to her legs, nostrils flaring. "And you are in heat, no less. A fine time to go hunting for a predator."

Kagome shivered, raising her pistol and aiming it between his eyes.

The werewolf gazed at her calmly, completely different from the wild, almost rabid beasts she'd fought with before.

A Pure Blood…

She'd never come across a creature so ancient. He looked at her with intelligence, as she'd suspected from tracking him.

"I-I'm not in heat," she muttered, finger grazing the trigger without pulling it. Why wasn't he attacking?

"You hurt those townspeople. Why?"

"I walk among men in my other form. Occasionally I find those deserving of death. Those who harm their cubs and mates. Those who leech of their pack and drink themselves into violent stupors. Sometimes they simply get in my way."

Kagome grit her teeth, "so you dispense justice alone? I don't disagree with cruel people deserving some kind of consequences but you don't get to decide who lives and dies. That's playing God."

He chuckled inside her mind, mouth pulling back from sharp teeth in an imitation of a smile. "Is what you do so different, little hunter?"

"I follow the orders of my superiors- unless I think someone can be saved with the jewels I bless."

Interest brightened his gaze, tail swishing once behind him.

Her only warning.

The beast knocked her arms to one side, striking her down with a headbutt to her chest. The action sent her gun skittering away over dusty floorboards, disappearing into harsh shadows. One human-like forepaw pressed down on Kagome's stomach, making her breath wheeze free from frozen lungs- his other holding her right arm down to keep her pinned. He then leaned in close, white ears perked atop his head.

A white maw drifted over her startled face, nostrils flaring, inhaling her scent greedily.

"Holy powers…" he uttered thoughtfully.

Kagome's left hand fumbled with the hem of her shirt, eyes narrowing. "I'm a former sister of the church. It comes in handy when dealing with creatures that go bump in the night."

She abruptly thrust her formally concealed dagger up, aiming it straight for his heart.

Powerful jaws snapped down, locking around her arm- the beast hissing as her blade ran off course but scraped down his neck and shoulder.

Kagome yelped, dagger freezing. Her hand remained free outside of the cage of teeth but she dared not move. Teeth mouthed her arm without breaking the skin, until a particularly sharp canine made a trail of crimson leak down the inside of her wrist.

A large, wet tongue roved, licking and sliding over the length of her elbow and wrist while they lay trapped within the hot cavern of his mouth.

"Now we have both shed blood tonight, little hunter. Are you satisfied?"

Kagome panted, gritting blunt teeth. She glared hotly into large red eyes fixed on her, looming close. From the new proximity, she could now see his seafoam green irises and slit pupils from within the sea of crimson. They dilated the longer she looked.

"You are quite the woman," he rumbled appreciatively. "What name do you go by?"

"K-kagome."

"Hn, I am Sesshoumaru. I thank you for your relentless pursuit of me over these past few months. It was quite flattering."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply before a hiss broke her off. The clenching of her abdomen took up attention for a moment, twisting like a knife in her gut.

"Heat can be painful to go through alone," he acknowledged, teeth slowly easing from her arm, eyes trained on her warningly not to try anything. His slick tongue unwrapped itself from her arm with a trail of saliva. He licked his maw hungrily.

Kagome gripped her sticky arm, glaring from her position on the floor. No bite. Just a nick from his tooth. It wouldn't be enough to curse her. She warily lowered her dagger.

"It's just my monthly cycle. I'm fine...gn…"

"You seem it," he mocked, wolf expression unchanging, though his eyes danced.

His great head lowered, hovering over her groin. His nose drew closer, inhaling over the red patch. His long pink tongue slid out, drawing over it with a lingering lick.

Kagome yelped, forgetting her guns and blades- grasping the dense white fur of his neck. "W-what are you doing?!"

He managed to look suggestive without human features, tipping his head slightly. "As a hunter, it must be difficult to find relief. You are always working, are you not? Chasing evil…" his voice resounded with the finest baritone in her mind, coaxing and soothing, completely at odds with his monstrous appearance. He almost sounded aristocratic. "Fortunately...you happen to lie beneath a beast tonight."

Saliva, warm and dewy, dropped onto her leg in small puddles. Sesshoumaru gazed at her while snaking his tongue out once more, prying it harder between her legs.

Kagome gasped, back-arching, a rush spilling up from her cunt to twist sweet arousal at her core. She viciously clamped down on such a reaction, growling.

"No one gave you permission to take liberties with me, pal!" she drew her knee up, attempting to kick him away.

Sesshoumaru released her arm in favour of grasping her thigh, chuckling while forcing it down. "Why protest?"

Kagome snatched up her dagger again, pressing the hilt against her chest and keeping the point raised outwards.

"Why agree?! Y-you're a…" wide blue eyes flicked over his strange, inhuman body. "I've never- n-not with a werewolf. I'm pretty sure that's breaking some sort of rule. Or law."

"I will not tell a soul."

Her gaze turned flat, fingers shifting over the hilt. "I'm supposed to be killing you. We just tried to kill each other!"

"Hn, keep your friends close and enemies closer, as they say. Allowing them into your bed does not seem like such an extreme, and I find there is always a slight thrill in fighting, is there not?"

It was a night of firsts. Kagome had never experienced anything like it in her five years of hunting. None of her superiors had ever mentioned an intelligent werewolf who could control their transformation and shapeshift at will. The only whisper of it had come from dusty old books stashed away in catacombs. The air in the lonely house felt cold, tickling her skin like a living thing, but the space between Hunter and Werewolf crackled with intensity.

Kagome swallowed, feeling squirmy. She tensed when a wet nose came back up to sniff at her neck. Warm breath fanned over flushed skin as his snout travelled up and down, scenting. It soon buried itself within dark hair, making her gasp. The suggestion of teeth scraped the crown of her head, joined by a pleased, rumbling noise. Goosebumps rose on her exposed skin, blood burning, alight with confused but obvious need.

His alien, paw-like hand ran over her hip and breast, cupping the side of her jaw. The shock of thin fur and monstrous, long fingers tipped with claws should've terrified her. Kagome had fought against such hands for years. Her body held traces of scars where such nails had hooked and dragged into supple flesh.

As it was, when his second stroked her inner thigh, Kagome shuddered. He smelled faintly of clove and damp earth. His movements were deliberate. The inferno of his eyes when they locked with hers shone with hunger- but also curiosity. That mindfulness and clarity of his thoughts was what allowed her to hesitantly touch the hand on her thigh.

It felt too large and gangly to be a human, fur and heat brushing the calloused skin of her palm.

"You can't bite me," she warned, laying the flat of her blade against his neck. "I'll kill you if you do- and that'll instantly free me from the curse."

Sesshoumaru smiled with his eyes.

He forced her down again, claws making quick work of her pants, tearing a sizable hole at the crotch.

The wiry fur of his muzzle immediately dived down, fervently taking in her scent with hearty, eager inhales. It sent a rush of arousal straight through her, hips jolting.

Nose, teeth and tongue soon brushed her sex, before the latter thrust inside, heedless of the blood.

Kagome cried out, toes curling, going completely still. The invasive probing between her legs filled her entrance, sinking deeper. It then flicked outside, allowing her to feel the velvet rough texture. It swirled experimentally over her clit.

Shakily tightening her now slippery grip on the dagger, Kagome gasped and shuddered.

"I-I thought you were going to transform into a man-!"

Sesshoumaru gave a rumbling noise in response. He gripped the front of her blouse, yanking to rip it open and fondle her breast.

"You do not wish to see the creature you've hunted feasting on you?" the rumbling purr lifted into something darkly amused, tail flicking behind him.

He grabbed her hips, swivelling them to flip her over. Kagome yelped and snarled, about to protest when his palms kneaded her ass, raising it and tearing off the remainder of her pants- the pads of his thumbs dragging to her sex, spreading slick folds and delving a warm, thick tongue inside her all the deeper.

Kagome kept a needless grip on the dagger, a strangled noise caught in her throat. His muzzle nudged and pried, urging her to rock against his tongue. Feeling warm, she clumsily grasped at her coat, yanking her arms free and tossing it aside.

Full breasts were squashed to the floor under the weight of the werewolf as he pressed her down, but her nipples- stiff and hardened with pleasure- received friction from the steady rhythm. The pleasure came in small, electric bursts.

"Fuck," she groaned, biting her lip. This was wrong. She shouldn't allow this.

A clawed thumb rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs silenced that weak protest. It felt good. So deliciously good. Men scarcely put their mouth on her down there, deeming it 'dirty' or beneath them.

Kagome shivered, pushing back against the roving tongue continually thrusting inside her core, flexibly twisting, rubbing against her inner walls and licking with heinous, grunting noises like she slaked his thirst. They found a kind of rhythm without communicating through words, and an incredible rush built in her stomach- delighted to rock against his mouth.

Bowing her head and trying to concentrate on breathing, Kagome jolted and shamelessly moaned as his movements became more relentless, hungrily collecting evidence of her arousal and cycle onto his tongue.

"W-why-?" she managed out, straining to look at him over her shoulder- the tongue plunging faster in quick delves like he were mining for gold- sharp teeth scraping her entrance, adding rapidly to the throbbing feeling building up in her lower stomach.

Why was he pleasuring her? It didn't align with a wild beasts actions.

Blue eyes glimpsed glowing crimson behind her. With a sudden push of his humanoid paw on her back, trapping her in place- Kagome squealed loudly as Sesshoumaru pried so deep he wore her like a puppet with his tongue, grunting with savage satisfaction when she came from the action.

"Agh!" Kagome cried out, body igniting, juices immediately flowing into his mouth, which he collected enthusiastically with broad strokes. Somewhere between all this, she lost grip on her weapon. The blade clanked against the floors loudly.

After pulling away, the werewolf paid no heed to the red staining his lips, licking at his jaw in a decadent, gluttonous manner.

"Why what?" Sesshoumaru sat back on his haunches, ears perking, haughtily eyeing her with an air of pride. He probably took great pleasure in reducing a hunter to such a vulnerable mess.

Kagome felt like she'd received her answer. "Never mind," she caught her breath, forehead dotted with sweat. Her muscles burned despite the lack of physical exertion, body feverishly warm.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the slick feeling of her cunt. It fluttered and clenched, demanding more- wanting to be filled.

"I feel better now. We can end things there and-"

Kagome caught an eyeful of his crotch, entranced by the hard evidence of his arousal.

Oh.

She swallowed, reading the look in his eye easily. They wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. From the look of his long, thick cock, they'd be spending a while easing it in if he were committed to pleasuring her.

Somehow she felt alright with that. The fever in her veins wasn't satisfied yet, though she had reservations about allowing a literal werewolf to take her. However something undeniable had come to life in the pit of her gut, something raw and hot that left her wet between her legs and wordlessly begging.

Sesshoumaru's claws closed around her ankle, dragging her towards him- her ass coming to meet his twitching cock.

"I do not think you have unwound nearly enough. You must expel all pent up frustrations if you are to continue hunting me. I worry you will fall behind if not- your tracking has become sloppy lately."

Kagome whipped her head up and growled- just as the head of his cock nestled at her entrance, cutting off the noise and sending it choking. Blushing, she reached behind her, spreading herself for him- holding herself open while Sesshoumaru gave that jagged flash of teeth in response, slipping his thick length inside her inch by inch.

Whimpering and dropping her hands, Kagome bowed forward, trying to adjust. He sank even deeper. The sheer slickness between her thighs helped but didn't assuage the terrible stretch that threatened to overwhelm her. He was too big, his large and hairy body towering over hers, encasing her back with the furnace heat of his body.

"Ease yourself back against me- slowly," panting breath fanned over her damp neck. She felt him run an almost affectionate feeling lick up the sensitive shell of her ear. "Relax. This body was built to withstand many things," his palm stroked a path over her navel, circling up her hip where a scar lay. "You will not allow me to dominate you so easily, will you, Kagome?"

Panting, Kagome tried to get used to feeling every inch of him inside her, filling her clenching walls to the brim.

His hands were three times the size of hers, one settling beside her on the floor. The way he loomed over her made the formally fearless woman feel small, crushable.

"H-ha! As if," she shakily replied. Not one to give in, Kagome did as instructed, slowly rocking back against him just like before. She winced. The sensation was much fuller and tighter, uncomfortable.

Sesshoumaru hissed and groaned, rubbing at her clit again to shoot tiny bursts of fireworks through her system. It helped coax some pleasure back into things. Kagome gave a shaky moan.

Sensing her change in enjoyment, the wolf began moving.

She cried out, wincing a little at his slight withdraw- before groaning as he eased back in, creating a slow, building pace.

The thick, soft fur that covered him from crown to foot gleamed in the light of the room. Kagome could feel it hot against her back, tickling her skin. The strands began to stick to flushed flesh. Sweat began to bead, rolling down her shoulder blades.

"You take me very well, for a human," Sesshoumaru nosed at her hair.

"I can't say 'taking a cock' nicely is the highest compliment ever, but- thanks," Kagome panted. He gave an amused huff, giving a hard thrust in response that knocked her forward.

Yelping, she grabbed onto the first available thing. Her breath caught when her fingers met soft, warm fur. His arm.

It felt sturdy amidst the sea of sensations. Kagome held tighter onto it, bracing herself. She could sense the control beginning to slip from her new bedmate.

Sesshoumaru growled ferally, fanning hot, sticky breath over her shoulders. He then slammed inside her- ramming his hard cock completely within.

Letting out a loud, startled cry that bordered on a scream, Kagome bit down on his arm. He set a brutal pace, thrusting his cock with a quickness that blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut so tight stars burst behind her eyelids.

Strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead, the rest bouncing and swaying with the werewolf's chosen pace: hard and merciless.

She sank her teeth harder into Sesshoumaru's arm, but he was completely silent inside her mind now. Whatever debonair and lofty charm he possessed had been shoved far back into the recesses of his consciousness, replaced with raw primal need and heavy grunts. He sought to fuck, and Kagome found herself mewling receptively, weakly rocking back against him.

With a snarl, he yanked his arm free from her teeth- rearing back onto his haunches and dragging Kagome with him, holding her hips while continually rutting into her.

Kagome went completely speechless in both pain and pleasure. The new angle nestled onto his lap with the steel band of his arms wrapped around her waist allowed him to reach new depths.

Letting out mindless moans, she rested her head back against his furry shoulder, body ablaze, cunt squeezing him deliciously. The arms holding her prisoner forced her to meet each thrust, creating an intense friction inside that brought her into a state of begging. "P-please- more. Fuck-! More, I'm so close, please!"

Sesshoumaru gave guttural snarls and rumbles in response. But there was something strange happening with his cock. She could feel it even while held under the haze of pleasure. Nudging up against her entrance, something thicker than his length and more rounded threatened to push inside. His knot.

Kagome couldn't react- distracted by another orgasm ripping through her at the most inopportune time.

The knot swelled and stretched her sex farther than she'd anticipated. With a jolt of his hips, Sesshoumaru followed her into orgasm, throwing his head back in a deafening snarl. A torrent of cum flooded her, painting her inner walls- all locked in by the werewolf's knot.

Kagome jolted and strained, mouth opening in a wordless scream. Full. She felt too full. Her sex strained, still squeezing him like a vice.

Slowly, his voice drifted back into her head. "Very good...worthy female...powerful. Should claim..."

"S-sesshoumaru?" she croaked weakly, limp in his arms.

A silver muzzle nuzzled the side of her head in response, crooning lowly. "Hn?"

"You uh..." Kagome panted, giving a weak gesture of her wrist, trying to rise and finding it impossible. He was quite literally locked inside her. "You knotted me- shouldn't you have pulled out?"

She wasn't concerned about being pupped- she'd handled dodging pregnancy with herbal aid before. However, like this, it made moving away impossible.

"Why would this one do that?"

Blue eyes blinked, shifting up to him. His fur plastering against her skin felt like a feathery bed cushioning her spine. "Because now we're stuck, for who knows how long. A few minutes to 30. I figured you'd..."

Want to get away. Re-establish our roles as enemies.

He acted the same as always. She couldn't anticipate his movements or read him.

A sinuous tongue she'd now become intimately acquainted with slid up her cheek. The fur receded at her back, and Kagome stiffened with alarm.

When she turned slightly, she found herself gazing at the pale, handsome features of a man. His markings remained, branding him as something inhuman despite the skin, pretty fall of hair and stern sweep of his brow.

"I intend to have you many times," Sesshoumaru uttered out loud, sounding much crisper in the quiet room. "In a multitude of ways."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply, gasping when a tongue thrust inside her mouth. Grunting, she managed to return the dominating press of tongue and teeth, biting his lip for good measure and feeling him shiver.

When he began moving again while locked inside her, she fell into the murky waters of arousal once more.

-----

The morning sunlight peeking through the broken blinds brought many aches and pains with it. Kagome heard the front door shut, footsteps drawing away before falling silent.

Sitting up quickly, a fur throw fell from her shoulders. It pooled in her lap, revealing the full extent of fresh scratches and claw marks littering her nude body, along with bruises.

She winced at the stickiness between her legs. The smell of sex overwhelmed the stuffy room. So it wasn't a dream.

Noticing a steaming mug of green tea sitting before the lit fireplace loaded with newly chopped wood, Kagome tentatively reached out to touch it. Still warm.

He must've just left.

Running her hands up and down her flesh, she found no bite marks. He'd stayed true to his word.

Feeling a little complicated, Kagome blinked upon noticing a letter sitting atop a fresh change of clothes on the armchair. Her weapons were also neatly arranged nearby.

Picking up the parchment, blue eyes flitted over the message.

'Pursue me once more, my hunter. I enjoyed feasting on you.'

Kagome pressed her lips together. She shook herself a little. This was still the enemy, nothing had changed despite a thoroughly pleasurable night. In the privacy of the room however, she allowed herself a small smile.

After eating, washing and dressing for the day, Kagome stepped outside.

Securing her weapons, she gave chase.

End