#which was real. I ate it outside and it was nice.

[anarcho-masochist]

It really is like my brain went, "Wow, those are powerful intrusive thoughts you've got there. You know what's more powerful? Your desire to see this guy traumatized. Have 1.5 days of maladaptive daydreaming about them."

#I'm predicting this will continue for what's left of today #'pulled myself out of it' now but just enough to do things like post online and eat #I predict I'll return #I got up for the first time today (it's 7pm) and was suprised at how weak and shaky i felt #thought 'it is almost as if I experienced everything from the daydream. the power of one's mind over their physical well-being truly is #exceptional isn't it?' and then realized since I hadn't gotten up today I hadn't eaten and 'breakfast' was in the daydream #(was having trouble remembering whether it was or wasn't) #and of course knew I hadn't yesterday save for breakfast #which was real. I ate it outside and it was nice. #oh yeah and yahto fronted for like 10 minutes earlier but all he did was respond to our friend on the main blog and then we switched again #So it really has been a solid 1.5 days of nothing but daydreaming #Not about Cedar this is about the other one #Cedar also featured prominently. He just wasn't the main draw. #It was a coherent plotline but I wouldn't tell not-cedar the details of it on pain of death #I need something to call this person other than “not-cedar” or just using pronouns that WILL NOT communicate to them that it's them #And it's technically people not person but I don't know which they prefer #100% of people I've gotten obsessed with are also plural (all 2 of them) (or 14(?) depending on how you count it) #(Actually. Since I'm specifically obsessed with Cedar not his whole system it's more like 6? people) #(I'm not sure if there's a particular alter I like the most in the second system)

[tired-biscuit]

A friend, a mate, and all things in-between

18+ MDNI, fem!reader/werewolf!bsf!kiba

premise: after finding out the truth about the role you supposedly play in kiba’s life, you settle on a compromise of taking things slow and seeing where the wind takes you while you’re at it.

cw: monsterfucking, knotting, implied breeding, mounting, size difference, omegaverse themes, werewolf saliva used as aphrodisiac. college/modern AU, friends to lovers, established mating bond, jealousy, descriptions of a close call-cheating encounter in the past, usage of sweetheart and bunny as pet names for reader.

wc: 22.8k

find part one here!

———

On Saturday, Kiba takes you out for dinner, exactly like he’d promised.

The restaurant by the lake that you’ve decided to visit is quaint as much as it is familiar. The lighting is dim but warm, and the tables are clean even if some of the edges have been smoothed out with age and use. Pictures and framed newspaper articles cover the walls. All of them feature your little town in some way or another.

There’s a pleasant tune playing on the tiny, white speakers that are fixed in the corner. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard the song on the radio before. The easy-going notes resemble the elevator music you sometimes hear whenever you go shopping at the local mall and have to reach the garage underneath, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad, necessarily.

If you had to describe the place, it reminds you of a diner that’s gotten stuck in the past, that is if a diner was situated next to a lake and the modern aspects of it were entirely excluded, of course.

After all, there is a shiny new coffee machine sitting behind the counter, and the waitress is wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt instead of a uniform and rollerblades — the latter being a missed opportunity in your opinion.

But speaking of time; both yourself and Kiba used to come here all the time back when you were younger, even going so far back that your feet were left dangling in the air as soon as your butts had plopped onto the same plushy chairs you’re sitting in now. Making choices was easier back then — the only food you ordered had come from the kids menu.

You can still hear his, ‘Are ya gonna finish that?’ somewhere in the back of your mind. 

As well as his mother’s immediate hiss of disapproval, ‘For goodness’ sake, boy, let the poor girl eat her food in peace! With the way you’re acting, people are gonna start thinking that I don’t feed you enough.’

In the beginning, you both ate here with your parents. Afterwards — when the soles of your sneakers were able to firmly touch the floor and Kiba had won the bet and got his driver’s license well before you did — it was mostly just the two of you.

But as you sit across from him at the table that’s situated right next to the window, and which you’ve personally favoured for years — you know that he prefers the one that’s in the corner — you come to realize that this date is different from all the previous ones that you’ve been on in this exact place with him.

Because unlike the rest, this one is actually for real.

And it shows, you think. In many ways, with the most obvious one being the fact that your best friend has tidied himself up rather nicely despite the high temperatures outside.

There are jeans instead of gym shorts on his strong legs, and clean shoes on his feet instead of the busted sneakers that he swears up and down are still holding on just fine. He’s even gone through the hassle of putting on a short-sleeved button-up with a pretty pattern that cleverly melds into the colour of the cotton if you’re looking closely enough — not that you are!

In classic Kiba fashion, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone; open just enough for the glint of a thin golden chain to catch your eye whenever he tilts his head to the side or stretches his neck.

You haven’t been staring at the piece of jewelry for long, wondering where or who he’d gotten it from, however you can still tell that there’s no pendant hanging off the necklace. No charm or initial either.

Good.

Wait, wait, wait… why is that good? Are you by any chance hoping that he’ll agree to wear yours because of it?

The thought succeeds in heating up your face with stress — a popular emotion this entire situation has been evoking as of late. Ever since he had admitted that you were his mate back in the tent, you’re still feeling the pressure of deciding if you actually want to be one. 

And placing a mark like that on him, clasping your golden initial around his neck and consequently announcing that he’s your property now… It’d signal just that, now wouldn’t it?

Attempting to whisk away the dilemma that’s been plaguing your mind for the last couple of days, you force your eyes to dip from your best friend’s neck, down to the plate of half-eaten food that you’ve still got sitting in front of you. 

Your grip on the fork is tight as you chew. The food is good, even if you can’t taste it all that much from how absent-minded you are.

In a mere instant, Kiba is leaning in to ask, “You okay?”

He’s always asking that as of late.

Are you all right?

Is everything okay?

Are you sure?

“Yeah.” The nod you give him is so stiff and fast that it comes across as unnatural instead of genuine. “I’m fine.”

You try to ignore the curious smile that curls his lips as he continues to watch you eat, undoubtedly inhaling the anxiety that riddles your scent in subtle waves now. 

He’s learned that it intensifies whenever his foot accidentally touches yours underneath the table. That it doubles in strength whenever he looks you in the eyes for too long. Sometimes it even happens when he grins. Practically everything seems to be setting you off today.

You’re nervous, that much is clear. Are way up in your head about this entire thing just like you are with everything else that happens in your life. And while finding out that you’re basically a perfect biological match for your best friend is no small feat, the young werewolf’s opinion remains: you need to fucking relax. 

With how hard you’re squeezing that fork, it’s making him fear that you’re trying to split it in half — an act that he definitely wouldn’t mind doing to you again.

Woah there, reel it back in, lover boy… Easy!

Willing himself to push the dirty thought away by thinking about the food he’s eating instead, Kiba swallows the bite of steak he’d just been chewing on with a small, albeit conflicted sigh. 

The meat tastes rich despite the fact that it’s been served nearly raw — the bloodier, the better when it comes to dining with a werewolf, you suppose — however, he finds it hard to fully appreciate the meal when unlike his taste buds, his libido is far from appeased.

“Anyways.” He pauses to glide the tip of his tongue across his front teeth, further appreciating the savory taste that’s stuck there before he leans in slightly closer again. “You look really pretty tonight.”

Hearing his compliment, you look up from your plate; carefully eyeing him from underneath your lashes which you’ve taken the time to coat with a thin layer of mascara before leaving the house. It was a decision made solely for your own peace of mind.

Well, probably. 

Taking a shallow breath now, you ask, “I do?”

“What kind of stupid question is that… ‘Course you’re pretty, bunny. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on,” he says, chuckling quietly and propping his cheek against one palm with such ease that it’s almost scary.

Watching you succumb further into yourself in response to his niceness is entertaining as hell, he can’t lie. You’re lost, vulnerable. If looks as sweet as the one that’s sitting on your face right now had the power to kill, he’d be proclaimed a dead man ages ago. 

It compels him to add, “You’ve always been pretty to me.”

Messing with you or not, what he says now is the truth. Sticking by your side in the role of your best friend for so many years, Kiba has seen you be at your best as often as he’s experienced you at your worst, and has nonetheless always, always thought the exact same thing about you: that you’re perfect. 

Perfect for him, that is.

Whether you’re wearing trendy skirts or hoodies so big that they entirely hide your shape, he still likes you all the same. Whether you’re walking around with freshly washed hair and with make-up on your face, or you’re still stumbling around because you’ve just woken up from a nap that has left you all disoriented and sweaty — to him there’s no difference as long as it’s you.

Part of it is the bond’s doing. It veils you with an appeal that draws him to you no matter what. However, whilst that may be the case, he thinks that the majority of his wild infatuation has to do with plain familiarity instead.

After all, it’s your heart that is his favourite thing about you, that much he’s positive about… Even if the shy little smile that you give him now could be considered quite the competitor. 

And quite the competitor it is! Kiba’s eyes are practically glued to the wet-like sheen of your lip gloss when you slowly shake your head to chide a meek, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he inquires immediately with a grin of his own.

“Stop flirting,” you say, placing the fork back onto your plate with a soft clink. Crossing your legs underneath the table, your body language is trying its hardest to appear strict as you add, “We said we were going to take it slow, remember…? Or are you just playing dumb on purpose?”

“What’re you talking about; we are taking it slow,” he says, his tone a matter-of-fact one. “Actually, I doubt it can get much slower than this.”

Your lips purse in response. “Talking in a way that makes you sound like you’re trying to get into my pants does not mean slow, Kiba.”

“You’re not wearing any pants, though.” His gaze slips down to the light sundress you’ve put on for the night. It makes your tits look great, but he knows you wouldn’t be happy to hear that.

You snap your fingers in front of his nose, forcing him to avert his attention from your dress. “That’s besides the point and you know it.”

“Oh, c’mon.” He takes another bite of his food, then points his fork at you, seemingly in an accusatory type of way as he mutters, “I’m just saying… If we did it my way, I would’ve bent you over ages ago.”

“Can… Can you not?! God.” You fight to extinguish the heat that immediately begins to simmer on your cheeks, but it’s proving to be quite difficult. The warmth is so strong that it even manages to travel down to the base of your neck. “Just… be quiet for a second, okay?”

His upper lip twitches as his grin widens. “Why?”

“Just ‘cause!”

Kiba huffs a laugh at the slightly higher pitch that you speak in now, shoulders shaking the tiniest bit. He watches you clear your throat and readjust in your seat, and even goes as far as to drag his gaze from your face to your neck when you reach over to take a small sip of the cocktail you’ve ordered. It still sits on the table looking half-full; creating a prominent circle of moisture on the crispy white table cloth underneath. 

The drink is colourful and summery. Even has a little paper umbrella on top. He had joked about how girly it looks earlier, but had secretly considered ordering the exact same thing just to see what the inside of your mouth must taste like. After some consideration, he’d ended up settling on a coke though.

He knows you’d nag him to no end about drinking when he’s the one who’s driving… even if alcohol doesn’t do shit when it comes to him.

Still, girly drink or not, the ice somewhat succeeds in cooling you off and poses a challenge to the sudden heat of bashfulness that threatens to sweep you off your feet. It’s like all your senses have gone acute all of a sudden.

The sigh you let out because of it is one of only partial relief.

“What’s the matter? You hot?” Kiba teases instantly, his voice dropping so dangerously low that you can almost feel it reverberate in your bones. “Hot and bothered?”

“Shut up,” you hiss before taking another sip, this time a larger one. You need it if you wish to endure this menace of a man.

“What’s in it for me?” the mentioned menace questions now, taunting you with that infuriating half-smile that he knows damn well provokes you immensely. He even goes as far as to wiggle his eyebrows as he gives his best effort to purr, “Does it make you feel things, mm? Makes you wanna— Hey!”

His taunting gets replaced with a huff of disapproval when you suddenly kick him in the shin, making the fork rattle atop your plate. The kick itself is nowhere near to being powerful enough to actually hurt him, considering his thick skin and the firm cords of muscle that hide underneath, but it does get the message across. Kind of.

“What’d you do that for?” A playful little pout sits on Kiba’s mouth now. It makes him look younger than he actually is; makes him resemble the kid that you spent all your time with back in high school, as well as all the years prior to that. 

“Because it was well deserved, you dumbass,” you mumble, still staring at his face. A small, slightly less nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat when he bristles in answer. “Now be quiet and eat your dinner.”

Not even batting an eye, he blurts out, “I’d rather eat you, though.”

You give it your best shot to scowl at him even if the tease sparks heat somewhere inside your middle all over again. It’s the reason why your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to be when you say, “You’re hopeless, you know that? Actually hopeless.”

“Actually, I think I'm quite on my game tonight.” He gives you a wink, reaching for his fork again. “But you can keep tellin’ yourself that if it makes ya feel any better, sweetheart.”

He’s right. 

It makes you sigh.

———

The rest of your first proper date with your best friend goes well. Scarily so.

In fact, neither of you picks up the phone during the entirety of it. The only exception is when you decide to stalk your old classmates from high school together and share a good laugh about some of the results you stumble upon.

“Oh shit, he’s actually completely bald… What the hell?”

“Called it! I fuckin’ called it!”

Your face hurts from laughing so much and with the initial nervousness gone, dinner goes smoothly. You end up sharing dessert and talking nearly until closing time — releasing the growingly impatient waitress from your clutches at long last and mumbling sheepish apologies along the way because of it. 

To be honest, the entire outing isn’t much different from all the previous ones you’ve indulged in the exact same restaurant all those years ago.

However, you soon find out that that is because the change in your dynamic presents itself afterwards; when he turns to look you in the eye the second you sit in his car and asks you if you want to go to his place, despite the fact that it’s getting late and he doesn’t live with his mom anymore.

And you go. You nod your head yes and you fucking go. For what reason, you, yourself don’t know, but you might as well find out while you’re at it.

So around quarter to midnight, you arrive to the little apartment that Kiba calls his new home. It’s cozy and a little messy, though not to a degree that should cause concern. Otherwise, it’s lived in and definitely your standard guy apartment.

He shows you the kitchen, immediately rolling his eyes when your gaze lands onto the small pile of dishes in the sink — two cereal bowls and a mug that for some reason says ‘World’s Best Dad’ on it — and points you in the direction of the bathroom, his roommate’s bedroom, and finally, his own room, which you tell him you’ll take a look at some other time, preferably during the day and when you don’t have three sugary cocktails coursing your blood and clouding your better judgement. 

You did say that you were going to take it slow, after all.

By the time he drags you into the living room, you let out a small gasp of joy when you come face to face with Akamaru, who lays curled up on the couch, depicting the epitome of comfort.

Scurrying to sit down next to the big pup and offering him your hand to sniff so that he can hopefully recognize you despite not seeing you in years, you begin to understand what Kiba had meant with the term ‘senior dog’ during your camping trip earlier.

Christ, he’s gotten so old.

“So, what do you think?” your best friend calls out from the hallway now. He’d gone there to hang up your jacket for you at first, but it seems like he’s also using the chance to turn off the lights as he goes. 

…As well as to run off into his room to change his fancy clothes for a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a simple T-shirt. Typical.

“It’s a nice place. Pretty spacious.” You’re too busy petting Akamaru, pretending you aren’t interested in him when he throws himself onto the couch right next to you, even if your body tenses up just the tiniest bit at the closeness.

You’ve already fucked him, for crying out loud — several times in the span of one night. What are you acting so damn nervous for?

“But?” he mumbles, seemingly not noticing the subtle change in your body language as he crosses his ankles and flicks on the television. 

“What do you mean but? There’s no but,” you chide in answer, still scratching the white canine behind the ears and really trying to put all your focus into the movement instead of the warmth of your best friend’s body that is slowly spilling into your side now. 

The brown patches in Akamaru’s fur have gotten dull in colour with old age. His eyes look tired and he’s also nowhere as lively as he used to be, though he still puts in the effort to give you an appreciative little wag of his tail when your fingers dig into the sweet spot that you remember is hiding underneath his chin. 

“There’s always a but with you,” Kiba insists, changing the channel yet again. He’s not paying attention to the TV, not really anyways, but he pretends that he does just so that you can breathe a little easier.

However, when you turn your head so that you can shoot him a glare for the sly remark, you catch him staring right back at you with that stupidly lovestruck smile playing on his lips.

Lowering your gaze, you try to act like it doesn’t cause butterflies to start fluttering inside your belly. Meanwhile, he tries to act like he can’t smell the sudden sweetness that the feeling evokes in your scent.

“Oh, fine.” You pause, ceasing the petting for a moment. “I suppose it could use a little bit of a woman’s touch here and there… And you definitely could’ve washed the dishes prior to inviting me, but that’s all.”

“For your information, I didn’t wash the dishes ‘cause it’s Kankuro’s turn to do ‘em,” he says. And grins. “And if the place really needs a woman’s touch as badly as you say it does, then you’re more than welcome to touch it all over.”

“Kankuro is your roommate, I take it?” you ask, choosing to skip over the thing he’s hinting at. The butterflies still continue to flutter, though.

“Yep,” Kiba replies, playing with the remote now. The symbol on the power button has long since faded out with use and it doesn’t surprise him really. Him and Kankuro had found the TV on Facebook Marketplace. Bought it so cheap that it felt like a steal.

You listen to the quiet click of claws as Akamaru slides off the couch and ventures down the hallway, aiming straight towards Kiba’s bedroom. He’s probably going to use the chance to hog up as much space on the bed as he possibly can before his owner can beat him to it. Smart dog.

“What’s he like?” you inquire. “This Kankuro guy?”

“He’s, you know… Kanks is just a regular dude as far as I’m concerned,” your best friend says, still staring at the remote. “Cleans up after himself and is good with Akamaru. He does that cosplayin’ shit from time to time, though… Paints his face for those anime conventions that you see online and stuff. It’s pretty dope.”

“Does he know about,” you trail off, making sure to lower your voice just in case, “you know… The whole howling at the moon thingy?”

“Fuck no.” Kiba shakes his head, his lips curling into a smile. “You, Hana and mom are still the only ones who know, but now I’m kind of starting to think that I should’ve kept it a family secret instead of telling your dorky ass about it… Howling at the moon thingy? What are ya; twelve?”

You stick your tongue out at him at the remark. He tries not to stare at it for too long.

“Say…” A couple of moments pass. Your gaze dips to your lap as you ask, “How come you never told Tamaki?”

The mention of his ex-girlfriend makes Kiba want to cringe. His smile falters, twitching downwards at the corners, but he forces it to remain at least semi-present despite the fact that you’re not looking at him. Either your hands must have become the most interesting thing in the world, or you’re ashamed for inquiring about his past relationships.

“Ah, you know,” he mutters after a short moment of silence. His tone sounds very distant out of the blue. “Just never found the right time for it, I suppose.”

You hum at his answer; just a little noise of acknowledgement. “You never found the time even after being with her for… several years?”

How could he, if it also meant having to explain that he was eternally tied to his best friend; the girl he’d always assured her that she shouldn’t be worried about?

Kiba gives a hard, obvious swallow, unable to stop his jaw from clenching a little. “Yeah.”

You pick at your nails, pretending there’s something underneath them in order to appear busy. “Do you miss her?”

“I, um… I think I used to, but I definitely don’t anymore.” He sees the dumbfounded look you give him now and scrubs a tired hand over his face. “I know it sounds awful when I put it like that, trust me, I know, but the bond between me and you doesn’t let me feel things like… that anymore. For other people, I mean. It’s just… It’s a bitch to explain.”

He had loved Tamaki. Perhaps he still does; in a way that would never be enough for her and that is considerably less than what she actually deserves, but after finally connecting with you, his mate, the mere thought of ever being intimate with someone else again repulses him greatly. 

He’d tried to make it work. To give her what she’d desired, deserved. Every embrace, kiss, conversation, trip, and so much more. However, you’d always been right there, sitting in the back of his mind during it all. And now that he’d gotten the chance to place his mouth on yours, and had tasted you, had been inside you, he feels so fucking stupid for even attempting to do such a thing in the first place.

It’s either you or nobody.

“So, anyway… Cosplay, huh?” you ask randomly, clearly trying to brush the heavy topic away despite being the one who initiated it. 

He blinks, slowly. “What about it?”

“You really think it’s cool?”

“Yes,” he snips all of a sudden. The change of tone makes you even more puzzled than you already are, especially when he adds, “Is it that hard to believe or somethin’?”

“Well… yeah,” you mumble while scratching your cheek. It’s a challenge to contain the surprise that tries to show on your face now; your eyebrows are insisting on rising up nearly to your hairline. “I mean, the Kiba I know would’ve straight up bullied a person like that.”

He blanches at your statement. “That was one time! I was just being honest with the poor suckers when I told them that carrying Yu-Gi-Oh! cards to school is the reason why they’re all still virgins… In fact, I was probably doing them a favour!”

“No,” you object. “You were being mean.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we’re not in high school anymore, I guess.” He flicks the remote onto a nearby pillow and crosses his arms behind his head before he says, “And just so you know, I’m not just some mean asshole that you constantly keep referring to me as. People can change. Myself included.”

“I didn’t–... I didn’t mean it like that,” you reply a bit too fast, feeling every blink your eyelids make. His gaze is unmoving from your face and it’s causing you to become hyper-aware of your body. “I know there’s more to you than just acting like a prick, come on. I wouldn’t be friends with you otherwise.”

He sighs in answer, his face tight. You do the same.

Awkwardness settles in.

“Uh,” you utter at some point, finally daring to look up at him again. “Want to tell me the reason why you like it, though?”

“Like what?” he asks dumbly.

“Cosplay.”

“Oh.” A brief second passes before he, at long last, chuckles. You’re relieved to see his shoulders sag a bit with it. “Well, if I’ve gotta pick one thing, I guess it’s ‘cause most of the chicks are dressed in those hot, skintight bodysuits?”

“Seriously?” A pang of jealousy resonates within you, but you do your best to repress it. It’s too early to be feeling all that. “That’s the best thing you can come up with? Girls in tight bodysuits?”

“No, I’m just messin’ with ya, hah…” He grins, but swallows thickly again and runs his fingers over the back of his head before he continues, “While those are nice, don’t get me wrong, I guess I really like it because it’s like Halloween, in a way?”

“Halloween?” you repeat, even more confused.

“Yeah.” He gives you a nod that could almost come across as sheepish. “Someone can dress up as something that’s supposed to be big and scary, and when people see it, they aren’t… Well, they aren’t afraid of it, necessarily? Instead they just think it’s cool and fun, you know?”

Finally, Kiba tears his gaze from your face, allowing it to settle onto his lap instead. Silence stretches between you once more as you continue to stare at him. Your head tilts to the side just as his drops lower, and you make the decision to reach out so that you can gently pat his knee in understanding.

Your entire body begins to glow from within when his hand rests atop your own. He traces your knuckles and gives them a gentle squeeze. The sensation is truly something you haven’t had the chance to experience before with anyone other than your best friend. There’s just so much nostalgia hiding in the small portrayal of affection.

The tone of your voice slips into something soft because of it, so soft that it comes across as barely above a whisper even to his sensitive wolf hearing when you ask, “I take it that that someone is you, in your… other form?” 

“What? No, I, uh… It’s not me.” He lets go of your hand to awkwardly clear his throat, trying to ignore the sudden ache that appears in it before he sits cross-legged and rests his elbows on his knees. 

By the time he’s ready to speak again, he’s already fiddling with his fingers. “Besides, even if I actually wanted to go, I still couldn’t. I’m far too big for that. Far too… scary-lookin’.”

He wants to though, you can see it bright as day. Can see that he’s tired of hiding a whole other half of himself — a half that he’ll unfortunately have to keep hidden for as long as he lives. Tired of making excuses and being overly cautious when he’s the exact opposite of it, and missing out on important events whenever they’re set on days following up to a full moon. Tired of receiving weird, uncomfortable glances whenever instinct takes over and his true nature pushes forward a bit too far past the barriers, when all he yearns for is to be liked.

Just… fed up with it all.

However, you also know that Kiba hates being perceived as vulnerable. So rather than moping with him and indulging his sadness and thus worsening it, you instead use the chance to snort and playfully nudge him in the shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah?” you say, making sure the lilt in your voice is overly noticeable. “Is that so?”

The nudge you give him makes him look up, as does the sudden change in your tone. At the sight of your friendly smile and the challenge simmering in your eyes, his expression eventually lightens to something a bit less stormy.

You’ll do just about anything to drag your best friend out of the bubble of melancholy that he’s surrounded himself with. 

And the best thing about it? You know that he would’ve done the same for you.

“Yeah,” he says, playing along now, albeit reluctantly. He’s still not quite where you want him exactly, but you’re getting there.

“Well, how big and scary are we talking, big boy?” you continue to inquire, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“I–” He snickers at your flirtatious prodding, rolling his eyes right afterwards. “Too big for anyone to handle,” he says, “and that includes you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Can he truly get that big? You’ve never had the chance to see him turn full wolf yet, so his statement causes your stomach to fill with warmth. Heat travels downwards, over your thighs and between your legs, and you swear that you can hear him inhale a breath that’s slightly deeper than usual when it happens. 

The unannounced nerves are making you want to start pacing around the room, but you force your body to keep still.

“Well, you not believing me ain’t my problem, now is it?” he says, his smile suddenly wistful now. The light that comes from the TV makes his unnaturally big canines glimmer with moisture. It’s hard to not look at his mouth because of it. 

Words slightly wobbly, you manage to say, “I’m your mate, though.”

Mate. He perks up at the word, just like he always does, but his voice doesn’t make him sound particularly fazed as he utters, “And?”

“And that makes me your problem,” you explain, finally daring to move so that you can scratch your cheek again. It’s nothing more but an attempt at self-soothing. “Doesn’t it?”

You’re unsure why you’re pushing on this specific topic — especially after being the one who had once again suggested taking things slow in the first place — however, to be fair, you’ve been curious about it for a long while, even before you’d tangled yourself into this whole ‘bonded for life’ mess.

But now that the link has been revealed, the desire to lay your eyes on the unthinkable has become as potent as ever.

There is just something so undeniably appealing about the idea of seeing him in his werewolf form. Something thrilling in discovering the unknown; touching it with your hands and grazing it with the tips of your fingers. Something reassuring in accepting all of him, especially after he’d just partially trusted you with his insecurities revolving around this specific topic.

So yes, it’s either that, or it’s the newly discovered monsterfucker that’s been hiding inside you this whole time that’s talking and coaxing him into showing himself now. Or perhaps it’s both. Who knows?

You try to feign indifference to the best of your capability as you wait for his answer, even if every single inch of you is buzzing with relentless expectation. 

With bated breath that could very well match your own to perfection, Kiba inches ever so slightly closer, seemingly completely unintentionally. His gaze is laser-focused as he studies every feature that your face provides. The curve of your jaw, the shape of your lips, the colour of your eyes — he burns it all into memory before he at long last settles on the upper corner of your left cheek.

His burning stare causes your heart to pound faster than it normally would, and you know that he can hear it despite the fact that his ears are nowhere near your chest. Still, you insist on not moving a muscle. Insist on being brave.

“I’m too big for ya,” he says finally, gesturing over himself with his hand. “This is all you’re gonna get after you’re done playing the ‘takin’ it slow’ game with me.”

You bristle, clearly displeased with his answer. “But I’m–”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “Believe me, I wish it would, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re only human.”

“Humans can adapt! And being one, as you’ve so kindly pointed out, I’m pretty sure I can take it,” you object, heart still going thump, thump, thump! Something tells you that this isn’t just about cheering him up anymore. “Actually, I know I can.”

If he’s fucked you like a feral animal without transforming, how off the rails can he get if he doesn’t have anything holding him back anymore? 

You tense up when he gives you a harsh, almost derisive kind of laugh. Sit straighter when he says, “I’d tear you to shreds.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“The point is that I could.” The corners of his mouth twitch downwards at the horrible thought. “And that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”

You roll your eyes. “Since when are you one to say no to taking risks?”

“Since last week,” he replies. “Give or take.”

“You mean…?” A quick wave of heat washes over your face again. You went camping last week and he’d slipped into rut whilst sharing a tent with you; accidentally confessing everything that’s tied him to you ever since he’d first laid eyes on you all those years ago. 

He nods. “You’d be surprised how much being with a mate can change a wolf… I’m boring as fuck now.”

“But I don’t want you to change! I love you just the way you are,” you find yourself saying. The reason must be that last cocktail you persuaded yourself into ordering and eventually drinking. It’s untied your tongue like it’s nothing but a measly shoelace.

Nevertheless… 

Love.

Kiba’s breath hitches at the word, deeply-rooted emotions swelling within his broad chest, however he — very painfully — chooses not to ask to hear it again as soon as the subtle whiff of anxiety wafts over to his nose.

You’re embarrassed because of what you’ve just said. It makes his chest squeeze to the brink of pain.

“I mean–” you start, fumbling with your words. “I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, patting your knee as casually as he’s able despite the fact that the smile he gives you now seems just a smidge too tight. “I know what you meant. Now stop making it awkward or I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

Hyper-sensitive — his touch lights your skin on fire. His palm barely moves from its initial spot, but you can feel every callus to adorn his fingers, every minuscule stroke, as well as the reassuring squeeze that makes you want to straight up jump his bones.

And fuck, it’s nice. So nice, in fact, that it persuades you to stop him when he goes to pull his hand off your leg.

“Wait… don’t.”

“Mm?”

“You can touch me.” The words roll off your tongue before you can reel them back in again, but you still decide to put on your bravest front even if your upper lip is a second away from quivering.

Short-lived surprise crosses Kiba’s face. You watch with nervous eyes as his hand falters before it eventually settles on its original spot again. He grasps it more firmly this time. Squeezes with intent instead of reassurance.

There’s a beat of unsure stillness in the air before he brings himself to ask, “Like that?”

You give him a nod, feeling a little more confident while also paying mind not to be so tense. There are so many things you have to keep track of; god, why can’t you just relax and be more like him? Everything has to be so darn complicated whenever it comes to you! 

“Bunny,” he says, his tone still slightly unsure. “I thought I told you to stop making it awkward.”

Phantom lightning strikes your insides, melting them into liquid. “I’m not making it awkward.”

“‘Course you are. You’re completely stiff.” His grip tightens and it makes your eyes grow wide and your body turn even tenser in response. 

His own eyes aren’t their usual chocolate brown shade when he lifts his gaze to look at you again, but they sure are dark as sin. 

“See?” is all he says, a little out of breath. 

“I’m not,” you insist, the sentence completely useless. Your throat feels terribly dry all of a sudden. It makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. “You’re just… imagining things.”

He quirks one brow. Repeats your challenge from earlier with the same tone, “Oh, yeah?” 

You bite your lip — a lame attempt to refocus. “Yeah.”

But before you know it, he uses one hand to shove you until you’re laying flat on your back, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, causing you to let out a little noise of startlement. 

His head pops into your field of vision as he hovers over you now. Aside from the light that comes from the TV, the room is shrouded in darkness. It makes only half of his face visible, however you can still see the glimmer of his teeth when he smiles down at you.

“You’re still sure about me imagining things?” he asks, clasping his fingers around the fat of your thigh. “‘Cause this is looking pretty real to me.”

“Y-yes,” you reply, challenging him further. “I’m sure.”

His grin turns wolfish as he drags his gaze over your somewhat disheveled form. Across both of your collarbones, now exposed due to the thin spaghetti straps of your dress slipping off your shoulders slightly, as well as the rising hem that’s slowly showing off more and more of your legs.

He’s looking at you like he’s planning to eat you. But rather than digging in, all he does is sneer as he says, “Brave words for someone who oddly resembles a plank right now.”

Well… that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Fuck you,” you drawl in answer, a mere hint of disappointment crossing your features — disappointment you’ll never admit to feeling. Urging your body to relax once more just so that you can prove him wrong, you instead try to focus on calming down your breathing.

However, it’s hard to do so when your best friend is literally on top of you, watching you with hungry eyes and the most complacent of smiles. Hard to do so when his fingers are now toying with the string that ties the front of your dress together and holds your tits in place. Hard to do so when—

A small gasp escapes your lips when he jabs you in the side all of a sudden.

The bridge of your nose scrunches in annoyance. When you try to stop him from repeating the action, he just takes you by the wrist and uses the chance to pin it above your head. “Don’t do that.”

“Or what?” He huffs a laugh at your weak attempt to fight back. Pokes you in the side again, making you whine. “What are you gonna do ‘bout it, hmm?” 

You don’t say anything as you squirm underneath him, trying to break free from his grip, but your efforts are to no avail. He’s got you locked in tight; has even made sure to pin your other hand the same way he did the first one when you tried to use it to push him in the chest.

“C’mon, bunny,” he taunts, his smile growing, growing, growing. Gosh, he really is such a wolf, isn’t he? “Is that really the best you can do?”

“No, it’s just not fair,” you say, trying to tame your pulse. The position you’ve wound up in is making your mind wander to all sorts of things. Dirty things.

“What’s not fair?” he asks, rubbing his thumb across your wrist.

“The fact that you’re so much stronger than me and expect me to throw you off like it’s nothing,” you mumble, huffing as you look up at the spot where he’s pressing down on your wrists. “I mean, how am I supposed to do anything, when you can hold me down with just one hand?”

The way his pupils widen with obvious excitement at your statement should concern you, but you know better than to think that he’d ever actually hurt you. It’s just the predator in him playing. A side he cannot stop from slipping into the spotlight every so often. A side he feels safe enough to share with you.

He likes being described as big and overpowering. Call it a guilty pleasure.

“Try using your legs,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with want. You can still distinguish the smile in it though. “I heard bunnies are supposed to have quite a kick to ‘em.”

“I’m not an actual bunny, shut up,” you fuss, but do exactly as he says. You kick your legs…

…and end up wrapping them around his waist instead.

Flustered warmth sears your face, neck and chest all over again as your ankles lock on the small of his back seemingly by their own accord. The skirt of your dress hikes up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs; offering him a glimpse of your cutesy underwear that you didn’t think twice about wearing because you weren’t planning on starting anything with him tonight.

And yet here you are.

The rise in temperature that you’re feeling all over blazes into something more profound now. Heat gathers in your stomach. Your legs. Between them, too. Anticipation tightens your skin, bringing the blood that runs underneath it to an angry simmer.

Kiba’s smile slowly fades when he senses the particular tension that now riddles the air around you. You stare at each other even if it’s hard for you and easy for him. For fuck’s sake, it feels like he’s burning holes into your fucking forehead when he looks at you like that.

“What is it?” you ask, nerves working overtime. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

“You smell so fucking good when you’re turned on, did you know that?” he rasps in answer, completely ignoring your question and pitiful attempt at diffusing the situation. His nose is already leading him to that very tender spot hiding in the crook of your neck.

You flinch when he nudges your jawline, silently asking you for permission to give him more space. Not trusting the lump of nervosity that’s taken up residency inside your throat to not betray you all of a sudden, you allow it wordlessly and by angling your head slightly to the right.

“Your scent is so… I can smell how wet your cunt is even from here, god,” he trails off without an ounce of shame, every word lower and lower in tone. He takes another deep breath. Savours it with a soft groan. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”

Embarrassment flashes through you like lightning does a stormy sky. The realization that he can immediately pick up on the scent of your arousal — as well as the aftermath that the ability brings — is overwhelming. 

It makes your heart thrum even faster than it did before. Consequently, your thoughts are now nothing more but a jumbled mess as you desperately attempt to tame your pulse back into a rhythm that’s normal instead of completely erratic.

But it’s not just you who’s having a hard time. The muscles in Kiba’s arms have gone completely stiff and his inhales are deep and audible instead of calm. He only pauses them to press cautious little kisses over your neck, most of which he eventually starts mixing with even smaller nips with the help of his teeth.

You’re pouring with sweat because of it. His apartment is warm, too warm even if it didn’t feel like that before, and his mouth is hot just like his tongue is as it repeatedly presses against your sweet spot. The action even causes goosebumps to appear all over your arms and legs. Great.

“Relax,” he mumbles, the tip of his nose practically smushed against your neck. “We’ve done this before.”

“What makes you think that we’ll do it again?” you hiss, fighting tooth and nail to appear authoritative. It doesn’t come off as strongly as you want it to, though.

“Call it a hunch,” he says, unable to resist a smirk. “Or whatever.”

Your lips remain a firm line. Unimpressed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Sure am,” he trails off with a lazy grin as his fingers brush the side of your neck. He looks at you. And winks. “You can be too, if you wanna. Full of me, I mean.”

“N-no?! The hell,” you splutter out, squirming even more. Sly motherfucker, damn him. “I thought I told you-”

“Relax! C’mon,” he repeats, huffing another laugh. “You know damn well that I’m just fucking with you, sorry, messing… No need to lecture me all the time.”

You roll your eyes. “You say that as if you can actually be lectured in the first place.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Did it ever cross that naggy mind of yours that I don’t listen to you because I don’t want to, and not because I can’t?”

“Oh yeah, many times,” you reply, glaring at him. “Drives my naggy mind crazy.”

He muses like a satisfied cat at your statement. “You drive me crazy.”

“Stop hitting on me!” Your entire face scrunches up in annoyance. “Sweet talking isn’t gonna get you laid.”

“Then what will?” He drags his tongue along your pulse point. Blows air on the trail of saliva so that he can watch you writhe at the cold sensation to overcome you, then. “You want me to chase you around a lil’ bit first? Play a little game of prey versus predator with ya to get you to sit on my dick tonight?”

A small groan of agitation is the best you can do when it comes to answering his taunting.

“Or do you want me to really work for it, hmm, bunny?” His grip tightens around your wrists. As if to serve as a reminder. “Even though, judging by how you’re lookin’ right now, I could just take it all for myself either way?”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. “You wouldn’t.”

His upper lip curls, revealing those sharp canine teeth again. “Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t.” 

But he could.

Still, your breaths continue to intermingle. Doubt gets overridden by lust. Hands explore; one pair of them courageous as it can be, the other perfectly timid in contrast. The former even uses that courage to hike the hem of your dress up to your waist, completely exposing your lower half amidst all the grinding and writhing that’s slowly, but surely, coming into fruition. 

Kiba looks like he’s already won as he leers between your legs with that obnoxiously knowing glint in his eye and the equally as infuriating half-smile. 

He seems to be aware that you’re trying your absolute hardest not to react to the obvious bulge that’s in his sweatpants now. That you’re trying to ignore the rushing thrill that surges through you whenever he presses it against your traitor of a cunt — which still hides under the plain cotton panties you apparently swore you wouldn’t let him see tonight.

So he pushes it against you again. And again. Applying pressure, rubbing, testing out the playing field, waiting for you to tell him to stop. 

You don’t though. No, all you do is bite your lip in order to suppress the moan that’s impatiently waiting behind your clenched teeth and wiggle your hips whenever the hot contact strikes.

“Fuck, you’re so cute.” He can’t hide how entertained he is as he mumbles, “You want my cock? ‘Cause I’ll more than gladly give it to ya.”

A low hiss slips past your lips when his hard-on manages to bump your clit over the layers of clothes. It makes your brows furrow and your legs squeeze around his waist even tighter. 

“I didn’t–” You pause to close your eyes and inhale a rather wobbly breath. By the time you open them again, he’s already staring right back. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, his own eyes flashing with what you think could be pride. “I can already tell from how fuckin’ soaked you are... Look.”

He reaches down between you then, running a single knuckle down your clothed slit. Your hips buck in answer to the touch almost immediately; the damp patch that’s formed on your underwear now turning more noticeable, shaping the outline of your pussy even further.

It makes him yearn to tug your panties to the side so that he can feel the slick coating his fingers before he can push them into your tight little hole, but he knows you’ll cause a fuss and close up on him if he moves even a smidge too quickly for your liking.

Still, the sight nearly makes him drool. His cock twitches. Starts to physically ache with need. It’s not as bad as it was during his rut last week, but fuck… this entire stage of foreplay and trying to lure you into pound town could be a close second, he can’t lie.

“Do you always get this wet whenever someone touches you,” he finds himself asking, “or is all of this just f’me?”

He hopes it’s the latter. Wants it so bad. The mere thought of someone else seeing you like this, touching you, spreading their scent all over you, claiming you, loving you… He’d let you go if you wanted to be with someone other than him, he’s told you so before, but that doesn’t mean that he’d be particularly happy about it.

Actually, he’d be quite miserable. Excruciatingly so.

You give him a pointed glare, face stern. He’s received the same look from you so many times over the years that he’s grown to love it, but you don’t fail to notice how his smile tightens with each passing moment that he waits for you to answer his question.

“Well?” he pushes, unable to resist. His eyes are getting more yellow by the second and his teeth are getting bigger. It makes his voice sound gruff as he says, “Who’s it for, bunny, mm?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say quietly, trying to make sense of all the emotions that are swelling up inside your chest now.

It’s a challenge to do so when they’ve been continuously swept under the rug for years on end and have only just recently been brought back into the open, though. When you’re unsure where your friendship stands. When you don’t even know if the love that your best friend feels for you is actually genuine, or if it’s just a thing that’s been forced forward solely because of the mating bond that eternally connects him to you.

You can’t help but wonder: would he still love you the same way he loves you now even if you weren’t his mate? If he were nothing more but a simple human, unable to connect with someone on such a deep biological level. Would he still fall for you — his best friend?

Or would he still be with his now ex-girlfriend, surely renting an apartment with her and exchanging doting glances and smiles during breakfast every morning, mind completely free from you the second you’d leave for college after every summer?

Would he even be your friend?

What if you’re just a burden to him?

“Hey.”

The sudden pinch that you receive to your left cheek tugs you out of your inner turmoil that has come to plague you all of a sudden.

Kiba’s eyebrows are cinched tight when you blink up at him. A small wrinkle of worry etches into his forehead and continues to deepen with the heavy silence to surround you. Even his jaw seems to be set firmly in place. 

Instead of hot and bothered, he just looks plain worried now despite the gleam of sweat on his brow and the almost sex hair.

“Mm?” is all you decide to let out whilst rubbing your wrists that he’s since let go of.

“You okay?” he asks, choosing to stroke your cheek instead of pinching it this time around. The pads of his fingers are rough, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. “You’ve completely zoned out on me just now.”

“I’m fine,” you say, despite that your chest remains feeling unbearably tight. The urge to touch it as a means to console yourself is hard to suppress, however you’re well aware that it’d just cause him to worry even further. “Sorry.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you smell kind of sad all of a sudden,” he mumbles, wolf eyes still zeroing in on you. He’s following every minuscule movement you make and it’s unnerving. “And I don’t know about you, but that definitely ain’t a thing a dude would want his girl to feel when he’s planning on sinking balls deep into her.”

“Sad?” you repeat, ignoring the lewd comment even if it makes you feel tingly between your legs. His cock, albeit not as hard anymore, is still persistently pressing against your pussy.

“Yeah,” he says. “Kind of like rain.”

This fascinates you. Your expression lightens as a result. “You mean like petrichor?”

He gives you somewhat of a dumb look, biting the inside of his cheek. “What?”

“Never mind, it’s just something dorky we learned in school,” you say, chuckling faintly at the confused puzzlement that now sits on his face. “Forget I said anything.”

He doesn’t respond, so you sigh, running your palm over the side of your neck he’d just been kissing a moment prior. The skin there is still warm. Tender. It makes you shiver when your fingers graze it.

“C’mon, what’s wrong?” he mutters, still eyeing you just as intensely as before. “I can tell whenever something’s bothering you… Spit it out.”

“Nothing is bothering me, okay? Gosh,” you try to reassure him, but still turn your head to the side to stare at the television. 

The movie he’d put on earlier is already halfway through and you doubt he has the option to rewind it. Oh, well.

Watching you dismiss the entire thing, Kiba looks like he’s about to fight you on it, surely getting ready to accuse you of being a liar like he’s had a habit of playfully doing in the past. However, just when his mouth pops open to say the words, you prevent him from doing so by pressing both of your palms on his front and gathering up his T-shirt between your fingers.

He stills only for a second before he starts to push out his chest at your touch, puffing up with male-like bravado as he goes. His shoulders square up. His eyes flash with that sublime yellow colour. And you might be imagining the whole thing at this point, but you swear that even his scent grows stronger in intensity. 

The entire room is engulfed by that signature amber scent now. You peer up at him once more, mind slightly hazy and astounded.

But besides the astonishment, you also feel… soothed. Kind of.

Burden or no burden, he’s down bad for you all the same, isn’t he? 

“What is it now?” he grumbles in answer to the wide look in your eyes. “You’re starin’ at me all weird-like again.”

You swallow the saliva that’s gathered in your mouth for what must be the millionth time tonight. It’s runny and thin, laced with adrenaline. “Are you courting me right now?”

“Huh?” His face twists into a look of pure confusion for a second time in a row.

“You’re pushing your chest out like a bird during one of those mating dances that you see on TV,” you explain, tugging on his T-shirt as if it’ll help you prove your point. “Are you trying to impress me or something?”

“Tsch… What? No... It’s just, ah… The fuck?” He blinks, shaking his head as if he’s trying to get his thoughts in order. His back hunches slightly with the action. You’ve caught him completely off guard.

You smile. “What is it, then?”

“It’s just my body reacting to a mate’s touch, damn… I told you about it in the woods last week, didn’t I? What’s with all the questions all of a sudden?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth once more, apparently unaffected by what you have to say, but also immediately draws back; causing distance until he’s lying between you and the backrest of the couch instead of on top of you. 

You’re not aware of it, but he’s beginning to blush like a sucker after he realizes how that treacherously primal part of his brain had made him react just now — fully without his knowledge.

Trying to appear bigger and wooing you with his scent? What are you, animals? Besides, you aren’t even capable of distinguishing pheromones like he can, for fuck’s sake! What’s he doing all of this weird shit for?!

This time, heat continues to climb up Kiba’s neck instead of yours, and overtakes his entire face with such speed that it makes his cheeks itchy. Even the tips of his ears have turned hot to the touch. He feels like he’s on the verge of melting into a puddle of despair any second now.

Gosh, you must think he’s such a loser.

He doesn’t say anything else as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer until your back is pressed against his chest, feeling slightly relieved to not hear any protests from your side. 

But to some extent, he’s not all that surprised. While you might be taking this entire thing slow, spooning is nothing new. You’ve done it even whilst you were both desperately trying to keep your friendship as something purely platonic instead of whatever it is now. So when you compare it to all the grinding that you did just now, this is angel city.

His voice is barely above a sheepish murmur as he says, “Whatever… Let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

You don’t mention that the film is nearing its end and that you’ve already seen it in theaters a couple months ago with your friends from college. Nor the fact that you found his little portrayal of desire — as well as the feeling of embarrassment that followed it afterwards — outright adorable and that it helped ease your worries a little bit.

No, all you do is snuggle up closer to him and nod your head yes.

———

Summer passes by quickly when you’re reunited with your best friend again.

If you had to describe the last couple of months with one word, it’d be nostalgic. During the days when he’s off work and you’re not busy with your family, Kiba makes sure to take you on a trip down memory lane one way or another. 

On some evenings, you drop by the small convenience store that you used to constantly occupy as kids, so that you can buy popsicles and then sit on a bench in the nearby park; taking turns licking the different flavours and talking late into the night, or at least until the artificial colouring has been wiped away from your tongues. 

On particularly hot days, you drive to the lake where you’ve both been taught how to swim by your parents in order to cool off, and compete to see who's able to hold their breath the longest. He ends up being the winner almost every time, of course, and never misses the chance to rub it in your face.

You even still do shitty movie marathons, however this time they’re occasionally accompanied by Kiba’s roommate, Kankuro, who you’ve since learned is a pretty cool guy, despite his slightly odd obsession with purple face paint. He’s also the one who’d helped you bake Kiba’s birthday cake back in July.

All in all, things concerning your best friend have remained quite the same as they’ve always been. Well, most of them did.

There may have been a couple of changes here and there ever since you’ve learned you were his mate. 

Some are pretty tame. For example, you can’t brush over the look of pure longing that appears in his eyes as he watches you lick a rogue droplet of sugar whenever you’re sucking on the popsicle he’d just handed you. Or the way his touch lingers on your shoulders and traces down your spine and hips when you ask him to help you apply sunscreen on your back after your swim.

But then there are some of the more twisted kind. Sometimes, whenever Kankuro can’t make it to your movie marathons, you also can’t ignore the way your best friend sighs and grunts and whispers the nastiest of profanities into the side of your neck as you sit on his lap and rub your clothed pussy against the hard-on in his pants.

It’s always done the same way. On his couch, in the dark, and never talked about afterwards since it tends to make you both agitated with even more lust. Your skirt is bunched up in his too-big hands — you’re always making sure they don’t go any farther than that because they try, oh boy, do they try — and there are zero kisses exchanged between you in order to keep things moving slow but still giving him the fix he needs so that he doesn’t slip into another unannounced rut, as he likes to call it.

So far, your compromise shows promise. Over the span of the last couple of weeks, there had only been one single occasion of actual skin on skin contact; when he’d somehow managed to distract you for long enough to pull your panties to the side and pull out his cock from the confines of his clothes without you being quick enough to stop him. 

However, much to his — and secretly your own — misfortune, you’d been mewling his name and rubbing your pussy against him for a long while back then, consequently overstimulating him to great, almost unfair lengths in the process. The second his cockhead had gotten the chance to bump against your soaked entrance, he was not bound to last. 

So he’d spilled everything he had with a sharp hiss and a frustrated “fuuuck” and just like that, you were safe from being pounded into oblivion once again — if you exclude the sticky, cloudy white mess splattering between your thighs, that is.

And that was that.

But now, with summer coming to a swift end and a new school year waiting right around the corner, the time has come for you to say goodbye to your best friend once again.

Kiba accompanies you to the airport and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug when it’s time for you to board your flight, his features unusually impassive during the entirety of it. He leans down to kiss your cheek, surely receiving curious glances from your parents with the act, and mumbles something about texting him when you land so that he knows you’re safe.

You do as he asks of you when you arrive to campus that day, even going as far as to send him a picture of your little student apartment that you share with two other roommates, jokingly calling it a dump. He reads your text message almost instantly, but his reply is curt. When you call him to say good night after you’ve finished unpacking your stuff and settling in, you barely recognize the sound of his voice.

“G’night,” he mutters. “Try not to be a dumbass on your first day.”

The jab is meant to be playful, but instead it comes across as void of any kind of emotion whatsoever. Flat and unlively. You can tell even if he desperately tries to cover it up with more teasing remarks and lame jokes. 

It gets better over time, though. You’re well aware that he’s handling the distance way worse than any other regular human would, especially since he’s a semi-mated wolf now, so you try to keep him in the loop as often as you can. He, on the other hand, tries to gives you space and keeps his more possessive side on a tight leash. His main priority is to make your friendship — or should you say situationship — work.

Speaking of his more possessive side, you’ve both made precautions to lessen the chance of the beast within him from going haywire. He makes sure to go completely off the grid during a full moon, and every so often, you mail him a T-shirt or two so that he still has a way of inhaling your scent and thus satisfying the urge to come seek you out. After the scent fades out, he sends your clothes back washed, but not ironed; typical for a man like him, before the cycle repeats itself again.

He’d once, jokingly, not so jokingly, texted you about sending him a pair of your panties instead, however all he got in response to that was an angry wall of text and a series of pissed off-looking emojis. He’d abandoned the idea soon after.

You do indulge him with phone sex from time to time, though. And while you do keep telling yourself that it’s done solely to keep him in-check, deep down, you know that that simply isn’t the case. 

Because when the hour is late, Kiba likes to remind you just how badly he misses you in that warm, rich, confident voice that makes your back want to straight up arch from the bed. Likes to talk about all the things that he wants to do to you with zero hesitance — hesitance you wish you, yourself didn’t have — while he strokes his cock; all until you find yourself reaching into the drawer of your nightstand so that you can hurriedly press your trusty pink vibrator to your clit. 

But it’s not just you who finds him hot — your roommates do, too. They’ve peered over your shoulder once or twice while you were FaceTiming him in the kitchen, fully clothed, of course, and have since been asking for regular updates on your so-called ‘boyfriend’, wondering when they’ll get to meet the guy who’s actually managed to swipe the rug from underneath your feet, in person.

And the answer is: on Halloween. They’ll meet him on Halloween.

———

Oddly enough, Kiba seems to fit right into the college party scene, despite never pursuing a degree of his own.

After successfully planning out his visit together, you realize that the frat house that you’ve dragged him to in order to celebrate this year’s Halloween in, is packed with people; some of them in costumes, while the rest have decided to go for a more casual approach. 

Dressed in jeans, the same faded baseball cap that you saw him wearing back when you’d bumped into him in the grocery store at the beginning of summer, and a simple T-shirt and flannel combo, your best friend doesn’t particularly stand out amongst the latter. 

He’d landed this morning, grinning tiredly and with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You nearly started bursting at the seams with joy the second you caught sight of him halfway across the airport. He wasn’t much better.

Hugging out all your emotions first, you then spent the entire day catching up, as well as healing the phantom wounds that the distance had caused. It was nice. So nice, in fact, that you’d almost forgotten how easy and complicated it was at the same time with him.

And now here you are. Together again.

Eyes glimmering with fondness, you watch as he leisurely chats with your friends who he’d already gotten to meet back at the apartment. As is expected for an extrovert like Kiba, he has no problem keeping up with the conversation. 

His body language is relaxed even when he has to lie about wearing yellow contacts; swiftly feigning that it’s because he wants to keep the spirit of Halloween alive and because he, of course, couldn’t possibly have brought a full costume with him to the airport. 

Meanwhile, you’re well aware that his reasoning couldn’t be farther from the truth. His eyes had shifted from their regular brown shade the second he’d caught you emerging from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and with a bunny ears headband sitting atop your head — a rather mediocre choice of a costume, but one that you knew he’d dig nonetheless.

“What, no heels?”

“Have you seen the floor of a frat house before?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re going to now, and then you’re going to understand why I chose normal girl shoes.”

While riddled with mischief at your answer, his eyes haven’t gone back to normal since.

And neither has he. No, instead he had spent a good twenty minutes scenting you in the privacy of your little bedroom; embracing you and running his rough hands up and down your arms and sides, touching your neck and face all over until you were almost late to the party and glittery highlighter coated every last one of his fingers.

“You do realize that normal people don’t have a heightened sense of smell like you do, right?” you’d grumbled by the fourth repetitive stroke, making a face when he even went as far as to lean in and start rubbing his cheek against your own. “Nobody is going to be like, ‘Woah, watch out! This one smells like werewolf property!’ if I get kidnapped or something.”

The laughter-like sound he’d let out had come across as terribly jeering. “You say that like anyone would even have a chance of forcibly taking you away from me.” 

With a soft incline of your head, you had asked, “Wouldn’t they?”

“‘Course not, you silly bunny.” He’d looked you right in the eyes then, his pupils briefly thinning into feline-like slits, allowing the apex predator within to shine on through. “I’d rip out their throats with my teeth before they’d even get a chance to blink. Easy as pie.” 

His gaze had been shiver-inducing. The words even more so. “But what if there would be like… ten of them?”

“I can take on ten people.”

“You can barely handle me whenever I’m in a lousy mood.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you don’t count, then.” The grin he’d given you in return had been sharp. Too sharp, despite the cutesy dimple digging into his cheek. Especially as he held your face between his palms and purred, “Also, you’re not my property, you’re my mate. It’s supposed to make us equals, so please try to act like one for my sake, yeah?”

And they said romance was dead.

“Yeah.” Attempting to not pay attention to the butterflies that were wildly fluttering in your stomach again, all you managed was, “Equals who are going to be late.”

“Shit.” His eyes got wide as saucers at that. He’d given one last stroke, one last squeeze, and had pressed a hasty kiss onto your forehead before saying, “Okay, I think I’m done... Ready when you are.”

You’re unsure if it’s placebo, but you think his scent still clings to you even two hours later, when the party is in full swing and you’re chatting away with one of your guy friends in the kitchen.

Besides said friend, there are only two other people in the room — none of which you can recognize, from the way they’re too busy eating face only a few meters away from you. Kiba, reluctant to leave your side despite your many reassurances, had somehow gotten dragged into a round of beer pong by a group of rowdy jocks.

Every so often, you can hear cheering coming from one of the rooms nearby. You don’t doubt that he’s acquired quite a crowd for himself already. His dream and your worst nightmare.

“So, what’s the deal with you and the dunce?”

Blinking at the sudden question that whisks away your brain fog, you look up from your plastic cup of cranberry juice that others have been using to mix their cheap vodka with. Not feeling like taking the risk of being hungover because of particularly shitty booze the next morning, you’d decided to stay sober tonight, hence the juice.

“Sorry, what?” you ask. “I wasn’t listening.”

Your friend, Shikamaru Nara is his name, looks at you with signature exasperation at having to repeat himself again. 

“I was asking about your… friend,” he mutters after a brief pause, using the second chance of you not hearing the initial jab. 

“Oh, you mean Kiba?” you say, bringing the cup up to your lips. “Yeah, what about him?”

“Are you hooking up with him?”

The sip of cranberry juice you’d just taken lodges itself into the back of your throat at the question. It hurts like a bitch as you fight to swallow it down, unable to resist squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation, however you manage to avoid sputtering and coughing yourself into embarrassment by the end of it.

Clearing your throat as discreetly as you can, your voice sounds slightly hoarse when you ask, “Why do you ask that?”

Shikamaru, without missing a beat, says, “I dunno, he just looks at you like he’s planning on eating you or something. It’s odd.”

You glance up at the man that’s leaning against the kitchen counter next to you, noticing how the whites of his eyes are red instead of as the name suggests. His pupils are so big and round and hazy that they remind you of a cat looking around in the dark. He seems to be so high that he doesn’t have a problem with saying whatever is on his mind.

Either that, or he simply doesn’t give a shit. Both are valid reasonings whenever it comes to him.

“Kiba’s just… protective,” you manage to say after a brief moment of thought, shoulders shrugging. “He’s been like that ever since I can remember.”

Shikamaru’s eyebrow raises at this piece of information. “Even when you were kids?”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod vehemently. “Back then, it was even more intense than it is now, I think. You should have seen him playing a friendly game of dodgeball when we were in high school.”

‘HEY! AIM THAT BALL AT HER HEAD AGAIN, AND I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL SMASH YOUR FUCKING TEETH IN NEXT, YOU LOUSY FUCK!’

The memory makes the corners of your lips curl upwards. You’re quick to hide the smile behind the rim of the cup.

“Hm.” Shikamaru hums, puffing out a tired sigh that you’ve had the pleasure of hearing countless of times ever since meeting him during your first year of college.

“What is it?” you inquire.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Just thinking.”

“You’re always doing that,” you say. “Thinking.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he answers, giving you a lazy grin that doesn’t seem to reach his dark brown eyes.

You huff a laugh at the tease. “And what is it that you’re thinking about with that brilliant brain of yours, Megamind?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

You turn to look at him, using the chance to drag your gaze over his side profile. Over his high cheekbones, as well as the sharp outline of his nose. The cigarette that’s tucked behind his ear. The slight wrinkle between his eyebrows that tells you he’s thinking very hard about something.

A couple of loose strands of dark brown hair have escaped his ponytail, framing his face in a way that flatters him greatly. Being so dark, they’re a perfect contrast to his creamy skin that’s so unlike Kiba’s sun-kissed one.

Come to think of it, they’re nothing alike. Shikamaru is lean in build despite being awfully lazy by nature, whereas Kiba packs muscle with hard work. He’s smart, rational, not at all prone to anger, and can sometimes come across as borderline aloof. 

Besides a couple of other things, all he seems to care about is putting in the minimal amount of effort when it comes to getting by in school, so that he can achieve mediocre — but passable — grades, and thus has nothing left to worry about by the time the weekend rolls around and the bong comes out to play.

His tendency to be overly laid-back was the exact reason why you had decided to go out of your comfort zone and fool around with him last spring. With no strings attached, you’d fucked while still managing to remain friends afterwards. Besides that, he was such a perfect opposite to the man you’d left behind in your hometown, that it had almost been a, dare you say, refreshing experience.

But Kiba never did go fully away, now did he? Not even after you’d completely ghosted him and finally ceased stalking him on Instagram; trying to rid yourself of the sinking feeling in your chest that appeared whenever he posted a picture with his girlfriend at the time. Not even after you’d deleted the chat logs you shared with him on just about every app you could find, knowing you’d regret it afterwards. Not even when you’d left the pictures and other memories back at home, sealed away in a box underneath your bed.

You’d been sleeping with the deer while silently yearning for the wolf.

It’s why you broke the entire thing off with Shikamaru sometime after the New Year, aiming to rather try and move on solely by your own efforts — fresh start and everything. All whilst not knowing that you’d become a mate to your childhood best friend by the end of summer.

“Shika,” you utter, your gaze as soft as your voice. “I–”

“It’s okay. I think I got the gist of it,” he cuts in, staring at his shoes. “Whatever it is that you two have going on between you; it’s older than what we had. So, it’s more… fleshed out? From being best friends since kindergarten and stuff.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, angling your cup so that you can take the last sip of your drink. “I guess it is, when you say it like that.”

Shikamaru reaches out to wipe away the rogue droplet of cranberry juice that comes sliding down from the corner of your mouth, then. However, before his thumb can even make contact with your bottom lip, you’re quick to do it yourself.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” a voice calls out from your left.

Kiba’s jaw is set and his eyes are hard when you turn to look at him. He stands in the middle of the doorway that leads into the hall; the light that’s shining behind his back obscuring most of his face from view, however you can still see that he forces his expression to remain fairly neutral as he begins to approach you. 

Every step he takes towards you makes you feel like it could make the ground shake. It doesn’t of course, at least not in a physical kind of sense, but his anger is becoming so palpable the closer he gets that it very much could. For some reason, it’s even worse that he’s trying to hide how pissed he is.

After all, Kiba is prone to anger that resembles a wildfire — the kind that spreads quickly and consumes everything in its path. Once it’s started, it’s hard to make it fizzle out before it does too much damage. You just have to let it do its thing and pretend like everything is normal.

Burn, baby, burn!

“No,” you say when he reaches you, pretending like the entire ordeal doesn’t faze you at all, despite the fact that your heart is now pulsating wildly in your chest. “You aren’t.”

You’re well aware that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that doesn’t mean the others are safe.

He stands before you like a wall of muscle, emitting white-hot rage with every exhale. With how tense his shoulders have gotten, as well as the bulging vein in the side of his neck that’s surely there because of how harshly he’s gritting his teeth, he looks like he could crush someone to death. 

However, his touch ends up being surprisingly tender when you allow him to grip you by the chin. You repress a relieved chuckle as he angles your head back slightly, making you realize that he’s touching the exact same spot Shikamaru would have if you’d let him. So possessive.

His brow furrows as he inspects you and his voice is rough as gravel as he says, “Why are your lips so red?”

“Cranberry juice,” you explain, pointing to the empty cup you’re still holding in your hand. “How did beer pong go?”

“It sucked ass,” he drawls, tugging on the brim of his hat with impatient fingers. The fireball of anger keeps on sizzling in the pit of his stomach. It makes his blood run hot. “The two dudes I went against were both so shit-faced that they could barely stand, much less score... I regret being sober.”

“Weren’t you drinking before, though?” Shikamaru asks all of a sudden.

Uh-oh. At the sound of the Nara’s voice, you watch as he slowly turns his head to the side in the same uncanny way a robot would have done.

Kiba looks the other man right in the eye, making a quick mental note to keep both of his arms glued to his sides in order to refrain himself from swinging just because he even had the balls to speak up while he was talking to you.

Jesus fucking Christ, since when did his temper get this short? He needs to work on it in the future or else it’s going to become a problem.

“Beer doesn’t do much for a guy like me,” he grits out after a brief moment of recollecting himself.

His tone is completely flat. Icy. 

You stare at the muscle that keeps on fluttering in his cheek even if he’s trying his hardest to tame it. At how yellow his eyes have gotten, nearly glowing in the dimly-lit kitchen, threatening to ruin the ruse of being contacts. At the way his chest heaves; rising up and down in such a manner that it makes you fear he’s seconds away from pouncing.

Shikamaru, being the intelligent man that he is, must have come to the same conclusion, because now he pushes from the counter with an awkward bounce in his step as he says, “Well, I guess it’s time for my smoke break… If you’ll excuse me.”

Either that, or the more primal part of his brain is telling him to get the fuck out before it’s too late. It’s so bad that even the make out enthusiasts proceed to follow his example.

“Bye, Shika,” you utter quickly, giving your fellow classmate a small wave when he passes by. Meanwhile, Kiba only stares, probably drilling warning holes into the poor guy’s back all the way to the very end of the hall.

Alone in the kitchen at long last, your best friend allows himself to sigh as a means to relieve some tension. The muscles in his arms relax as he rests them on either side of you, successfully trapping you against the counter.

You don’t feel caged, though. That’s the important part.

Led by that comforting feeling, you place the cup onto the counter before reaching out to carefully stroke him over the chest. “You okay?”

“No,” he grumbles, trying not to preen right in front of you at the touch. 

Your eyebrows draw together. “What’s wrong?”

His do, too. “You know damn well what’s wrong.”

“Enlighten me, please.”

“Not that it’s a you problem or anything…” He sighs again and this time the sound is way longer than earlier. “But I can’t leave ya alone for two seconds without someone immediately trying to sneak their way into your pants.”

“What?” The laugh you let out is a slightly incredulous one. “I know that you’re forced to see me in some kind of holy light because of the mating bond, but you’re seriously flattering me way too much with this one, Kiba.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he says, his lips thinning into a firm line. “What do you think that the douchebag with the cig and the big-ass forehead was tryin’ to do just now? Ask you to join his debate club?”

You push aside the insult for now, making a note to prohibit him from saying it aloud whenever you’re in the company of others. “His name is Shikamaru.”

“I don’t care what his name is,” Kiba says, bristling. “All I know is that I could smell how hard his dick was getting around you from a mile away, and it made me-”

“Jealous?” you cut in.

He frowns. “I was gonna say grossed out, but sure.”

You giggle before biting your lip to stop the sound. “Come to think of it, that does sound pretty gross, you’re right.”

“Whatever.” He huffs, lowering his gaze. It’s not long before there’s an even deeper frown gracing his mouth.

“What is it now?” you ask.

“Nothing. Well… I just- Ugh.” He groans in frustration, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know I said that I’d always respect your decision when it came down to choosin’ between me or someone else, but I didn’t think it’d be this… hard.”

“What are you going on about?” You pry his hand away so that you can look him in the eyes. His pupils are nothing but slits. “I haven't made any kind of decision yet. Nothing happened.”

“Okay, but still… Seeing someone else trying to touch you like that, scenting it…” he says. “I thought I could handle it for your sake, but clearly that ain’t the case. I should’ve cooled off before trying to start shit, and yet I actively chose to behave like a dick instead.”

“Actually, I thought you did a pretty decent job at controlling your awfully jealous self. Give or take,” you console, giving him a playful wink. It only causes his brow to furrow further.

“That’s not the point. Jealousy might be all fun and games to regular people, but it’s different with me. I felt like I was seconds away from skinning the dude alive… And maybe eating him afterwards, I dunno,” he says, his expression turning even more troubled than before. “Bet he’d taste like shit, though.”

“Well… What matters is that you didn’t do that.” You pat his shoulders as a form of encouragement and quickly decide on not telling him about your history with Shikamaru just yet since you’re not particularly fond of the idea of having a body on your hands. “One step at a time, yeah?”

“I guess,” he mutters. Disappointment still continues to bubble in Kiba’s stomach. It brings forth a slightly bitter taste on his tongue.

You stare at him, raking your gaze over the great expanse of his shoulders, down to his forearms, which he’s got revealed due to the sleeves being rolled up to his elbows. Now that the initial anger has diminished from his face, he just looks plain miserable. Like a puppy that’s been soaked to the bone, despite that he’s far bigger than that.

“You wanna go home and cuddle it out?” you blurt out all of a sudden, tracing the tattoos on his left forearm with your index finger.

He peers up at you from underneath his lashes. Not wanting to come across as even more clingy or suffocating, all he utters is, “If that’s what you want.” 

“I’m asking you.”

He looks down again, bright yellow eyes zeroing in on his shoes. If it weren’t so dark in this godforsaken kitchen, perhaps you would’ve noticed the subtle blush tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“I mean… If you really don’t wanna stay here,” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “Then, yeah. I suppose we could go back to yours and cuddle a little.”

You grin. “Look at you getting all mushy on me.”

Kiba gives you an eye roll. “Oh, shut up before I change my mind and just catch the first flight home.”

———

Despite initially not wanting to seem clingy, Kiba becomes exactly that after you both rinse off and clamber into bed that night.

In the dark, surrounded fully by your scent that lingers everywhere in your room, he feels safe enough to let his guard down; allowing himself to really dote on you properly — like he’s wanted to do for the last two months. 

As a result, his arm is protectively slung over your waist, and his legs are entangled with yours as he spoons you. His hand is beneath your shirt, tracing soft, lazy circles over your stomach. There are no claws in sight.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he grumbles at some point, sighing with contentment and squeezing you even closer to him. 

“Me too,” you admit, enjoying the close proximity. “Especially our dumb late night convos.”

You’ve been talking about everything and nothing in particular for the last hour or so; giggling and snickering like children and continuing on catching up, simply enjoying each other’s company. Just like old times.

Kiba clicks his tongue against his teeth in disagreement. “What d’you mean? They’re always dumb.”

“Well yeah, but that’s because they include you,” you tease, suppressing a tiny squeal when he pokes you in the side.

“As far as I know, it takes two to hold a conversation,” he fires back, squeezing your hip. “Unless you’re a nutcase, that is.”

“Hey, now… I talk to myself sometimes,” you say, turning your head to the side just enough to face him. “When I’m, like, thinking out loud and stuff.”

He quirks a brow at this. “Weirdo.”

“Pfsh.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “If anyone’s the weirdo here, then it’d be you, Mr. On all levels except physical, I am a wolf.”

“See, that doesn’t make any sense because I am a wolf on a physical level.” He drums his fingers against your skin playfully, hinting that he’ll maybe poke you in the side again. “Therefore, your joke sucks.”

“It’s still funny, though,” you protest. “And look at you, using your big boy words. Therefore. What’s gonna be next? Begging for a shilling?”

You watch as he smiles that wretched grin that shows off his dimple. His laugh is quiet, but it kindles a flame of affection inside your heart.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, still laughing.

“So I’ve been told, yeah,” you reply with a beaming smile of your own. His mood is contagious. “Multiple times.”

“Mm. I like it, though. This more confident, outgoing version of you.” After a brief moment of silence, he adds, “It makes me less worried.”

You ask, “Less worried about what?”

“If you’ll be able to stick up for yourself in case I’m not around,” he explains, not offering much more.

You blink as slight confusion begins to settle in. “And why wouldn’t you be around?”

“Well, you know,” he says, shrugging as a means to appear indifferent, but failing. “If you decide on being with someone other than me, then I guess there’d be no reason for me to stay in your life.” 

“What do you mean there’d be no reason?” you say, frowning deeply now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re aware that the thing you say next is selfish, but you just can’t help it, “You’d still be my best friend… Wouldn’t that be enough?”

He smiles again, but this time it’s a little less beaming and a little more painful. “Bunny, of course it’d be enough. I’d spend my whole life trying to give ya the love that I think you deserve, even as just a friend. But let’s be real here… If I did that, it’d just cause… problems.”

“Problems?” you repeat, your voice hurt. “What kind of problems?”

“You’ve seen for yourself what happened tonight,” he says.

“Nothing happened tonight.” Quick frustration makes you groan. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that already, so why are we going over the same conversation again?”

“Exactly, nothing happened, but look at the way I still reacted to it,” he says, sighing out of exasperation instead of contentment this time around. “I was ready to go batshit crazy over nothing… How do you think I’m gonna react if we meet up and you’ve got your boyfriend’s scent all over ya? Who says I’m not gonna go and try to bite the guy’s head off?”

You stare at each other. The knot in your belly tightens at the way he looks at you; his eyes still burning with that striking yellow shade, despite the inner conflict that subdues it ever so slightly now.

“Do you think we were destined to be together?” you ask out of the blue.

Kiba gives you a look that tells you he’s starting to worry if you’ve gone a bit nuts. “What?”

“I mean, like, do you think that we had no say in this entire thing,” you attempt to explain lamely. “Or, well… that you had no say in it?”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” he says finally.

“Well, what would you call this thing between us, then?” you mumble. “I mean, isn’t a mating bond supposed to be just some kind of a wolfy version of it?”

“I- No, I don’t think so,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “I already told you that I approached you because of the bond at first, yeah… But over the years, I’m pretty sure that I’ve come to love you on purpose. Like, on my own terms.”

Your heart skips a beat. The world feels like it’s spinning all of a sudden.

“How can you tell the difference, though?” you croak out. “Between genuine love and the forced one that the bond is pushing on you?”

“Um… Because I’m willing to spend the rest of my life alone, fighting against the red string of fate or whatever the fuck you want to call it, if it means that you’ll be happy, I guess,” he whispers quietly, his expression suddenly thoughtful. “Come to think of it, it’d be like my own personal fuck you towards destiny, hah.”

There’s no one else beside you and him in the house right now — your roommates are still out partying and doing god knows what — but he says it like it’s a secret that he’s been keeping for years.

And you, well, you feel like crying. Like curling yourself into a little ball underneath the covers that you’re sharing with him at the moment, and simply sobbing your heart out until it’s leaking out of your chest.

But instead of that, you look at him. You reel the tears in as you really look at him, and you say, “All right.”

You’ve always been so cautious. So hesitant and unsure — nothing like him. Ever since he’d revealed the truth during that godforsaken camping trip, Kiba speaks of the love that he feels for you so openly. 

Goddammit, he loves you. He actually loves you. Not because of the bond, not because you’re his perfect biological match, not because his instinct is telling him to do so. 

No, he loves you because of the memories that you’ve made together. Because of the laughter that you’ve shared. Because of all the good and the bad and everything else that’s in-between.

He loves you because he wants to, not because he needs to.

“All right?” he repeats, studying your face. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“It means that I’m done taking it slow. I think,” you say, trying to stop your upper lip from twitching. Your body feels tense all over once again; you feel like you’ll start bursting at the seams because of the storm of emotions that’s brewing inside you. “For once in my life, I think that I’m choosing to go all in.”

Kiba’s heart begins to pound so hard that he can hear it ringing in his ears.

“You… You mean…?” he trails off, not even daring to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” you say as your breathing slightly quickens. “We can give this thing a try; properly this time. I-I mean, fuck it, right? We haven’t been just friends for a long while now, so what’s there to lose anyway?”

He smiles at that, and for a second it’s like you can see him again — your childhood best friend. Short and scrawny, but equipped with that brazen assurance that used to get him into all sorts of trouble.

“Yeah,” he says. His smile nearly grows from ear to ear. He feels like he could touch the sky at that very moment; unbridled joy is beginning to overcome him completely. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I, umm… I guess it’s time to admit that I’ve been crushing on you for years, then. Well, I think! I’m pretty sure I was always head over heels for you, even back in high school, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it too much because of… well, you know,” you trail off, still riding that high of confidence that allows every bit of truth to spill out of you now. 

“So when we almost kissed before I left for college, I… I got scared. You were with Tamaki at the time, and I was leaving, and I thought you’d end up regretting it from the way it would surely mess up your whole relationship and our friendship.” You look at him, eyes apologetic. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like I did, but god… The entire thing was so messy, just chaos waiting to happen, and I was too big of a coward to deal with all that, especially after moving across the country and turning a new chapter in my life. And I’m well aware that it’s no excuse for what I did, but I just wanted you to know… the real reason behind it. And that I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have regretted it, though,” he says, his gaze softening. “If you’d kissed me back at mine that night, I would never have regretted it. My relationship with Tam was a fuckin’ bust either way.”

“I know that now, you dumbass!” You huff, eyebrows cinching with frustration and stress. “But what’s the use if I didn’t know it back then.”

“Bunny,” he coos, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shut up,” you fuss, pushing him in the chest. “I’m over here, pouring my heart out to you, and you’re basically telling me to calm down. Idiot.”

He snickers at your anger, thinking it’s so cute that it’s to die for. “Well, what do you want me to do, then?”

“I want-” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, chewing on it as shyness manages to creep up on you at long last. You don’t feel as confident as before when it comes to admitting to your desires out loud, so the only time you stop your incisor from digging deeper, is when you mumble, “I want you to kiss me.”

If Kiba’s gaze had been soft before, now it’s gone utterly sweet and gooey. It makes his lids drop very, very, very low on his eyes.

“Yeah?” is all he says.

“Yeah. But not like you did back at home,” you say, remembering the urgency and the forceful clash of teeth that he’d given you because of the rut that had been cooking his brain into mush at the time. “I want it done properly this time.”

“I can do that,” he says, chuckling quietly. “But don’t act like you didn’t enjoy our first kiss. I could smell how excited you got over it, remember?”

“Whatever,” you hiss, bunching up the front of his T-shirt into your fists. “Either you behave and kiss me like a gentleman, or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“Hah, all right, all right! No need to threaten me, jeez,” he says. He’s still laughing as he caresses your cheek with one hand and angles your head so that he can do what you’re asking him for. “C’mere, you grouch… Let’s get smoochin’.”

“I hate you.”

“I thought you said you loved me.”

“I said I liked you, not-”

The rest of your sentence is broken off by a kiss.

Unlike the first time, it’s gentle. Perhaps you could even call it romantic. He cups your cheek instead of gripping it, and doesn’t become pushy; rather allowing you to take charge of the pace. There’s no tongue, only lip brushing against lip. Your breaths intermingle, to the point that you both start quietly panting in-between the short little pauses that you use for air. 

Your stomach is doing backflips by the time he slowly pulls back to look at you. His eyes are not only yellow, they’re also ravenous, and they get even more intense when you reach out to comb your fingers through his hair.

The sudden yearning that swoops down upon him makes Kiba’s throat feel so dry that it’s like it’s burning from the inside out. It’s not quite the same as it was back during his rut, but he’s getting there. Oh, he’s getting there, all right.

“More?” he asks after the longest time of silence. His voice has turned completely hoarse. 

“Mhmm, yeah,” you hum your approval, turning around to lay on your back. He instantly uses the chance to prop himself up with one elbow and drapes his upper half over you.

With his face only a couple of centimeters away from your own now, you end up nearly nose to nose. His golden chain dangles from his neck, the sleek metal occasionally cooling your skin in places that it comes in contact with. It causes you to giggle. He smiles when he leans in to kiss you again.

“Wait. I’ve got a question,” you mumble against his lips.

“Mhmm, spill,” he replies in-between kisses.

“I was thinking… Would it be… too much, if I maybe bought a golden initial of my name for you to wear?” you ask, gliding your finger along the piece of jewelry. “Like, as a not-so-secret birthday present for you next year?”

“Nah, I’d wear it,” he says simply. “Only if you wear mine, too, though.”

“Sure.” Your smile grows, little by little. “I’m in need of a new necklace anyway… Just nothing too flashy, okay?”

He snickers. “We’ll get you one of those big-ass golden dollar signs with the diamonds on top, all right?”

“Okay, yeah, that way I can always resell it.”

“Meanie.”

Your hands run through his hair for a second time as you proceed to explore each other’s mouths after months of nothing. They tug at the roots once or twice, making him grunt, before travelling down the nape of his neck and settling on his strong back. Nails grazing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, you nearly start to claw at it when his tongue touches your bottom lip.

Eventually, the kissing gets needier. More desperate. You part your lips for him and he takes his time dragging his tongue across the roof of your mouth, the flat of your teeth, tasting you fully and savouring the minty flavour of the toothpaste that you used earlier. So much saliva gets exchanged.

Besides that, there’s also phantom electricity sizzling across your skin when he carefully sinks one fang into your bottom lip and tugs on it. His caution is endearing and hot to die for, but it also feels like he’s edging you kind of. It takes you all the effort you can muster to not let a moan slip out. 

What you do end up doing, however, is taking his hand and pushing it between your legs. Just like that, all by yourself.

And it’s warm there, between your legs — perhaps even a bit too much, Kiba thinks. He stiffens at your actions, hesitating only for a second before he cups your pussy right over the comfortable shorts that you wear to bed. Watches with semi-focused vision as your hips buck without any sort of doubt that would otherwise be common for you, searching for more friction despite the seam that is now pressing against your clit.

As you continue to rub yourself against the heel of his palm, more and more sweat begins to ooze out of your pores. You’re getting hot, so your hands work seemingly on their own to try and subdue the sudden rise in temperature as you curl your fingers around the hem of your T-shirt and hike it up — all until it’s touching the collar.

With your front now almost fully exposed, Kiba curses under his breath when the sweet, musky aroma of your arousal steadily begins to fill the room that you’re in. The door is closed and the windows are shut, so it hits him like a truck. His mind is getting foggier by the millisecond because of it.

“Something the matter?” you utter sweetly, honey dripping from every word. At this point, your chest has begun to heave with some untamed form of anticipation. You sound nothing like yourself.

“No, everything’s fine,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. Once again, he’s beginning to borderline drool, this time at the sight of your tits. It makes it hard to talk. “Just enjoyin’ the view.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that so?” You fondle your breasts, running your thumbs across the sensitive nipples, making a show for him just to rile him up further. Who knew you had it in you? “Wanna tell me just how much you’re enjoying it?”

Spit threatens to drip down the corner of his mouth. He sucks it back in the last second. “Bunny… What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing’s gotten into me? Well, not yet at least… But come on, tell me.” You continue your ministrations, testing his patience. “You love to talk, don’t you?”

“I love to show off more,” he says before he moves his hand from its spot between your legs just so that he can grab you by the wrist and make you touch him below his waistline. “Here... This is all ‘cause of you. Happy?”

You blink as he curls your fingers around the bulge that’s pressing against his boxers, wanting out. Let out a breathless, almost patronizing kind of laugh. “Fuck, you’re so hard… I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt.”

“It does hurt,” he says, voice incredibly strained now. His lips quiver slightly when you give him a stroke all on your own, without him having to ask or beg for it. It makes his mind shift to other things than whatever it is that’s making you behave this way. “I want you so bad; like, so fucking bad… You’re drivin’ me completely nuts.”

You smile at how honest he is. “Touch me and we’ll get there, okay?”

And he smirks, even if his teeth are getting bigger again from the way he’s slowly losing control, gradually affecting his speech. “Don’t hafta tell me twice.”

He kisses you again, but this time it’s harder than before and done in a way that mashes your lips against your teeth. When you open your mouth wider to ease the pressure, all he does is fill it with his tongue. He gets so pushy that you have to resort to tugging on his hair to make him relent.

“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, rather moving his hot mouth to your jawline and neck.

“It’s fine,” is all you manage to say before the grazing of sharp canines immediately shuts you up.

He moves fast after that, almost urgently, from how exhilarated he is to have you like this underneath him; only taking the time to get your T-shirt out of the way so that he can lick your collarbone next. You don’t even get a proper chance to react to it before he’s already dipping even lower to suck on your nipple instead.

“Ha-ah.” Your breathing stutters as you watch his nose smush against the fat of your breast. He’s swirling his tongue around the nipple, nipping it ever so gently from time to time and tugging on it with his lips.

Meanwhile, his hand has slid between your legs again. He’s running his knuckle up and down your slit the same exact way he’d done back at his place during the summer, making the seam of your pyjama shorts rub against your clit. The sensation makes your legs want to close up from the sensitivity that’s sparking there, but he makes sure you’re spread wide open for him at all times.

Eventually, he pops his mouth off your nipple only to begin paving a path of kisses down your stomach. And they’re audible, the kisses. He’s leaving little remnants of glimmering saliva on your skin as he goes, making your middle covered in it.

It’s almost fascinating how smoothly he moves for such a big guy. Before you know it, your shorts are tossed onto the floor right along with your panties, and your legs are propped on his shoulders, the heels of your feet digging into his back.

“Fuck, your pussy smells so good,” he rasps when there’s no barrier separating him from you anymore. He swallows hard at the scent of arousal that’s as strong as ever now, Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “It’s makin’ me drool… I can’t stop it, m’sorry. I know it’s gross.”

You want to hide your face into the pillow because of how timid his words are making you somewhere deep down inside, but instead all you do is arch your back when he noses his way between your thighs and presses a sloppy kiss there.

His tongue follows suit immediately afterwards and he wastes no time with licking your slit, nudging between your folds, groaning with satisfaction at the taste. Your hands dig into his hair in an instant, grabbing fistfuls when he suckles on your clit.

It’s all happening so fast but at the same time it doesn’t seem fast enough. Heat intensifies inside the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout your thighs, your legs, right to the very tips of your toes. You dig your heels deeper into his back, pull him closer by the hair so that you can receive more.

“Shit, fuck, oh, fuuuck,” you half-moan, half-whisper, borderline gasping for air when you feel his tongue push inside you. It’s longer than a normal human’s, slightly coarser too. It makes you wiggle your hips as you try to fuck yourself against his goddamn face in response.

You have no clue if there’s some secret chemical component in his saliva that’s making you act this feral, but you simply can’t stop writhing and moaning like a slut. What’s even worse is that he tongue-fucks you like his life depends on it. In and out, in and out, the occasional swipe up and down. It’s getting messier and messier, so sloppy that there’s surely a puddle forming on the bed sheet that you’re lying on currently.

And just when you thought you had it all, his tongue gets replaced by his fingers. You tense up, an alarming thought about his claws rushing through your dazed mind, however you’re quickly relieved to find out that they’re nowhere in sight.

They’re just normal, human fingernails on normal, human fingers. Reaching deep inside you. Fuck, reaching so deep inside you. Making you see stars behind closed eyelids. Stretching you and filling you at the same time, making you nearly jump out of your skin when they curl upwards and touch that especially tender spot.

The heat that’s swirling in your tummy worsens as a result — if that is even humanly possible. You feel it rising, feel your face scrunching up, feel your teeth gritting, feel your hips picking up pace, feel your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair again, tugging way more harshly than you otherwise would as your climax starts to approach fast.

“Gonna- I’m gonna-...!”

“Nuh-uh,” he says all of a sudden, turning his pace to something painfully laggard, to something that isn’t nearly as quick and fulfilling enough to make you cum. “You’re not gonna… Not yet, at least.”

It hurts, it physically hurts; that unsatisfied feeling that resides in the place where your pleasure should be by now. Especially when he purses his lips and allows a glob of spit to land directly onto your pussy, turning you practically slippery between your legs.

He pushes the spit in with the help of his fingers.

“Wha-?” Your eyes grow big as saucers, stinging with upcoming tears at his denial. He’s gotten you so worked up that you just can’t help but behave like a spoiled pillow princess now. Like a proper crybaby.

“What, hm? You gonna cry?” He sneers — surprisingly meanly — at the lost look that appears on your face now. Wiping his mouth against your thigh, he kisses it before he says, “Relax, you’re gonna cum… I just want your bunny cunt squeezin’ around my dick, not my fingers.”

“Then lemme sit on it…! C’mon, lemme ride you or something,” you cry out, voice cracking with urgency and desperation that even you, yourself, don’t recognize. 

You push up from the bed with the help of your elbows so that you can clamber on top of him and ride him like the best cowgirl to ever live under the fucking sun, but all he does is press his hand into the middle of your chest and shoves you right back down onto the mattress.

For fuck’s sake, was this how he felt back when he’d begged you to help him find relief during his rut? Your body feels like it’ll drop dead any second now if you don’t get dicked down soon.

“No, you’ll hurt yourself if you do that ‘cause you ain’t stretched out enough yet. Besides, I’ve got a different idea anyway,” he says, reaching for the back of his T-shirt’s collar so that he can tug it off. “Turn onto your side.”

You stare at the rippling muscle, as well as at all the tattoos that run up his left arm to his shoulder. His hair is messy and his eyes almost glow in the dark. He’s buff, hairy, with sharp teeth and equally as keen-edged facial features. 

In that exact moment, he looks like the embodiment of animalistic hunger. Either that, or it’s just straight up carnage if it were a person.

“Are you going to mount me?” you ask, guts squeezing with anticipation at the mere thought of it. “Like you did back in the woods? ‘Cause I really… enjoyed that last time.”

His brows rise, short-lived surprise crossing his face before he chuckles. “Hah… Later, okay? Gonna fuck you sideways first and stretch you out a lil’ so my cock can fit.”

While Kiba tugs down his underwear, you busy yourself with doing as you’re told. You lie onto your side, clenching and rubbing your thighs together with lewd suspense and bated breath. By the time he spoons you, finally completely naked himself, you’re already bending your legs at the knee, pushing your ass out for him.

“Somebody needs it bad, huh?” he taunts as he pulls you closer to his chest. 

You’re in the same exact position as you were before all of this had started, the only difference is that you’re both naked now.

And, well, you’ve also got his cock sliding up and down your sticky pussy now. Got it smearing pre-cum and arousal and spit together, making you both groan out quiet noises of pleasure whenever the fat cockhead catches against your entrance, which feels like it’s fucking throbbing at this point.

He did something to you, didn’t he? He stuck his tongue fully inside your cunt for the first time instead of only licking and prodding it, and all of a sudden you’re forced to behave like a cat in heat.

“Kiba,” you whisper, breathing so fast that it’s almost frantic. You’re clawing at the sheets and rubbing your cheek against the pillow as you say, “Put it in... Fuck… Mmph, for the love of god, just put it in already…! I need your dick inside me.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying,” he mumbles, frustration making him bite the inside of his cheek. “But I gotta go slowly first so that I don’t rip ya to shreds, bunny... And you beggin’ me for it is not helping ‘cause it’s only making me want to do just that.”

“I don’t care about any of that, just… just put the tip in at least,” you mewl out between words, wiggling your hips, curling your toes. Turning your head to the side to look at him, you instead kiss him with the same forceful shove forward the second your eyes land on him. “Just the tip, yeah? Okay? Like we did it back in the tent.”

He stares at you, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together from how intensely he’s trying to keep himself in-check while also having to do the same exact thing for you as well now. He can smell your need, the sweat that coats your skin, the arousal. Can hear the heavy beating of your heart.

You’re both going to devour each other if one of you doesn’t have some self-control. So Kiba tries to be the one to have it, taking another long moment to grind against you before he finally lets his gaze slip from your nearly bewildered expression, and rather focuses it on guiding his cock straight into your cunt.

You arch against him when his cockhead spreads your folds apart and slowly makes its way inside. Jaw relaxing at the sensation of finally having something to ease all that painful throbbing that’s going on, you gasp for air almost in relief despite the pesky feeling of your pussy squeezing around the girth of his dick.

It’s already demanding more.

“Fuck, bunny,” he grunts, thrusting slowly, easing himself in. “What’s wrong with you…? You’re suckin’ me right in… Shit… Makin’ it real hard f’me to not push in all the way.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, just-... j-just keep going,” you whimper out, face turning hot when you feel slick dribbling down his length. He’s so big, perhaps even too big, but your cunt just keeps on taking more and more. It never seems to be enough.

Minutes pass and you’re gradually losing your sense of self right along with them. All you care about is having him inside you. So you fuck the tip first, then half of his cock, and afterwards — fucking finally — you start taking the whole thing.

And it feels good, relieving almost. He’s got his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling and drooling over the spot where your scent is the strongest as he holds your leg up for you and just slowly pounds away. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Meanwhile, you’re drooling all over the pillow as well, blindly reaching behind you to stroke his hair with twitching fingertips as your hips help him in meeting yours over and over again. Every time his fingers dig into the soft spot that’s underneath your knee, it makes you tighten up.

His cock twitches inside you when he buries it in to the hilt, really allowing himself to sink balls deep and making you do that cute little wince that wants to make him go batshit crazy. But instead of doing that, he steadies himself. Reels it back in. Tries to listen to your quick-paced heartbeat and even quicker breaths, despite that he’s paying attention to other things.

Because even if the sounds of skin slapping against skin aren’t that loud from how slowly he’s pushing into you, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t present. He can still hear them all. As well as the occasional gushy little noises that your pussy makes.

They make his balls tighten.

You don’t know how long you do this entire thing, but you orgasm three, three fucking times during it. To some it may be like a dream come true, however to you it’s exhausting. The overstimulation is wiping you out, and yet you keep pushing, keep asking for more, keep turning around to kiss him and whine out little pleas of ‘don’t stop, please don’t stop’.

The stretch stings, as does the spot on your neck where he sank his fangs earlier, but you welcome the overwhelming sensations with open arms. In fact, you’re so feral that you feel like you won’t survive the night if he doesn’t fuck and bite and squeeze this craving for pleasure out of you.

He does a pretty good job with it, though. With how wet you are, it’s fairly easy for Kiba to turn rougher; to turn more bestial and wild and relentless with every push and shove of his hips that he drills into yours. He even uses the vibe he’s had to listen to you pleasure yourself with over the phone these last couple of weeks, in order to help you with your little problem.

But you’re not just wet, you’re also insatiable — yes, that’s what you are! Constantly making noise and clawing at him like a little slut, looking at him with tearful eyes as the fever keeps on kicking you into the goddamn ground. So it’s only when he mounts you, aiming to fuck you like an animal, that you start feeling any sort of satisfaction that actually manages to stick. 

He uses his weight to roll you onto your tummy, and pins you down by placing you in a headlock that has you gasping for air, but also has you cumming on the spot again. You’re pretty sure that it’s the sheer, utter strength and the size difference between your head and his arm that has you behaving this way now instead of the daze, but who knows?

“Already? Christ,” he pants out, his hot exhales tickling your naked shoulder. His entire body is slick with sweat — you’re pretty sure you saw it dripping down his temples earlier. It’s no wonder that the last couple of kisses you’ve exchanged tasted salty. “Who would’ve thought that a good girl like you likes to be fucked this nasty, huh?”

Your lips try to part so that you can answer his jab with one of your own, however your face is squished against his tattooed bicep, rendering that task nearly impossible. Besides that, he’s growling into your ear, crushing you with his weight, getting bigger and bigger, until he’s throbbing inside your cunt, making your voice useless either way.

“My lil’ mate,” he continues, seemingly in a daze himself. He’s whipped at this point, completely pussy drunk. “You are, right? Mine?”

You still can’t say anything other than choked up gibberish from how firmly he’s holding you, however you do make an effort to nod.

But it’s not like he waits for you to actually answer. No, all he does is start picking up speed; starts pounding away for real, eventually making you feel like he’s in your fucking guts each time he draws back and slams right back in.

“Nngh… I’m close, real fuckin’ close... Gimme one more and then I’m… I’m knotting ya, okay, sweetheart? Yeah?” he rasps between quick breaths, voice so hoarse and hot that it ignites a fire straight up inside your soul. “Jus’ one more and then we’re makin’ pups, ‘kay?”

That last sentence alone is enough to get you reaching your finish real fucking fast. Your eyes roll back, your ass pushes up so that he can reach even deeper inside you. His balls slap against your clit with every harsh, unforgiving thrust, and it’s like you’ve gone to heaven.

Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s got you trapped in a headlock. Besides it being the hottest thing that a guy has ever done to you in bed so far, it also ensures that you stay nice and quiet. 

So it only takes you a minute or two to become undone underneath him because of all that’s happening. And the second you tighten around him — the strongest you’ve ever squeezed him tonight — his thrusting turns irregular and almost kind of jerky, picking up in speed more and more until he eventually reaches his climax and comes to a full stop.

Kiba grits his too-big teeth when he cums, spilling every last drop of his warm release inside you and closing his eyes during it. Every muscle in his body hurts from how overly tense he’d forced them to be whilst trying not to go too far since you’re so fragile. But as he wills himself to finally loosen up a little bit, he realizes that that hurts even more. The groan he lets out as a result can barely be registered as human.

But it’s not over just yet. You feel the now familiar, but equally as strange, sensation as his knot begins to swell inside you. The stretch builds up while it fills more and more space, pressing against your tender walls and causing your pussy to protest as it tries to accommodate all of him.

You’re stuck together once again, panting, sweating, trying to piece yourselves back into what you once were while also feeling completely, utterly fucked out.

His breathing is still heavy as he releases the headlock to ask, “What the fuck happened just now?”

“Oh, gosh.” You let out a small, muffled groan underneath him, fussing into the pillow, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“You acted like you were in heat,” he continues, concern shining in his yellow eyes. “Went all feral on me and shit.”

“I feel like I still am,” you say, whining when you feel his knot throbbing inside you in answer. “We’re probably gonna have to go for round two.”

“Fine by me.” He muses before a breathless snicker escapes him. “I’ll fuck you until sunrise if that’s what you want, baby.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t almost die from a heart attack just now.”

He grins from ear to ear. “Pussy so good it kills.”

You roll your eyes. “I wish it did.”

“All right, that’s it. You’re getting squished as punishment.”

“No, wait-”

Ignoring your protests, Kiba succumbs to the tiredness and drops his weight upon you exactly like he’d done the first time when he’d mounted you during the summer. However, before he can kiss you and shower you in praise for doing so well yet again, a small, sudden growl resonates from deep within his chest.

His sensitive wolf hearing picks up on the sound of keys jingling from the other side of the front door, as well as the drunken giggles and wheezing.

Your roommates are back. Great timing.

Looks like you’ll have to play it quiet.

———

Dating a werewolf is easier than expected, when said werewolf is also your best friend.

But even after being in a relationship with him for almost five years now — the last two of those spent living in an adorable little apartment together — you still can’t help but be fazed by how rough he ends up looking after every transformation.

Kiba’s shirt is torn in some places when he comes home the morning after he’d ventured out into the woods to cross off yet another full moon off his calendar. Besides the shirt, you also notice that his shoes are muddy and that his jeans are covered in dirt. Oh, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a twig poking out of his hair. 

All in all, he looks absolutely dead-beat; so exhausted that he can’t even give you a proper smile as he kicks his sneakers off and drags his feet across the kitchen floor. When he finally plops down onto the chair he favours, it’s accompanied by a sigh.

You stand up from your own seat so that you can walk over and give him a kiss on the forehead. When you do, you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells earthy; like rich soil and wet moss. Like a rainy forest.

“Hungry?” you mumble against his tan skin, combing your fingers through his hair to get rid of the twig that’s definitely stuck in there. After a bit of effort, you succeed in pulling it out and make sure to toss it in the trash as you head for the fridge.

“Starvin’,” he answers behind you, his voice completely worn out. “My stomach hurts like a motherfucker from how empty it is.”

“Well, that’s your own fault, now isn’t it? If you’d transformed here like you did last time, I would’ve made sure you were fed throughout the night,” you chide, rummaging through the fridge to pick up the carton of eggs you’d bought the day before. “I even took a day off work because of it, and yet you still decided to go out there into the woods.”

“I gotta keep that dawg in me somehow, don’t I?” he says, laughing like a kid.

“You can keep that dawg in you while you’re lying on a warm couch instead of the cold, wet ground,” you reply, grabbing the eggs. “Bacon?”

“Yes, please,” he says, propping his cheek against one hand.

With his eyes back to their normal brown, Kiba watches you move across the kitchen that you’d built together over the course of an entire week after moving in. He’d boasted that he was entirely capable of doing it himself and had cancelled on the assembly guys without even as much as offering you the chance to argue back. 

Nowadays, whenever he gets another similarly dumb idea, you use the kitchen as a firm example of the consequences that it may bring.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that you were trying to domesticate me,” he muses, feeling his stomach clench at the smell of food that’s beginning to sizzle on the pan now. “Or you just want to sit on my face when I’m in my monster form again. That’s also an option.”

God, he’s so hungry that it hurts.

“You’re lucky I don’t put you up for adoption just for saying that,” you say, tossing the egg shells away. With how fast embarrassment swoops in, twisting your expression into a flustered one, you’re happy that you’ve got your back turned towards him.

“What? You gonna tell me you didn't enjoy the stuff we did last month?” he asks, smirking at the memory. “‘Cause I seem to recall someone whining like a lil’ bitch in heat from only a couple flicks of tongue.”

He’s not wrong. Ever since he’d finally allowed you to see him in his other form a couple years ago, you’d been excited to experiment a little after the initial shock had worn off. So far, there’s been a lot of licking, plenty of dry humping and zero penetration whatsoever; if you exclude that one time when you tried to take him into your mouth but had ended up slobbering all over his dick instead.

He’s simply too big, and you’ve learned to accept it by now. Rubbing your pussy over the enormous length of his werewolf cock is all you can do, but it’s still satisfying either way. Especially when he cums because of how turned you are at the sight of him even when he’s fucking huge and equipped with sharp claws and teeth that could kill just as easily as they could protect. During those times, his release ends up covering your entire tummy and makes a mess out of his fur.

Nevertheless, Kiba feels so lucky that you’re willing to accept all of him. Feels like the luckiest man — or should he rather say wolf — to ever walk the face of the planet. It’s easier when he’s got a partner to lean on.

“Hey. Language,” you say, your voice stern.

“Sorry.” He lets out a soft little hum in apology that’s meant to appease you further. “I’ll stay home next month, okay? I promise.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, definitely wishing he did.

“I want to,” he says back.

When you go to place the plate before him, he pulls you down so that you can sit on his lap instead. After a little bit of squirming and whining about how he’s going to get your pyjama shorts dirty, you eventually settle down when he places his hand on your thigh and pats it affectionately. 

“You sure you want to stay here next month?” you mumble. Watching your bare feet dangle freely in the air now, you stroke him over the back of his head with an absent-minded look in your eyes. “I don’t want you to feel cooped up just because of me.”

“Yes, because I can’t take another month of seeing you be so worried about me,” he says sweetly, grabbing the fork that you’d placed on the table earlier.

Your expression turns blank. “Who said I was worried about you?”

He gives you a look that spells bullshit.

“…Oh fine, maybe I did worry just the tiniest bit,” you huff, pursing your lips. “But can you blame me? I mean, look at the shape you’re in whenever you come back!”

“Yeah, I look cool as fuck,” he mumbles before swallowing, already munching on the eggs. You just know he’ll wolf them down the second you get off his lap. “Like Bear Grylls.”

You blink, slowly. “Bear Grylls drank his own piss on live television.”

“I mean, if I-”

“No,” you cut in, sighing. “Whatever you were about to say just now, the answer is no.”

“Meh,” he says, taking another bite. “You’re no fun.”

You stare at his side profile, at the way his jaw works as he chews, at how the sun filters through the window that’s across the room and paints his tan skin golden. It’s not long before your hand is reaching out towards him, cupping his cheek so that you can press a warm kiss on his temple.

“Sucks to be you then, I guess,” you say, smiling cheekily. “Since you’re stuck with a lame mate and all that.”

“Nah, you’re cool as a mate,” he says, angling his head more into your touch on pure instinct. “You’re just a lame best friend. Still love ya, though!”

But despite the teasing remark that he’s just thrown your way, the truth is that Kiba loves you as his best friend just as much as he loves you as his mate. 

And judging by the little box that he’s hidden in the back of his closet recently, it seems like he’s going to love you as his wife very soon, too.

#biscuit fics #naruto smut #naruto x reader #kiba smut #kiba x reader #kiba inuzuka smut #kiba inuzuka x reader #cw monsterfucking #kiba inuzuka

[harlowcomehome]

Something about Waffle House:

Requested by @harlowsbby.

“Baby, babe” Jack shook you lightly, hoping you’d wake up from your deep slumber.

“Hmm? You okay?” You quickly sat up in bed, feeling a head rush from moving too fast.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep” he sighed, he felt guilty waking you up, but knew that you would be understanding.

You turned the bedside lamp on, wincing at the sudden brightness of the room. You could tell by the bags under his eyes that he hadn’t slept yet.

“Are you hungry?” You checked the time on your phone before reverting your attention back to Jack.

“It’s three in the morning” Jack laughed, knowing full well you now knew that.

“That's not what I asked” You smiled as you started to get out of bed.

“It’ll be nice! It’ll get you out of your head.”

“I could always eat” he chuckled as he watched you flip the bathroom light on and start brushing your teeth.

He joined you at the bathroom counter, brushing his teeth and washing his face too.

“Waffle House?” You suggested at the same time, making you both share a moment of laughter.

It was cold out so both you and Jack put on thick sweaters and jackets, running to the car to quickly put on the heating system.

“Holy sh- shit” his teeth chattered as he pulled out of the garage.

“Go to the one on Bardstown road” you reached to double tap the seat warming function.

“I know which one! I’d never cheat on the Waffle House that made us” he teased reminding you of when you first started dating.

Luckily for the two of you, the restaurant was nearly dead, full of a few couples and families who were traveling for the holidays.

The server was excited, knowing who Jack was immediately but not making a big deal of it which the two of you were grateful for. She sat you in a booth in the corner for privacy which meant the world to the two of you.

“She's getting a good tip” Jack mumbled as he took a look at the menu and you silently nodded, unwrapping your straw and blowing the wrapper toward him.

“Oh really? We’re doing that?” He chuckled as the wrapper bounced off his cheek.

“No, I’m doing that. You’re ordering” you responded smugly trying to stifle a giggle.

“Do we want to do our usual thing?”

You nodded eagerly, and Jack chuckled, he already felt a wave of relief come over him that he hadn’t felt earlier in the day.

Jack ordered waffles and pancakes, a side of hashbrowns, and a few other sides. You usually split mostly everything in half, that’s how you always ate Waffle House since the beginning.

“Oh! And apple juice!” You added before the waitress stepped away.

“Orange is superior” he smiled, knowing this argument always got under your skin.

“Don’t start with me, Harlow.” You giggled grabbing his hands over the table.

He reached for your hands back, his fingers still cold from being outside.

“Talk to me, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m just anxious about No Place Like Home. I get in my head about it because there’s always this pressure to outdo last year.”

“And you do” you smiled, rubbing his hand with your thumb.

“But what if the fans don’t see it that way? I already took this year off to be at home, and I just don’t want them to be disappointed” his shoulders dropped, and he felt truly defeated.

“Look at me” you spoke quietly but still sternly.

He looked up at you, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously.

“Are you proud?”

“Yes.”

“Are you impressed with the setlist and the work you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’ll be fine, it’ll be great. You’re giving it your all and your real fans will see that. I promise.” You squeezed his hands, looking up and seeing the waitress coming with your apple juice.

He knew you were right, he just needed to hear it.

“Thanks for always knowing what to say” he sighed relieved once the waitress walked away.

“Waffle House always does the trick” you winked jokingly as your food was being brought to the table.

Both you and Jack took your time, making jokes and reminiscing about the early stages of your relationship.

When you left for the night a big tip was left, and so were two concert tickets for Jack's show coming up in a few days.

“Are you sure?” The waitress was in full sobs.

“Positive” Jack smiled, knowing that if tonight had gone any other way he might not have been in such high spirits at the end of it.

“That was nice of you to do” You smiled as the two of you got into the car, he leaned over the middle console to kiss you and you could feel that the previous tension of the night was gone.

“There’s just something about Waffle House that can really change a night around huh?” he joked as he started the car, making you both burst into laughter.

#Jack Harlow #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow blurb #Jack Harlow fanfic #harlowsbby #fic requests

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 4)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her, right?

Chapt. Setting: Highway outside of Atlanta. 

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, degrading behavior, season 2 Daryl, smut, oral (m receiving)(kind of) weird. Just weirdo perv (out of desperation) Daryl. 

Word Count: 3200

A/N; Daryl’s POV 😩🤷‍♀️ 17+ mdni

masterlist

Been keepin’ Merle’s stuff pretty well hidden. Guess I should probably just get rid of it, right? But I can’t. S’not mine to get rid of. So I just hide it. Separate bag from the rest of his meds, all the way at the bottom of a backpack, stuffed under the seat of my truck. 

Beatle says she’s been sober off spazz shit for three years. Pretty sure three years ago s’when I met her though, so I’unno how she figures that. 

But now we’re ditchin’ the truck and I gotta find a way to carry it without Beatle finding it. Don’t even have time to be upset about my truck. Had it for at least the last ten years. Loved this thing like it was the only thing I had. Basically was for a while. 

Takin’ Merles bike. It’s got some dumbass Nazi shit on it, but ‘m not complainin’. That shit don’t matter anymore. Neither does bein’ upset over a truck that’s not gonna do me any good without gas. 

Pack myself two bags. One goes with Beatle in Dale’s RV, the other is the pack I’d had stuffed under the seat. Spazz gets hidden underneath a few shirts, smokes, the couple sips left of girlwhiskey, and the rest of Merle’s scripts. Stuff I don’t trust Beatle with.  

I think she knows, too. She doesn’t say it but she gives me a look when I tell her ‘m holdin’ onto it. I offer her a whole cigarette. All for herself. And it shuts her up enough not to push it. 

Don’t know if I like when she’s happy or not. Kinda makes me feel sick so I try not to think about it. Dunno. Whatever. Don’t got time to think about that shit anyway. S’always somethin’. 

Don’t really even got the time to think about what a shit show the CDC was. Just gotta keep movin’. Guess the plan is Fort Bennet? Don’t know. Don’t care. ‘m just goin’. 

It’s nice to be back on a bike again. Can’t feel nothin’ but the vibrating underneath me and the air in my face. Can’t hear nothin’ but the engine. By myself. Like all this shit hasn’t happened…

No use in thinkin’ ‘bout it that way, though. Has happened. And I ain’t gonna be one of those sorry sacks that wants to pretend shit ain’t the way it is. That’s one thing I like Beatle for. She don’t pretend shits gonna go back. Don’t miss nothin’, ain’t lookin’ for no one. Far as I see it, she’s happy mostly. Guess it’s easy when someone’s takin’ care of everything for ya. Me. Giving her my smokes and buildin’ fires for my damn self, thinkin’ everything tha’s mine is hers. It ain’t. 

Other people makin’ plans. Other people findin’ shelter. Other peoples food. 

Too many people in this group ain’t pullin’ their own weight. It’s gonna catch up sooner or later. Beatle’s a weak player. Can’t decide if I should help her out or not. Can’t decide if I should protect her or not. Cuz she don’t want it, she don’t think she needs it. But she’s gonna need it. Sooner or later. 

Cuz I know I hate her and all that. Dumb fuckin’ bitch for sure. But after what happened at the CDC? Thought we were gonna die. Thought she was gonna die. Fuck. I’unno. Guess I felt somethin’. 

I’m in between knowin’ it and hatin’ it. It can be both right? Cuz it’s definitely both. One more thing I gotta care about. Real fuckin’ stupid. 

We’re only on the road a few hours before shit blows. Literally. Dales radiator. Good ‘n done. Then more bullshit happens but ain’t that the way shit is now?

A whole herd of ‘em come through and everyone’s fine. Andrea’s havin’ a panic attack ‘bout the geek that almost ate ‘er, Carol’s kid run off into the woods, and T-Dog’s all but bled out. But to me? Basically fine. No one’s dead or nothin’. 

Don’t know where Beatle was when the herd came. But she’s fine too, and any worryin’ I’d been doin was a waste of fuckin’ time. Not gonna waste any more of it bein’ mad I was worried in the first place. That I couldn’t think ‘bout anything else. Just images of her stupid happy face gettin’ ripped apart. Guess I care now. At least ‘bout her not bein’ dead. ‘Bout her bein’ here.

She’s standin’ outside the RV with me, sharing a cigarette cuz I don’t know how else to tell her I’m glad she’s alive. Can’t stop lookin’ at her. She’s either ignoring my staring or pretendin’ I ain’t doin’ it, and ‘m grateful. Don’t wanna talk ‘bout that shit. Just wanna look at her, and fix all those images in my head. Her face still happy and perfect and smilin’ at me like it wasn’t bein’ eaten by monsters a few minutes ago. 

I feel sick. Somethin’… different. 

“Can I just hug you, please?” She asks like she’s been waitin’ to say it. 

“Why?” I squint at her, dragging the smoke. Kinda want to - kinda mad she asked instead of just doin’ it, “Since when do you ask permi-“ I’m cut off by her body wrapped around mine. All four limbs holdin’ on like I’m keepin’ her anchored to the world. 

I hug her back, arms pulled tight around her. Why am I doing this? What the fuck is this? Goin’ fuckin’ soft for some dumb little girl. I can hear Merle laughin’ at me from inside my head, and I drop Beatle back down to the pavement. 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” She says, and I look down at her. Now she’s all covered in the gross shit I’m covered in. She doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“Yeah?” I say at her, cuz I don’t know what else to say. Can’t tell her Im glad she’s alive. Can’t give her that. I hugged her back, that’s enough. She should know. 

She nods, smiling that stupid fuckin’ smile that I’m startin’ to like. ‘Fore her face starts wrinklin’ up somethin’ nasty. There it is. She looks at me, then down at herself. “What the fuck, Daryl?” 

Me?! “‘Pleeeease can I hug you, Daryl?’” I mock her. 

“I was worried!! And then you’re alive and okay and I  didn’t have time to look at you covered in guts and shit!” She squeals. I swear she knows it irritates me. I can see her goin’ to punch me in the arm so I let her, then pull her into another hug. 

Grabbin’ at her head to bring it close to my chest, covered in week old decaying monster meat, “C’mon, Beatle. Gimme a hug!” She’s tryin’ to fight it but ‘m stronger. 

She bends her knees and slips down and out of my arms. The blood on my hands making her too slippery to hold onto. She starts runnin’. I run after her til we get to the side of the road and she tries to hide underneath the trunk of a car crashed into the rail. 

Maybe this ain’t the time for fuckin’ around, but it don’t matter. Not when I finally got her cornered. The look of fear in her eyes does somethin’ to me. Not real fear.  Naw, cuz she’s smilin’. Cuz she’s laughin’. Just excited that we’re both still breathing. Still, smile on her face and laugh in her throat, she’s cowering beneath a cars trunk, beggin’ me to stop. The beggin’s doin’ somethin’ to me too. Fuck. 

I pick her up, slingin’ her over my shoulder, she yelps. Don’t she know how this shit works yet? “Fuckin’ quiet, Beatle. Dumb bitch.” I slap her ass once and she fuckin’ yelps again. “Wha’ did I just say?” And I slap her ass again. This time she’s quiet. 

Shit, that worked? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. My dicks hard. 

I’unno if it’s cuz I never carried a girl over my shoulder like this, cuz I spanked her couple times, or cuz she listened. My dick gets even harder and I realize it’s definitely fuckin’ all of it. But mostly that she listened when I told her what to do. Maybe I should tell her what to do more often. Fuck. ‘m not helpin’ myself, or my problem, at all. 

I dip my head down to smell the sick I’m covered in to make it go away. It works. Even with her ass next to my face. So close I could bite it. For fucks sake. I put her down but she doesn’t run away this time. We walk slowly back to the group. Not sayin’ nothin’. Me, cuz I’m trying to focus on the smell of rotten flesh and definitely not Beatle beggin’ me to stop. Definitely not about what her face looked like when she felt my hand on her ass.  

Wonder if she’s quiet cuz she’s thinkin’ about it too.

 Wondering what she’s thinkin’ about and tryin’ to will away a stiffy. Fuck this fuckin’ high school bullshit. Like she reads my mind, I feel her needy little fingers snake into my hand. For a second I think maybe I’m smokin’ a cigarette I don’t remember havin’ but ‘m not. She’s just tryin’ to hold my hand. 

At first it feels nice, and then I feel sick again. Too many questions unanswered. Too much shit that’s already happened. Can’t trust her. So I shake her hand off, “Stop.” 

“Fine. Fuck you.” She stomps away and back into the RV. I’unno what the fuck’s wrong with me that it makes me smile. Do I like when she’s happy? Shit, I dunno. If I did, wouldn’t I not like it when she’s upset? So why does her being mad at me do it for me too? 

✨🏹

Whatever. 

She comes with me to go look for Sophia. Andrea stood up like she was gonna come too, but once Beatle and I are standin’ next to the RV Andrea doesn’t follow us out.

 We don’t stray too far from the road. It’s dark, and mostly just came out here to help ease Carol’s mind. ‘m definitely goin’ soft. But I’unno. Hurts to watch people lose stuff. Their families. Hurts to watch people hurt. 

Gonna hurt Beatle in a fuckin’ second if she doesn��t shut the fuck up. We’re walkin’ through the woods. At night. She’s gotta know this shit by now. “Beatle, keep your fuckin’ voice down. Please.” Did I just say please? Fuck me. 

“Did you just say ‘please’?” Fuck. Me. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I know how.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” She laughs, and it makes me smile. And that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Again. 

Her voice cuts through while I’m makin’ myself even sicker thinkin’ about it, “You wanna play another game?”

My eyebrows raise in her direction, “Yeah, that went real well for ya last time.” 

“Nevermind.” Her face falters and she crosses her arms across her chest. 

“What, you don’t wanna get half naked and cry again?” And for fuckin’ once I wish Beatle had somethin’ to say back. Some smartass shit that isn’t even funny but she definitely means it to be. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything. She just lets my question hang in the fuckin’ air and suffocate me. Cuz now I’m thinkin’ about her half naked and crying and my fuckin dicks hard again. What is this shit? Rock hard cock every time I pick on her now? ‘m not gonna be able to do this. She’s gonna notice. Where the fuck is a guy supposed to jerk off and relieve some of this shit? 

On her fuckin’ face.

Shit.

She’s been quiet for too long and my brain won’t stop. It’s just getting worse. Images of her now, her face covered in my cum, her lips humming together making little bubbles with it, smiling. Shit. 

Beatle, say something. Anything.

“How big’s your dick?” Not. Fucking. That. 

She listens… right? She wants it, right? Why else would she ask that? Now, when it’s just the two of us out in the woods in the dark. She wants me to show her. 

So show her.

“Beatle.” My voice is low, barely there. Just a rasp of a word. 

She turns around, ready to explain herself before she even looks at me, “I-“ 

“C’mere.” If I don’t cut her off she’s gonna say she was just jokin’ but we both know she ain’t jokin’. She wants ta know. So she’s gonna know. 

Feel like I can see her blushin’ in the moonlight as she walks toward me, even though I can’t. Just know she is. Smile on her face like I ain’t about to wipe it off with my cock. Shit, hard as a fuckin’ rock right now. I rub my palm over the length of it, and I watch her eyes follow my arm down. Watch ‘em get bigger, wide and nervous, and it makes my dick twitch against my jeans. I pull out a smoke and light one, for a second I see a disappointment in her face, thinkin’ maybe I’d just called her over to share a smoke. Naw. “Down on your knees.” 

And Jesus Christ, does she kneel so fuckin’ fast. She stares straight ahead, and somethin’ comes over me. Can’t wait. Don’t want to. Don’t need to. Beatle does what I ask, at least when it comes to this. Like a good little slut would. That is what she’s good at, ain’t it? 

So maybe it’s a little fucked up that I grab her head and force her against the rough fabric of my jeans. Pushing my cock into her cheek as hard as I fuckin’ can. Holding her by the hair and rubbing her face on me. 

But this little bitch moans. At first I wasn’t sure, but she keeps fuckin’ moaning. She likes this. Somethin’ close to a laugh escapes my throat, past the cigarette between my lips. I take it with my fingers, letting one hand go from her head, the other hand pulls her back to look up at me. Her expression absolutely blown. She just looks at me for a second, before putting her face back on my cock on her own. It’s not the same amount of pressure but it still feels fuckin’ good. And somethin’ about her doin’ it on her own. Like she can’t fuckin’ help it. Like she needs it. 

She’s starts to lick at the fabric right where my head is and my dick spasms again at the sight of it. This time she can feel it underneath her mouth. She smiles up at me, smirkin’ down at her. Putting the cigarette in my mouth, I drag it, before bringing it down to her lips. A little reward for listening. 

She drags it once and I drop it on the ground. Beatle says “Thank you.” In the smallest voice I ever heard come out of her mouth. Fuck. I could fall in love with this Beatle. It’s just your dick talkin’ Dar, don’t get crazy. 

I grunt a laugh and start to unbuckle my belt. Unbutton my pants. Barely have my cock in my hand ‘fore her mouths around it. I pull her back by her hair, sharply. She winces in pain and reaches up to her head where I’m holdin’ on. Her eyes shoot up to look at me. 

God, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have that image burned in my brain for the rest of my life. Her face, all discomfort and contempt because I won’t let her touch me. Like she’s fuckin’ dying for it. “Nah, keep your mouth shut Beatle. Gotta learn ta do what yer told.” 

She nods, and closes her lips. Looking from my eyes back down my body again. I lean back, takin’ myself in my hand and pressing my cock into her face. 

For a while I just rub myself all over, letting her feel the weight of it. Letting her know just how big it really fuckin’ is. Lifting it off her face and smackin’ her cheeks. Makin’ her flinch, her eyes squish closed but I press my hard cock against her eye and push up forcing her eyelid open. Fuck. I do the same thing with her lips. Smushing and rubbing the head of it into her lips to open them, I fuck against her mouth for a second. Beatles groaning and moaning but she doesn’t open her mouth. Somethin’ about it makes me need to cum. Now. No more fuckin’ around. “Open up.” 

She does. I spit into her open mouth, and she moans again, without swallowing it. Like a good slut. “Fuck, Beatle. Shit. Now stick your tongue out.” 

She does. I can see my spit falling off her tongue and I quickly catch it with my cock, before smearing as much of the slick spit from her mouth onto me. Taking myself from the base, holding hard to cut off the circulation. Always feels better when I do that. Rubbin her tongue with my cock til I can’t fuckin take it anymore. I’m about to fuckin’  cum. I pull away for only a second, my breathings all fucked and I can barely speak, “Close yer mouth.” She looks confused for a second but closes her mouth. Good. Was about to smack her. 

My left hand finds a place on the back of her head again, gripping into her hair to hold her in place. I push my hips forward and put the whole length across her face. My other hand pressing myself down into her from above her. And I fuck myself on her face. Grunting and sloppy and desperate to cum. Never done this before, shit, does anyone do this? But fuck, it’s so fuckin’ hot. Her lips and her cheeks and her eyelids and her nose all squished and being fuckin’ ruined by my cock. Shit.  Fuck. 

Right as I’m about to cum I put both hands around her head and hump her face like… I don’t even know. I feel fuckin’ insane, but she’s still moaning at the feeling of being used. Not even in a way that should be enjoyable to her. 

I don’t think I’ve ever cum that much in my whole fuckin’ life. Most of it ends up in Beatle’s hair, but there’s still a whole lot of it on her face. I mess with it for a second. Swirling my puffy post-nut dick in it before I get oversensitive. 

I put myself away, and sit down on the ground next to Beatle. Still in the exact same position. I let her kneel there, don’t tell her she can move or nothin’. Guess that’s why she doesn’t. Don’t think she can open her eyes either. S’funny. 

Relighting the short I’d dropped to the ground, I pull a bandana from my pocket. “Is it big, Beatle?” I ask her while I wipe only her mouth off, and put the cigarette between her lips. 

She sucks on the filter, and smiles. “Yep.”

Eventually I wipe off her eyes too. Can’t do anything about her hair though, so I promise to find her a hat from one of the cars on the walk back. 

And I don’t let myself think about what this might mean. Who cares? I don’t. Don’t think Beatle does neither. We’re just goin’. 

pt 5

A/N: Yeah okay,  I know. Daryl’s all back and forth. Does he not give a shit about Merle and Beatle? Does he know deep down they never did anything together? Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking about it at the time? He’s confused, guys. He also really doesn’t have all the information (Eventually he’s gonna ask but first we have to deal with Sophia. Sorry. I don’t want to either.)

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon imagine

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 4: Neon Cowgirl

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: Mountain Ranger! Ari x Reader

Summary: Miscommunications often lend themselves to worries, but almost everything can be fixed with the right tools and the right person.

Word Count: 2,911

Content/Warnings: Miscommunication, heavy drinking, crying, vulnerability, Ari in relaxed non-work clothes (this is very much a warning), kissing

Author’s Note: Wow, just wow. That’s all I have to say, and I hope you agree. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo welcome and appreciated!!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Below is the song which served as inspiration of this part. I think it’s my favorite incorporation of the lyrics thus far.

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

You had been anticipating the date with Ari all week. In your rush to leave, you didn’t even know what time to meet him. You had no idea of his shift schedule or what the true plan was, and it was putting you on edge.

Were you going to get dinner, or was it just drinks? Was there a different bar in town? You looked it up and found a bar two blocks away from that coffee shop, but was there another one? Did he say two blocks and actually mean four blocks? Could he count? Could you count?

What was the right time to go? Not everyone ate dinner at 5pm like you, what would a normal person think? Six, seven? Ugh, you couldn’t even fathom eating dinner at seven. Might as well go to bed at that time, honestly.

Living alone was great, you loved having your own schedules and routines, so branching off outside of it was difficult. You started to get annoyed, and honestly, hangry. You made the final decision that you would eat dinner, then head down to the bar and get a drink and wait. He had to show up sometime, right?

You walked into the bar to hear the jukebox playing a slow country song. Neon lights and old pictures lined the walls, evidence of a well-worn and well-loved establishment. You couldn’t see Ari anywhere, so you walked toward the back and claimed a seat in the far corner of the bar.

The bartender made his way over to you, wiping his hands on a towel he threw over his shoulder. “Hey can I get you started with anything?”

“Well, I’m here to meet someone, so probably whatever’s best to not be absolutely plastered before he’s even here.”

He laughed and nodded, placing a coaster in front of you. “I gotcha, I think I have just the thing.”

You smiled gratefully as he turned away to get started.

He returned and slid the drink over to you and you took a sip. “This is perfect, thank you so much.”

“No problem. So you said you’re meeting someone? I might know them, so I can keep a look out for when they show up.” His hands rested against the bar as he leaned forward to engage in conversation.

“Um, his name’s Ari? We got coffee earlier this week, but kinda forgot to say exactly what time we’d be meeting tonight.”

The bartender laughed and nodded his head. “Ah, yes. I’m familiar. He’s a regular around here. I’m Sammy by the way, you new to town?”

He reached out his hand and you shook it in return, introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you. Yeah, I just moved in up in the mountains. I love it so far.”

He smiled back at you. “Oh, that’s great. Real beautiful views I bet, huh?”

You grinned down into your drink. “The best. Very beautiful, and very much all mine.”

“Well, I know the guy meeting you here shares in that that opinion. The mountains are his favorite place to be.” He pushed off the counter as another customer took a seat. He slid them a coaster and took their drink order, looking back at you as he made it.

“So Ari’s in here a lot? Should I be worried?” You laughed with a hint of uncertainty.

He sighed, looking down at his feet, before he raised his head and his gaze came back up to yours with a small smile on his face. “No. Not at all. I just know he went through a rough time awhile back, but he’s a lot better now.”

You nodded, taking in anything anyone could give you about this man. “And you’re the only woman he’s asked to meet here, or at all since then, as far as I’m concerned.” He tilted his head and looked at you knowingly. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled and ran your finger around the rim of the glass. “Good to know. Thank you, Sammy.”

He gave you a curt nod, walking to check on his other customers while you leaned back in your barstool.

Come to think of it, Ari was the first one you had really put this time into since everything, too. There was just something about him and the way he made you feel appreciated and seen. There was something worth getting to know there.

Sure, you were nervous, who wouldn’t be? But you didn’t find yourself tripping over words, or trying to filter your thoughts like you usually felt you’d need to for a guy. Ari felt like the embodiment of comfort. But that’s what scared you. Because you’d been waiting here nearly an hour now. And for someone where everything meshed so perfectly, you so badly wanted it to continue. For it to be guaranteed and real. Genuine from the start. If Ari didn’t show up tonight, it would crush you, and honestly, any hope you had for men. That would be the sign to officially become a recluse, or maybe even a nun, who knows?

You were staring down at your empty drink, your eyes zoned out as these thoughts ran through your mind. Sammy grabbed your glass and replaced it with a fresh one, snapping you out of your trance. “This one’s on the house. I know Ari’s got some pretty weird shifts, so I can’t tell you what time he’ll come in, but this is one thing I can do.”

You smiled up at him, doing your best trying to make sure the sadness didn’t show through, as he grabbed a bowl of popcorn from a little further down the bar. He set down the wooden bowl before you. “You let me know if you want anything other than this.” He leaned against the bar on an elbow.

You gave him a thumbs up as you took a heavy gulp of your drink, half of it already gone. “Popcorn should be good for now, but I’m definitely gonna need another one of these.” You gasped, pointing to the drink.

Sammy nodded and got to work while throwing back over his shoulder, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He wouldn’t mess up something like this. He might just need a little patience.” Of course, he meant this in more ways than one.

You promised yourself that as soon as you finished your third drink, you would be gone. When you made a move to take the first sip of the fourth, you watched the door open, assuming it was just like any other time tonight, a random patron coming through.

You were wrong though, across from you stood Ari, frantically looking around and breathing heavily. Sammy caught his eye first, pointing back to you with a thumb over his shoulder. Both of their heads turned towards you, Sammy’s wearing a grin that said ‘I told you so.’

Ari’s face held a more complex range of emotion. Relief that you hadn’t left yet, remorse for not giving you more details and evidently making you wait for so long. He took long strides toward you in the bar, and that’s when you noticed he was still in his ranger uniform, carrying a duffel bag.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late. I know we didn’t specify a time, but this is way after I intended to get here. I had to deal with a call.”

You stood as he reached to give you a hug and you returned it. That was the first time the two of you had hugged each other, and it was so warm and all-consuming that you never wanted it to end. You could feel the way his whole body wrapped around you and firmly squeezed, almost like the best weighted blanket.

Ari released you, letting his hands trace down your arms until you were linked only at your fingertips. “It’s no problem. Is everything okay?”

Ari nodded. “Yeah, all is good now. It was just a kid who got separated from his parents on the trail. Are you okay?”

He dipped his head down in an attempt to catch your gaze which had found its way to the floor and stuck there. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

He tried again to break through, eyes still searching for yours while his callused thumbs rubbed over your knuckles. “Are you sure? Because you were kinda drinking alone, all by yourself in this corner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I could almost see how blue you were just from your eyes alone.”

You finally gained the courage to look up at him, tears coating your lashes, making his gorgeous face too blurry to appreciate. “Yeah.” You squeaked out. “You’re not wrong. I almost thought you weren’t gonna come.”

Ari moved one of his hands to your cheek, wiping the single tear that was falling down. “I’d never do that to you, I’d never stand you up on purpose, I swear.”

You nodded, bringing up your hand and placing it over his. “I believe you. Now what’s up with the bag? Spare clothes?” You let out a small laugh and a sniffle.

Ari laughed and nodded. “Yeah, spare clothes. I rushed right here, couldn’t keep you waiting longer or risk missing you all together by stopping home first. I’m gonna go change really quick. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and he kissed your knuckles, gaze lingering on your eyes, walking backwards until he had to turn around to make sure he didn’t bump into anything. You watched him glide past tables and into the back hallway towards the bathroom, sure to enjoy the view those shorts provided. Sammy came over to you and set down a coaster, along with a beer that must’ve been Ari’s usual. “I told you he’d make it.” You gave him a lopsided grin, to which he returned a wink.

Ari in his ranger uniform was jaw-dropping, but Ari in regular street clothes was deadly. Once he had come back to you from the bathroom, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair tucked under a ball cap.

He slid into the stool next to you and ordered some snacks from Sammy, offering to share, which was good, since you were way ahead of him alcohol-wise.

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s been a long day and I haven’t eaten since before noon. You’re welcome to have some, unless you want something of your own. Have you eaten yet?”

The corners of your lips turned up slightly at his concern. “Yeah, I ate before I came, Sammy told me you can have some weird shifts and I expected as much. But, I will definitely be stealing a few fries.”

He grinned down to you. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

He sat there and continued to look into your eyes as your smile naturally faded before he spoke up again. “I really am sorry for being late. I should’ve given you a time, or asked to exchange numbers earlier into getting coffee when I knew I’d want to see you again.”

Your brain got caught up on what he said. He knew he wanted to see you again earlier in the coffee date? Not just because you had to leave so abruptly?

The truth was, Ari knew he had wanted to see you again way before then, even. But how do you ask a girl out when she just almost hit you with her car and it was entirely your fault? Well, he guessed he had figured it out the second time, at least.

He could see the blush start to form on your cheeks. “So could I get your number now so we don’t have to deal with that worry again?”

You simply nodded, reaching into your pocket to pull out your phone which had been happily tucked away since Ari arrived, as he did the same. There was no need for them when you were together, they were just a means to keep contact when you were apart.

After exchanging phones back, Sammy arrived with the food, and you talked with Ari for what felt like forever, but also the blink of an eye. Time passed quickly, yet stood still.

Then, you noticed a shift in his demeanor as the song on the jukebox switched to a new one.

“What? What was that, what’s going on right now?” You asked softly, gesturing to his face, as Ari looked down into his glass, running his fingers around the sides, collecting the condensation.

“It’s nothing, just been awhile since I’ve heard this song is all.” You gave a sympathetic nod.

“Does this have to do with a ‘hard time’ you were facing some months ago? Sammy told me something happened. You don’t have to go into any detail, but trust me, I can assure you that I get it.”

Ari looked up at you through his eyelashes. There was a new vulnerability in his features. It softened them, saddened them, and it killed you to see. He was so sweet with you when he first showed up, he deserved the same treatment in kind.

You shifted and hopped off your stool, holding out your hand for the man who now appeared even taller as he still sat in the chair. “Come on, ya bear. Dance with me. Make some new memories.”

He grabbed your hand and returned a smize, following you to the small section of open floor to the side of the bar. He pulled you close with a twirl, your face showing surprise at the smooth move which juxtaposed his mood just moments ago.

The two of you swayed to the music, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. Your hands crept from his waist, up his abs and chest, before they snaked around his neck. Sure, you were copping a feel discreetly, you appreciated the hardness that lied under his shirt, which hid nothing, but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about the two of you, sharing a moment together. One that was well-deserved on both ends. One that should never be shared with another.

It was like you could see the clouds breaking apart in his eyes. A storm which once raged on, thunder rolling, was getting blown away, replaced with light, a new twinkle.

You moved your hands to the sides of his face, the scruff of his beard rough against your palms as you whispered to him. “Rain stops falling. Hearts unbreak.”

You didn’t need to know his past, not unless he wanted to share with you, but what you could appreciate was being here with him now. And the fact that he was letting you in, letting you see his eyes and smile that could light up a room. What fool could ever hurt this man, tell him goodbye?

Ari was thinking the same in the shared moment. You were made to be taken dancing under these lights, he hoped you let the things that hurt you before ride away. Darkness couldn’t last forever, and he was finally, truly seeing the light.

His eyes shifted between yours as the song came to an end, and he caught a glimpse as you licked your lips. He leaned down slowly, wanting to be closer to you, just as you raised up on your toes and smashed your lips against his. The feeling was stronger than the drink in your hand before. You felt Ari’s teeth against your lips as he pulled away with a beaming smile, you doing the same, before going and sitting back down, two fresh drinks sitting there, courtesy of Sammy. He had been looking on at the two of you dancing, an approving smile on his face which you both missed.

You sat and talked for hours more until the bar was closing. By that time, you knew you were in no state to drive, so Ari offered to take you home. You gladly accepted, Ubers were scarce up here.

Ari guided you out of the bar and into the chilly mountain air, draping a jacket from his bag over your shoulders that he knew you’d need. He helped you up into the passenger side of his truck and closed the door, jogging around to the other side as you scooted over to the middle of the bench seat.

He got up in the driver’s side, smiling when he saw you had moved closer and started the truck, following your directions to climb higher in elevation. At some point in the drive, he hand crept closer to yours, his pinky reaching out, as you noticed and happily obliged him, interlacing your fingers, pulling his arm towards your chest and kissing the back of his hand.

When he pulled into your driveway finally, Ari looked over to you, your head snuggled up against his shoulder, hands still woven together. You blinked up at him through your sleepy eyelashes, blanketed in a slightly buzzed and lovesick haze. He smiled at the sight before him as he cracked a joke.

“So what do you have this house here, way up on a mountain for? What are you, royalty? You think you’re some sort of queen?”

You laughed in response. “Oh no, a queen? You give me too much credit. I think I’d consider myself more of a duchess.”

He softly smiled back at you. “Okay then, Duchess, let’s get you inside.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: (This is fitting for both my mention of neon signs early in the chapter, as well as the chapter title.) Neon signs have been around for over a century! They work by sending an electrical current through elemental neon gas (housed in a glass tube shaped into lettering and such), which excites electrons. When these electrons ‘relax,’ they emit that extra energy at a wavelength that shows up as reddish orange light. If you see a ‘neon sign’ that glows a different color, it’s not actually the element neon. It could be another gas that emits a different energy/wavelength of light. This could be argon (blue, green, yellow, or white), helium (pink/red), xenon (lavender), krypton (yellow-white), or any combination of these stable noble gases and other elements.

Series Taglist:

@patzammit

@hawkeyes-queen

#Ari Levinson #Ari Levinson x reader #Ari Levinson x you #mountain ranger ari #mountain ranger! ari x reader #mountain ranger ari x reader #park ranger ari x reader #park ranger ari #park ranger! ari #mountain ranger! ari #mountaineer monday #ari levinson fanfiction #bigger houses #bigger houses chapter 4: neon cowgirl #st does research like the neurotic little scientist she is #neon cowgirl #SoundCloud

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 13

Scars and Souvenirs 

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 3,131

Rating: mentions of war; being a POW, death, talk of trafficking, forced prostitution and assult.

Sy I followed Walter for what seemed like an hour. They’ve been down winding gravel roads and over dirt roads in the middle of the woods. Finally, they pulled up in front of what looked to be an old abandoned house. 

They got out of the trucks and Sy laughed “Where did you find this place? It's like something Hansel and Gretel would have been captured in.” 

Walter laughed. “It's an old Safe House of mine. Nobody knows about it. You know you've always got to have someplace safe just in case shit goes down.”

 

Sy nodded, “good call brother, good call.” They went inside the house. Thankfully it looked a little better on the inside than it did on the outside which Sy was grateful for. 

Turns out that Walter had set it up with internet and phone services and an encrypted safe computer. One at a time they sat down at the desk and started typing in all the information they knew. They included their own personal thoughts and ideas, even who they suspected in the police department that might have ties to the S18 gang. It took them well over an hour to complete the task but it was done. 

Walter leaned back in the chair and looked at Sy. “So do you regret joining up?” 

Sy took a deep breath and schooled his features before shaking his head no. “I have some regrets, man but none of them about joining up. I met a lot of amazing people, had a lot of men and women serve under me that I formed deep bonds with. I'm extremely grateful and honored that I got to serve my country because you know how much that meant to me. When I joined up I loved this country and what it stood for. After I joined up I learned that I still love my country, however bureaucracy is a bitch. There were times that we could have made a real difference, things we could have fixed but because of red tape,  bureaucracy and government we were not allowed to do what we needed to do when we needed to do it. We had to wait to ask three hundred different people who had to talk to committees to decide if it was okay if we went on the mission and by the time they made their decision,  because you know they get nights and weekends off, it was too late for us to act. That was unbelievably frustrating. Things that we could have fixed except they wouldn't let us. People who died for no reason. The kids that were put into this just because their parents told them to. 

We were all, my unit, really cool with the kids over there because most of those kids didn't care about the war. They didn't care about any of it, they just knew that it affected them so we tried to be nice and we tried to do kind things. We had people send footballs, soccer balls and things like that that we would give to the kids to play with. I can't think of any of the 10 billion MREs it seemed like we ate where we didn't give our candy and sweets to the kids. We always gave it to the kids that we were around or that hung around the green zone.” He got a distant look in his eyes. "Some of those kids came back for more, strapped down with bombs.” Sy was silent, lost in thought for a moment but finally continued. “We really did try to make a difference over there and I think that we did. The truth is we did what we had to do to save soldiers' lives. The things that happened and the regrets that I have, have to do more with me and not being able to accomplish or be what I wanted to be. I had the weakness. The weakness was in me that caused my problems over there.” Sy I rubbed his hands over his face trying to fight back the memory. He'd never opened up about much of anything to anybody but Debbie and of course his military psychiatrist that they made him see. The truth was, in Sy's mind it was always going to be his fault. His men died because he couldn't escape. No matter what anybody says, that's all that's going to live in his mind. He'll never forgive himself for his own weakness. 

Mike looked at him. “Brother, I wish I could take away what you're going through and I'm so sorry that it happened to you. I know it wasn't the way you intended to leave the military but have you thought of other things that you wanted to do? Are you going to continue to do the ranch or do you have something else in mind?”

Sy arches brow a smirk across his face. “Is there something you have in mind? Something you're hinting at?”

Walter shrugged. “Not really. It's just you know, especially now that we know they're dirty cops here where I thought it was safe, I'm frustrated. I guess I'm sort of disenchanted with the whole police thing. I feel like that no matter what we do the bad guys are always going to win because the justice system fails. We can arrest them, we can put them in jail, the court system fails. I mean one person screws up and doesn't sign a form or they put a dot in the wrong place and that person walks. All that work, all that trauma, everything that happened and for what.? Nothing matters anymore. I used to do this job to fight for Faye so that she could have a safe world. I'm beginning to think the world's never going to be safe.”

Sy  was silent for a moment before he let out a deep sigh. “You're not wrong. I don't think the world's ever going to be safe anymore either. And I really do think that it's going to come to a point where it's protect yourself or no one else will. It's a scary thought but the best we can do is try to be the good people that we want to have in the world. If we give up the fight then the fight just loses two more soldiers. I understand the frustration I really do but sometimes you just got to hold strong even though there's no faith left in the people. 

Walter nodded. “I wanted to save the world for Faye. I really did and now she's coming in a couple of weeks to spend Christmas with me and I'm in a department where there are dirty cops. It's maddening.” 

Sy nodded,  “I understand. I can't imagine how stressful it is to have a kid out there knowing that kid is experiencing new things in this kind of world that we're living in.” A wicked smile crossed his face. “But hey, you've got a special forces friend so if you ever need somebody to help you track her give me a call.”

Walter laughed loudly. “You know I just might take you up on that once she starts dating.” 

They were interrupted by a squelch on Walter’s police radio. The dispatcher said there was a shooting at Holmes pawn shop, one down. “Well shit,” Walter sighed. “That's Mike's dad. I wonder what the dumbass got himself into this time?” 

Sy shook his head. “Who knows? That man is a menace to himself as well as society.” 

“I guess I better go check this out,” Walter told him.

Sy stood, “All right. I need to go meet up with Deb. We need to have a conversation today anyway.” 

As they walked out of the house and back to the trucks Walter looked over at him, “everything okay?” 

“I hope so man because things are kind of weird right now. There's something going on and it has been since the incident with Lindy. I'm not sure what it is or how to fix it but I'm hoping we can start to talk through it.”

 While he was talking he overheard a license plate number being read over the radio by the dispatcher and a chill ran up his spine. “That's Debbie's license plate.”

~~~~~♡~~~~~

Debbie's ears were ringing and everything sounded really muffled. They had blindfolded her and tied her up. As soon as they put her in the van she could hear Mike, he was right next to her head. He whispered, “Are you okay?”

One of the men yelled for them to shut up. She could hear the other men talking. They were talking about the man who was killed and the one who was shot and they were going to make her pay for it. She was listening for any information she could get, she was even counting when l they went over railroad tracks how many tracks and turns they made. It seemed like forever before she was finally yanked painfully out of the van. She was pushed and shoved forward until they eventually jerked her to a stop. She felt the ropes around her wrist being pulled up and she was being tied to something overhead so that her arms were stretched far above her head and her toes were the only things touching the floor. She had no way to get leverage or to get relief from the pressure on her arms. It was a torture technique. She could hear Mike yelling and she took a deep breath satisfied that he was at least alive still. 

Mike struggled as they tied him to the chair. “What the fuck do you want from me? What are we doing here? Who are you people?” 

“Shut the fuck kid nobody wants to hear your mouth.” He punched Mike repeatedly in the face and stomach leaving him limp in the chair. “I'm tired of you already. Your dumb ass old man owes us a lot of money and you're the payment for it.” Mike visibly trembled. “You want to bitch and moan to somebody? If you ever see him again, and that's a big if, bitch at him.” 

The door opened and slammed shut again then there was silence. Debbie tried to take a deep breath but her ribs were killing her. “Mike, are you okay?” 

“I think I am," he replied. “My head's killing me, my arm hurts but I don't think I have any major injuries. What about you. I saw what they did to you. I'm surprised you're still conscious.”

She gave a humorless chuckle. ”Had worse. It'll be okay. Don't argue with them or provoke them. I'm not saying that you need to give them everything that they want but try to comply with the simple things without putting yourself in danger.” She paused a minute glad they had left Mike's blind fold on. “Listen kid, no matter what they say that they're going to do to me, don't fall for it. Even when they hurt me, and they will hurt me, I don't want you to react and I don't want you to give in to their demands for that.”

 “What the hell do you mean when they hurt you? They've hurt you enough! We're here and they haven't even asked us for anything. What do they want.” 

“I don't know Mike but these people aren't good people, these are the bad guys.”

About that time the door opened again and she could hear footsteps approaching. Suddenly her blindfold was yanked off. She tried to adjust to the light as she looked at the man standing before her.  He was covered in tattoos on his face,neck and his arms. What she could make out of them looked to be gang tattoos, S18 peeking out from the neck of his shirt. “What do you want from us?" she asked? 

The man ran his hand over her face, feeling her skin. “It's such a shame that they had to hurt you. Such a beautiful face bruised and swollen already,” he lightly tapped her face like he was patting her. “See there is somebody that's doing things that they shouldn't be doing. There's an informant somewhere in our group and we're trying to find them.”

 Debbie arched a brow at him. “And what does that have to do with us ?”

“Nothing other than the fact that you work with the police. I've seen you at the station. And,” he shrugged, “you were with the kid. His old man owes us a lot of money so in payment, since he couldn't afford to pay us off, he gave us his kid.” 

“Gave you his kid? What the hell does that mean?” she asked even though she had a sickening feeling she already knew. 

“It means that we're going to put the boy to work for us," he sneered. “He's going to earn his money with that mouth and ass until he pays off his old man's debt,, or I get tired of using him.”

“Fuck you!” Mike growled.  “You got problems with my old man, you take them up with him. I didn't make his  debt.”

“You think you got a choice kid?” the guy snarled. “You'll do whatever the fuck we tell you to do and you'll do it with a smile on your face! If you don't we'll make sure you learn!” He ran his hand across Mike's chest and then lower brutally squeezing his dick through his jeans. “And I love it when I have to teach you innocent ones the hard way.”

Debbie had to get the attention off of Mike somehow. “So you can't control your people and you got a snitch. Who is it?” it worked. 

He came back over to her and walked around her body letting his hands roam anywhere he wanted too. Very personal places.. She had to fight off the shiver as his hand ran over both of her breasts, tweaking her nipples. He leaned in next to her ear and whispered “Maybe we'll have to put you to work too sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat, “and get your hands off me you prick!” 

He laughed  “oh she is a feisty one. I'm going to enjoy beating the information about the informant outta you,” he grinned and started punching her again. “Like I told you bitch. We teach. people manners here.”

“I don't know anything about your informant asshole! What are you going to do when the police department finds out what happened to us?” 

“What makes you think the police will even know? You think we don't have people on the inside that will cover this shit up so nobody will ever know what happened to you? You can disappear without a second thought.  Nobody will ever fucking look for you. Nobody will even care that you're gone.” 

She shook her head, “You're wrong. I have someone who cares and you better pray that you don't touch me again because that someone will rip your fucking balls off and feed them to you!” 

He  backhanded her across the jaw. “Yeah? You want to talk about balls you're going to enjoy mine.”

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Sy followed Walter to Holmes Pawn Shop to see what the hell was going on with Debbie's truck. After several phone calls and some investigating they realize that Debbie and Mike had come to Holmes Pawn Shop for some reason. Sy had a feeling. He knew something was wrong; he knew that with the case going on and the way things were, something was bad so they went inside to talk to Matt Holmes. 

Matt Holmes was sitting in his office. He'd been beaten to a pulp and was throwing back a glass of amber liquid. Sy and Walter approached. Matt held up both hands. “Look, I've had enough, I can't do this anymore.”

“Can't do what anymore?” Sy growled. 

“Look, my debts are paid. I'm over this, I'm leaving.”  He stood up and he tried to walk out which was a mistake. Sy forced him back into his chair and got directly in his face, noses almost touching. To say that Sy looked menacing was the understatement of the decade. Even Walter backed off. “You need to tell me exactly what's going on here Matt or you think you're beat up now? I will personally take you apart piece by piece. Believe me when I tell you I know how to keep you alive while I do it.” Sy reached down into his boot and pulled out a k bar that he kept with him always. Some military habits never die. He stabbed the knife into the top of the desk as a threat to Matt who took it seriously. 

Matt was shaking, holding up his hands. “No please!” 

Sy turned around and looked at walter. “You have a job here in this town as a police officer. What I'm about to do you don't want any part of Walter. Leave the room.” 

“I don't…” Walter started but Sy shook his head. 

“I mean it Walt, step out of the room and shut the door.” 

Reluctantly Walter did so. What he heard standing outside the door made him cringe. There was screams there was begging there was pleading and finally there was silence. Walter thought for a second that Sy might have killed him. Just as he was about to reach for the door and open it Sy came out. 

“I know why they were here, now we've got to figure out where they are.” 

Walter followed Sy back to the truck and got in with him. 

As they drove away Walt asked, “What the hell is going on?”

“He turned his kid over to S18. He owed a debt for drugs and gambling and he couldn't pay it off so he gave them his fucking kid to traffic! An officer called Debbie today saying that he'd also called me to get her and Mike to the Pawn Shop. They told her we needed to sign paperwork for mike.” 

Walt shook his head. “Fuck. This is bad, Sy. How are we going to find out where they are? Nobody will talk; they're terrified of S18.” 

“I have a plan, don't worry I've got this," Sy said.

Sy pulled out his cell phone but it wasn't the normal cell phone he used. This one was hidden in the center console of his truck. It looked more like a brick than a cell phone. Walter looked at him but Sy didn't say anything; he simply dialed a number. Apparently somebody on the other end answered because all Walter heard was I'm in trouble I need you. No, now. And then the phone hung up

Tag List

@shellyshellshell

@enchantedbytomandhenry

@mrsevans90

@summersong69

@mollymal

@warriormirkwood

@bloodyinspiredme

@kneelforloki

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #syverson fluff #syverson x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill characters #syverson

[vanishingcherry]

Hi!🪄

Can you do a story where the readers is a chubby girl and Harry's siblings and between her and Fred there is something going on (only Fred confessed his feelings).

The reader doesn't believe that Fred feelings are real because he used to make fun of her with George.

Harry and Hermione (as reader best friend) decide to help Fred to make you understand that his feelings are true ( Harry give him some advise on how have your attention: your favorite book, favorite flower, what you like to do on the weekend etc.). Hope you kinda understand what I meant- also, an happy ending?

The rest is up to you, thanks if you'll do it

i mean it

words: 1.4k

a/n: i have no experience and hence wasn’t sure how to write a chubby girl, i tried my best. please do tell me if i’ve written something wrong so that i can change it. 

----------------------------------

Finding out that you, just like your brother, were also magical, was one of the best moments of your life. The one year in which Harry was at Hogwarts and you were at home was torture, the Dursleys giving you extra chores, forcing you to do everything around the house in an attempt to get you energetic. 

“You’re always so lazy. Get up and do something on your own for once, would you?”, your aunt berated one day when you sat down for a minute after trimming the bushes outside. 

However, the next summer when you got your letter, they calmed down, knowing that they couldn't stop you from going. You got sorted into Gryffindor and immediately did your best to become friends with everyone. However, to your dismay, a lot of people didn’t really want to become friends with you. 

Sometimes, you would hear them talking while you took a shower.

“She’s so fat, it looks weird she would be much prettier if she exercised a bit.”

“Yeah, or maybe if she went on a diet. My cousin went on one and...”

Most of the time, you tried to block it out, trying to stay optimistic. You figured that it would jut take some time, but you would fit in, sooner or later. 

Meanwhile, you became best friends with Hermione Granger, who Harry introduced you to. She was great, always helping you with schoolwork and the two of you loved spending time with each other. You mainly hung out with Harry’s friends, who didn’t mind having you around and definitely didn’t tease you, so having another girl in a group was life saving.

Ron, however, wasn’t exactly your favourite. Not because he was bad or anything, but because of his brothers. Fred and George, the troublesome twins that just never seemed to leave you alone. They made all the teasing worse, spreading rumours about how you tried losing weight but couldn’t, or how You-Know-Who cursed you as well, so you would be chubby forever.

You absolutely despised the two of them, hating how everyone laughed at your face when you saw them whispering to each other in the common room. You would find yourself crying in your dorm after lights out, hating the way they and everyone else made you feel. Soon enough, you did start dieting, or tried to at least. 

You would skip one meal a day, instead taking a walk outside. Hermione and Harry realised almost immediately, and started escorting you to meals, making sure one of them was always next to you, making sure you ate enough. You appreciated the effort, of course, but sometimes you wished they hadn’t realised. 

A couple days later, you accidentally walk up the boys dorm while reading a book and hear some shouting. Looking up, you see the door open. Ron and Harry are shouting at Fred and George, who look solemn.

“Are you bloody mad? She already feels like shit, you don’t need to add to it.” You hear Ron’s voice yelling at the top of his lungs. “Mum raised us better than this.”

Harry was stood to the side, adding points in between, slightly conflicted as the Weasleys had been nothing but nice to him. “Look guys, I and Y/N would appreciate it if you just stopped. It’s hurting her and me.”

Fred looked to the side and saw you. Making eye contact, you leave, running to your dorm, avoiding all four of the boys for the next few days. 

Eventually, they apologize and you accept it.

---

For the next few years, you kept distance from them, and they from you. Occasionally you would run into each other when you stayed over at the Burrow, but other than that, they stopped troubling you and you didn’t say much to them.

One night when you were back at Hogwarts, you were coming back from a late night study session in the library when Fred took ahold of your arm. 

“Hey, uh, can I talk to you?” His voice was unsure, nervous. 

Frowning, you replied. “Yeah, is something wrong?”

“No uh, look I- I wasn’t sure how to do this so um- I like you.”

Taken aback, you double check to make sure your ears weren’t deceiving you. When he repeats what he said, you can’t help but start laughing. 

“You’re not being serious. Look, if this is some sort of elaborate joke, it’s not working Fred.” You head back to your dorms, leaving Fred standing there in the middle of the hallway, a shocked look on his face. 

He realises that you didn’t trust him anymore, not after the way he treated you. Honestly, he didn’t blame you. He was downright stupid for treating you like that, and he really did regret it. At that moment, he decided that he would do everything he could to make you like him.

Over the next few weeks, unbeknownst to you, he was constantly cornering Harry and Hermione, asking them what all you liked in order to gain your attention. At first the both of them were confused, wary at his sudden interest in you. But, after he confessed to them the reason behind his endeavours, they were more than happy to help. 

Harry would tell him funny stories from your childhood, while Hermione would share with him your favourite books and things you did over the weekend.

Following that, you would often enter the common room to find Fred on one of the couches, lounging as he read some of the books you liked. It was a surprise every week as he picked up a new one. One day, you decided to go over to him.

“Nice book?”, you asked. 

“Yup! This bit’s actually really interesting.” Fred tilts the book towards you, so that you can read what chapter he’s on.

“Hmm.”

He scoots over and pats the space next to him, inviting you to read with him. Taking a quick glance at the clock, you figured you could take a break for a while before going back to studying, and sat down next to Fred. It became a habit, every day the two of you would read a chapter together before you went your separate ways. It soon became his and your favourite part of the day. 

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”, Fred asked one night. “We can go to Honeydukes, i’ve been wanting some Peppermint Toads.” He had remembered a conversation with Hermione in which she revealed to him your favourite candy. 

“You like Peppermint Toads? Huh. I always put you up as a Fizzing Whizzbees type of guy.”

Fred scratched behind his neck as he awkwardly chuckled. “No, I like Peppermint Toads quite a bit. Come with me, won’t you? I’ll pay.”

Giving a small smile, you accept. 

---

You and Fred got extremely close over the next few months, and you found yourself developing a small crush on him. However, you were still hesitant, remembering the way he treated you when you were younger. 

A few days later it was Valentine’s Day, and Fred figured it was the perfect day to try again.

He walked up to you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers and handed them to you with a shy smile, cheeks and ears bright red. 

“Thank you? Happy Valentine’s to you too Fred.”

“I like you. I meant what I said last term. I really did mean it, I swear.”

You sigh, not sure how to reply. “Fred, look, I like you too, I do. But I just-”

“You don’t trust me.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I-”

“I know what I did Y/N, and I am so, so, so sorry. I was stupid and young and I meant it when I apologized. Look, I get that you might not want to go into this, but I just need one chance. I promise I’ve changed.”

You stay silent for a second, thinking of whether or not you should give him the chance. He really did seem to have changed, and he had been really nice to you. Plus, the part of you that crushed on him was going crazy right now. 

“Okay, yeah!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, c’mon.” You look your arm through his, the other still holding the flowers, as you head to great hall. 

“Wait uh, how did you know that this was my favourite flower? And come to think of it, you’ve been really interested in my favourite things recently.”

“Oh, um, Harry and Hermione sorta helped, y’know like told me what all you liked.”

“They did huh?”

---

a/n: i wasn’t sure how to end it, so sorry about that.

#fred #fred weasley #fred wealsey fic #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x female! reader #harry potter #harry potter series #golden trio era #mauraders era #george weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley edits #fred weasley edit #angst #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #harry potter x sister!reader #vanishingcherry #leah writes ──⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

[nostalgicfun]

Love is stored in the food.

My dad always made a huge deal about my mom's cooking.

He would come to see us for the weekend and she'd make him lunch and dinner, he'd bang his fist on the table, he'd make comical MMMMMMs like he was in a commercial (albeit a very corny one), and declare that he was taking home the leftovers so nobody could have seconds (which was, of course, a joke, and he'd actually encourage everyone to eat more).

As I was growing up, if I didn't like something we were having for dinner, he'd tell me "Did I ever tell you what I ate in the Gulf War?" or "Did I ever tell you I carried one spoon for six months in my sock?" and, in a nice, fun, dad-like way, tell me I should appreciate my mom's cooking.

One of the last times I saw him, I made a joke that I could make him spaghetti, but it wouldn't be as good as my mom's because I didn't have the practice.

He told me that of course it would be just as good, because he loves me, and therefore he loves my cooking, and he would take all the leftovers home and eat all of it even if I made him weeks and weeks of spaghetti and it all turned green.

I believe him.

I got older and got my own place, and began cooking for roommates and friends and coworkers and significant others. I wasn't a very good cook because I didn't have any experience at all outside of boxed macaroni and spaghetti since my mom didn't allow me to cook—which is another story of its own.

So yes, I started cooking and baking, and no, I wasn't good at it. Many of my meals were (and, let's be real, still are) "flops." I'm notorious for burning—incinerating, truthfully—things, overcooking things, adding too much or too little seasoning, yada yada. That doesn't stop me from loving cooking and baking, though.

But there's a problem, and there has always been a problem since I started using a kitchen of my own, that what I make goes to waste. Entire cakes sit in their cake-keeper until they mold. Leftovers of dishes I made for other people turn to liquid in their containers. Brownies turn to gray rocks, spaghetti turns so green not even my dad would have touched it.

Shortly after I got my first apartment, I lamented this to my father, who was by then living overseas. I told him that I had, like my mother, love to bake, but no one to feed it to. Even with roommates, it rotted. I couldn't eat two dozen cupcakes myself.

I received a phone call a few hours later.

It was from my dad's best friend.

He drove an hour for cupcakes. I'd never seen him smile so broadly as he did when I went running out to his truck with a big container of cupcakes in my hands. They were pudding-filled, I told him, something I'd never tried before. Yellow cupcakes with chocolate frosting and vanilla pudding. Boston cream cupcakes.

My dad's friend came back once a week until he moved a short time later. He posted pictures of my "delicacies" on Facebook. I made him cheesecakes, cupcakes, quick breads, muffins.

And of course, spaghetti.

And he told me about the spoons he and my dad carried in the Gulf War.

Years went by and I got better at cooking, but there was still something wrong. My food—homemade food—wasn't eaten unless I put it right in front of a person and basically said "eat." If I set my food out at a work potluck and left the room it would go untouched. My family scoffed (and still scoffs!) at anything I make for them for reasons unknown to even me. My friends and roommates ate what I put in front of them, but left overs never got eaten of their own volition, cookies continued to mold in their tins.

I stopped baking.

Later when my dad returned to the country for a funeral, he went straight to my mom's house. She made him coffee and cheesecake and spaghetti, and he raved and raved and raved about all of it just like he used to.

We stood outside that night while I let the dogs run around.

"She makes terrible coffee," he told me unprompted. "Bitter. But she always had it ready for me. I never asked for that. She just started doing it one day while I was getting ready for work. I'd never had that before. It was the sweetest thing ever, back then."

Her cheesecake was too sweet for him sometimes, too. And she made her chili, one of his favorite dishes right up there with spaghetti, too spicy for his liking.

But she was cooking for him. She was doing this for him. And his reactions made her so happy. My mom loves when people enjoy her food, everyone who's ever met her knows this. "Even when she made absolutely rancid stuff, which she does sometimes," he said, "she's doing it because she loves us. And we love her, too. So I drink the coffee."

I took up my dad's mantle of "theatrics" at the dinner table for my mom. She smiles the same every time.

I've become a much, much better cook as I've gotten older.

I've also, with age, learned the difference between selfish love and unselfish love, and how you can so easily tell this difference when you make someone food. Empty compliments made in hopes it'll win the compliment-giver brownie points (pun not intended but appreciated). Say it's good, but the leftovers are molding in the fridge and the muffins are untouched in the break room, still. My family who side-eyes my dinner contributions with thinly-veiled distaste.

I started making friends recently. New friends from new places, friends who aren't anything like me.

I joined a writing club, too.

On a whim, I baked cupcakes for our meeting.

When the meeting was over, arguments ensued over who got to take the cupcakes home. I handed out paper plates and cling wrap. Everyone left smiling. Everyone left with a cupcake (or two) in their hands. Each time we meet, now, they ask me when I'm next bringing cupcakes.

A coworker came to sit in my office the other day. She's new here. She lamented not having a Red Lobster in the area, that she craved their biscuits because she and her mom used to go get Red Lobster on Thursday nights.

I went home and made her Cheddar Bay biscuits. We sat in the break room eating them and laughing and making up stories about people we saw from the window below. When lunch was over, she took her biscuits home in an ice cream box we found in the freezer.

I started dating a new guy last year. My dad introduced us on his most recent visit. I was smitten. He was smitten. We did the silly little activities kind-of-young people do while dating: walks in the park, going out for ice cream, watching a movie, attending a trivia night.

I don't remember now how it was relevant to the conversation at the time, but at one point it was mentioned that neither his mother nor his father nor his step-mom ever cooked. The whole family always ate out. At home they'd have chicken tenders and Hungry Man dinners.

The next week, I invited him over for dinner. I was nervous, super nervous. I was so scared it would go the way it always goes, with no comments at all other than "thanks it was good," which almost always means, in the experiences I've had, "that was mediocre but nice of you I guess."

I made him a big rack of ribs. I called my mom to make sure I was doing it right, like, three times.

When I put the ribs down in front of him, he was smiling a familiar smile. A "did I ever tell you about the spoon I carried" smile.

He took one bite.

He set down his fork.

He got out his phone and video called his dad to show him the dinner.

I haven't stopped cooking for him since.

When he has to leave after a weekend together, he goes to my fridge and rummages through the leftovers not unlike a racoon and asks "can I have this?" "are you going to eat this?" "can I take some of this home?"

He always leaves with a Walmart bag full of little Tupperware containers, and hot coffee made without asking.

And when my dinners are "flops," when they come out burnt or too salty or not salty enough, he doesn't lie or give me beloathed empty compliments.

"The worst dinner from you is still better than the best dinner from Door Dash."

I bake him cakes. He sends me snapchats of him eating them. I make him muffins, and he takes them to work in a lunch box and taunts his coworkers with them. He arrives to my place in the wee hours of the morning and asks "what did you make for dinner tonight, is there any left, and how fast can I microwave it?" We go to a social potluck at the place where we met and he points to the banquet table and says "look, that guy's getting some of your meatballs. I bet they're almost all gone." A friend's wife puts one of my cookies on her plate. He points at something behind her that isn't there at all and steals the cookie off of her plate. He smiles at me.

Love is stored in the food.

#this is the Grimace Bf btw! same guy #the hardest toughest people in my life have always been the most unselfish and the most genuine #I want to write a whole analysis of that #anyway I think about this all the time and have wanted to start writing little stories so here have a little piece of me <3

[come-see-our-show]

Now that it’s been a week since I've watched Roald Dahl's Matilda: The Musical, here are all my thoughts (as someone who loves the musical and played Bruce once):

THE BABIES SINGING IN THE OPENING NUMBER WAS THE CUTEST SHIT I'VE EVER SEEN

The cast was INCREDIBLE!! Emma Thompson was terrifying! Stephen Graham and Andrea Riseborough were hilarious! Lashana Lynch was so endearing! AND I WANNA SEE ALISHA WEIR IN MORE STUFF BECAUSE SHE ATE IT UP

I want to give credit to the makeup team for Trunchbull's makeup because even though I knew it was Emma Thompson, they did such a good job of realistically transforming her into someone else. Her appearance wasn't a joke in the same way that it is in the musical. Her character in the stage version is definitely pretty misogynistic and transphobic because they play into her masculinity by having a man play her. Here, it's just a way of adding to her character, but it isn't what makes her scary.

All of the changes worked so well in adapting it for the screen. It wasn't just a copy-paste (couch cough everybody's talking about jamie) Examples of the changes that really worked:

Getting rid of Michael Wormwood. It makes sense since the Wormwoods clearly hate kids.

Giving Lavender a pet newt (very Chekhov's Guncore)

Including telekinesis throughout the whole story instead of just showing it a few times in the 3rd act. This includes Nigel asking Matilda if she has TK, Matilda messing with the doors in the cake scene, exploding the chokey, THE FUCKING CHAINS

Having the Spain news earlier in the story, causing a catalyst of events. Matilda is enraged, she sings I'm Here, she explodes the chokey (which was BONE-CHILLING), it gives Trunchbull a reason to make more chokies, and now Matilda is so emotional that she can take her powers to the extreme with the chalkboard and the chains and throwing Trunchbull out the window. All of this gave much better pacing in the story and made it all connected.

Having more scenes outside of the classroom (the cake scene and The Smell of Rebellion) and putting Ms. Phelps' library in her car. It's quirky and also gives them an excuse to put the storytelling scenes in pretty locations.

Giving Ms Honey a bike while her co-worker had a car, foreshadowing her being poor.

Putting Matilda's bedroom in the attic made so much sense because the Wormwoods obviously did the bare minimum for their child.

The students' drawings in Ms Honey's cottage

SO MANY FANTASY SEQUENCES! BRUCE!! WHEN I GROW UP!!! QUIET!!!!

All of the kids were so adorable (and ridiculously talented!)

The storytelling sequences!!! Interweaving it with the real world worked so well, like Matilda making it a real story for school but also clearly using it to cope. And putting them in a real circus made me more empathy for the Honeys, which lacked in the stage version because it always felt very thrown-in to me. Like, I genuinely got nervous during the stunt with the dynamite. It also made "I'm Here" even more emotional. Carl Spencer was amazing as Magnus and I teared up a bit. Also the parallels of I'm Here vs My House, helping Matilda put the pieces together.

The new song wasn't my favorite but it was a really nice finishing touch. Even though the circus at the school didn't logically make sense it was so fun

The only things I disliked: I wanted more of the already incredible stuff. More of the Wormwoods, who were absolutely hilarious, especially Mrs Wormwood. I really missed "Loud" (though removing it helped with the pacing). I wanted a bit more of Bruce (they didn’t give him the high note in Revolting Children 😭), and I would've liked Ms Honey to be a bit more affectionate with Matilda.

Anywho I want snort this movie like cocaine

#summer says stuff #matilda the musical #matilda 2022 #matilda musical #roald dahl's matilda the musical

[kcrossvine-art]

Hey folks n blokes! A few days ago ya might've been one of the people who helpfully responded to my question asking which LotR recipe we should cook next, and you all had great ideas. Including a golum salmonella sushi platter. There were a few that twinkled directly into my eyes, but only one fish gets fried at a time! Thanks @vensre for the suggestion!

Today from Lord of the Rings, we will be making Bilbo Baggin's Seed Cakes

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Seed Cake?” YOU MIGHT ASKIf you're an amer*can like me, you might have never heard of a seed cake outside of the context of bird feeders.

Salted butter

Fine sugar

Whole milk

Eggs

Almond flour

Vanilla extract

Brown sugar

Caraway/fennel seeds

Ground anise seed

Ground nutmeg

The real key ingredient here is the caraway seeds. The factor that ties all recipes together. Important note, anise seeds and anise stars are 2 separate things!

AND, “what does a Seed Cake taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKTastes like what an old bookstore smells like.

Smells like warm licorice

But without the chemical-y aftertaste

Take a shortbread and make it denser and with less airpockets. Thats your texture.

A little bit like gingerbread but nuttier, earthier

Very rich

Beautiful crumbly brown outside, soft teddybear-brown inside

Pairs well with a glass of milk hahaha

"A wonderful blend of sweet and savoury, seed cakes make a perfect after-supper morsel."-LotR Online. Mentioned both in the books and the MMO, being served after dinner ties into their real-life origins! Before caraway seeds in cakes became popular in the victorian era, they were often candied and served as dessert because caraway seeds help with after-meal indigestion.

. used an herb grinder for the anise seeds . used light brown sugar where brown sugar called for . used blanched almond flour . if i made this again, would probably use higher quantity of nutmeg or add cinammon

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From entering the kitchen, to having this in my stomach, it took roughly 2 hours? Ish? Definitely make sure to let your 2 sticks of butter and 3 eggs sit out a bit beforehand so they reach room temp, it helps them whip together the warmer they are.

The most difficult part of this recipe was finding the seeds. Everything except the caraway/fennel and anise seed i already had, and maybe its a recent thing but since when did grocery stores start charging such an obscene amount for a regular bottle of spices? Is it not enough to have everything else infected by price-gouging, now we'll be scraping pennies for our little flavor heavens? Bleh. 

The seed cake is a new experience for me also, and many pardons if some sacred seed cake rule has been broken today. It tasted fantastic! The licorice was a strong flavor I've never experienced in this form before, it suits itself well. If you're baking for children or have a sweeter palette, the bitterness may be a bit much, but just have them dunk it in milk honestly. It did feel like there was some 'empty space' on my palette while eating- if that makes any sense? It couldve been layered with another flavor but i still can't put my finger on what that missing flavor could be.

Definitely be careful to put the eggs into the butter/sugar a little bit at a time. I got impatient the first-go, and the eggs incorporated less, and it led to a greasier cake. People seem to say that storing these and eating them the next day makes them taste better, i cannot attest as i ate both within the same day of making them. 

This recipe has earned itself a glimmering 7/10, for making my kitchen smell nice but also making me use a standmixer if i want my arms to stay attached (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

220g salted butter

225g fine sugar

16g of milk

3 eggs

175g almond flour

2 drops vanilla extract

Pinch of brown sugar

1tbsp caraway seeds

1 1/2tbsp  ground anise seed

1/2tsp ground nutmeg

Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 320F. Soften the butter and let eggs come to room temperature. 

Cream the butter by itself for around 5 minutes with a standmixer on med., until light in color. Add sugar and continue until the mixture is pale and fluffy.

In a seperate bowl beat the eggs until 'frothy'. 

Stir a small amount at a time of the eggs iinto the butter and sugar mixture, making sure each portion incorporates as you go.

Add the caraway, ground anise seed, ground nutmeg, and vanilla extract.

Gently fold in the almond flour. Careful not to overmix.

Add a tablespoon of milk, or until the batter keeps its form but drips off an upside down spoon.

Pour into a greased 9-inch round cake pan, if not available muffin/cupcake pans should also work.

Sprinkle a bit of brown sugar on top.

Bake for 40-50 minutes. Cool for 10 before serving.

#lotr #cake recipe #the hobbit #bilbo baggins

[historicallyaccuratecheese]

Well, I guess I’m continuing to make these now! Here’s the next part of my thoughts on every Magnus Archives episode! Now, last time I said that I was planning to write about episodes 21-40 in the next post, but as it turns out, the hyperfixation has set in and my thoughts are a LOT longer (so buckle up if you want to read this), and I also reached the tag limit. So, I’m only going to be covering episodes 21-30 here, and then I’ll write about episodes 31-40, and this 10 episode trend will probably continue for the rest of the posts, but that just means I’ll be able to put them out faster.

Also, unlike my first post, where I wrote all of my thoughts after finishing episode 20, all of these ones were written right after I finished the specific episode I talked about, so my thoughts are a lot more clearly documented. Finally, there’s a link to my masterpost, which will contain all the post’s detailing my thoughts on every episode before and after these ones.

Once again, no spoilers for future episodes please, and for anyone who hasn’t watched up to episode 30, spoilers are under the cut, so I recommend turning away until you’ve caught up. :)

- Episode 21, Freefall 🪂

Statement of Moira Kelly, regarding the disappearance of her son Robert.

WHAT THE FUCK??!! MARTIN??!! DAMN, I guess the horrors did get to him! Well, it’s nice to finally meet him, even if his first line was dropping shit on the ground. Either way, I get the vibe I’m in for a wild ride for this second half. ….What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the actual statement. Anyways this one upset me. Not only did it bring out my fear of heights pretty well, but the portrayal of a grieving mother who can’t comprehend what happened to her son was really heartbreaking. The line “The sky ate him” was kind of comedic at first, especially with Jon’s following reaction (love this guy btw, he’s such a loser), but then it became really horrific when I realized how it was just Moira desperately trying to make sense of the impossible horrors she just witnessed. The plot thread set up with Simon and Harriet Fairchild is also very interesting, and the whole sky thing kind of reminded me of Dominic’s visions in Ep. 4. Overall another one of many fantastic episodes, but HOLY SHIT I’M SCARED.

- Episode 22, Colony 🔦

Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a close encounter with something he believes to have once been Jane Prentiss. Statement taken direct from subject.

….aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Ok let’s start from the top. Firstly, I’m really happy we finally got to meet Martin in this episode, and he’s great! Honestly he comes off as more dorky than stupid, and just comes off as a real sweetheart, so Jon’s distaste for him (outside of very different personalities), gets more mysterious. Though all things considered, after what he experienced, I don’t think that the bullying is his biggest worry anymore… Alexander J. Newall does a fantastic delivery, as much as I love Jon’s readings, you can really feel how terrified Martin is here (also “Blackwood” is a sick as fuck last name, and I related to him trailing off about spiders…) Outside of Martin himself, we have Jane Prentiss (or what remains of her) and…well, let’s just say that I don’t find the sex worms nearly as funny anymore. Jane and the worms inside her are absolutely terrifying, and while I would say I’m excited to learn more about her, I wouldn’t be complaining if the institute staff never had to deal with her again. Also the text episode made me, if you’ll excuse my language…squirm. Honestly, this might just be my favorite episode so far. The way that the plot threads from previous episodes connected here was extremely satisfying, and needless to say, I’m very excited and horrified to see where the show goes from here.

- Episode 23, Schwartzwald 🇩🇪

Statement of Albrecht von Closen, regarding a discovered tomb near his estate in the Black Forest.

Worst episode ever because Jon didn’t do a German accent, smh. Ok but in all seriousness, I really liked this one! It wasn’t the strongest in terms of complex themes in my opinion, but it had a great vibe, and was still very interesting, entertaining, and decently creepy. Having a “statement” written before the archives was founded is a really cool idea that’s executed perfectly here, and while we didn’t learn that much about Jonah Magnus, I still found it cool to get a first glimpse of the archives’ history. (Also, given the eye imagery that appears both in here and in other episodes, I can’t help but feel like Albrecht’s wording of Jonah having “good eyes” or something like that is a little weird…) And…now that we have the instance of something that isn’t a statement, but is important being in the archives, I absolutely agree with the idea that Gertrude Robinson organized these poorly on purpose, so that Jon would get the knowledge he needed to have. Regardless, this whole episode had the vibes of a classic ghost story, which while not as weird and off-putting as some of the other horror here, was still a nice change of pace overall. The descriptions of The Schwartzwald were really well done and added to the atmosphere, and I just like the fact that we have another historical episode, that’s also set outside of The UK. Also, the way that they played with the time period at the end was amazing, I already had my suspicions due to the eye imagery, but the reveal of Mary Keay (and therefore Gerard Wa- I mean Keay) being a descendant of Albrecht was still really cool. I also do wonder if the Arabic book was eventually found by Jurgen Leitner in the future…eh, food for thought. Lastly, I loved Martin jumping in out of nowhere, it was both funny, and a grim reminder about how fucked the archives supposedly are, yippee!

Wow, these are a lot longer than my previous thoughts. This, my sweet children, is a phenomenon called “brain rot”.

- Episode 24, Strange Music 🪆

Statement of Leanne Denikin, regarding an antique calliope organ she possessed briefly in August 2004.

Jon, honey, are we not going to elaborate on the fact that one of ✨the horrors✨is literally inside the institute? Like, HELLO? That’s not terrifying at all! Anwyays, this episode continues the trend of making me scared of things I’m not initially scared of, yippee! It had great vibes as well, the weird shit in the attic was made to be as creepy as possible. Initially, I didn’t find this one to be too scary, and figured it was going to go in the direction of “music makes people feel kind of weird”. AND THEN JOSHUA GETS KILLED AND TURNED INTO A DOLL HELLO??!!! Like, I know he was kind of a toxic boyfriend, but DAMN, whatever was behind the calliope and the dolls did NOT have to go that far. (Also until the end I thought he might be Joshua Gillepsie, and like, I don’t care how toxic he is, but you do not dump a guy who bested an evil coffin with his freezer.) Outside of that, It was really cool to meet Sasha! I like her voice, and the introduction was quite funny. (Also, even as someone who has lived in England for over two years, and has a family that is 90% British, nothing hurt more that Jon’s “Americans”.) Lastly, I have a theory, which I like to call “Ringmaster? More like cult leader.” Because I’M SORRY, but you cannot convince me that a CIRCUS, called THE CIRCUS OF THE OTHER, which possessed a HAUNTED CALLIOPE ORGAN, is anything but a cult. (Watch me when I’m inevitably wrong lmao.)

I guess now is a better time than any to say that I’m kind of wondering if there’s an in-universe reason for the music in the background? I mean, considering that the whole framing device is Jon recording these statements, I have to wonder if there’s a reason for the noise we hear, especially with the worms in Ep. 22 and the music in Ep. 24.

- Episode 25, Growing Dark ⛪️

Statement of Mark Bilham, regarding events culminating in his visit to Hither Green Chapel.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I LOVE BEING RIGHT!!! I saw the episode title and immediately assumed this would continue the lore of Episode 9, and I WAS SO RIGHT!!! (Also, I now just noticed that the PCOTDH’s symbol is a closed eye, while The Keay Family’s symbol is an open eye…my cult theory thickens…) Anyways, this was another very enjoyable episode! Firstly, even though it’s far from the first piece of media to do so, I though the way they portrayed a cult brainwashing someone when they’re most vulnerable was very well handled and pretty depressing. I also really enjoyed how the episode isn’t the most weird and paranormal on it’s own, but the knowledge of the connections to Ep. 9 makes us know that it DEFINITELY is, even when the characters in the story don’t. The episode was certainly very spooky, the description of the spinach and the dark church definitely got me. (Also my mom came into my room briefly and when she left she accidentally turned off the light and I nearly screamed.) There were also some really interesting plot threads set up here, like the chanting of the northern most human settlement in the world, the mention of “three hundred years waiting”, and I also wonder if “Mr. Pitch” is an alias for “Detective Rayner.” then…the ending. Holy shit. You know, maybe I DON’T need to know what happened to Gertrude….

Episode 26, A Distortion ☕️

Statement of Sasha James, assistant archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a series of paranormal sightings. Statement taken direct from subject.

I…what…I don’t even…we are so fucked. Ok, there’s a LOT going on here, but I’ll try my best to formulate my thoughts as clearly as possible. Firstly, this episode easily scared me the most so far, I agree with Jon when he says that the horrors being somewhat friendly is scarier than them being antagonistic, like HOLY SHIT this one was unnerving. But with that out of the way…uh…let’s talk about Sasha! She’s really cool, I like how her character gives us a lot more insight into what working in the archives is like for a fairly regular person (i say this because Jon is weird as fuck and Martin is too nice to be normal, and I mean that as kindly as possible). But…while I don’t necessarily doubt her status as the most level-headed person in the archives, I don’t think that’s saying much. Like, she saw a creepy guy with weird-ass hands who spoke in riddles and knew too much about her and her coworkers, and followed him into a dilapidated building, also she works at the council of ghost stories despite not liking horror. Like, no offense, I’m sure she’s overall an intelligent person, as are most people in the archives, but none of them are beating Joshua Gillepsie anytime soon (yes I’m still thinking about him.) But mentioning the guy with fucked up hands, WHO OR WHAT EVEN WAS THAT??!! I have very little ideas as to how this “Micheal” even connects to the greater picture. I know some people connected him to the mentions of the man with bones in his hands in Episode 8, but that honestly reminds me more of the Leitner in Episode 17. Outside of that, his name is quite interesting, I initially thought that he might be Micheal Crew, but given that Sasha doubts it being his real name, I have my suspicions (although it would give us a connection between this, the words in Episode 8, and The Boneturner’s Tale….hm….) However, I could absolutely see him being Micheal Keay, as he gives off enough ghost vibes to pass as him (and I’m assuming that if Gerard’s dead, Micheal is as well.) Also he is not described as having a Lichtenburg figure on him so…yeah. Lastly, we have the return of THE SEX WORMS. And as happy(?) as I am to see that The Magnus Archives, a podcast developed by RustyQuill.com, that is also licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, is continuing it’s message of staying abstinent, all things considered, that was absolutely terrifying. I just LOVE the knowledge that the worms are a hive-mind and that Jane might not be the source, I LOVE THAT SO MUCH. In conclusion, I am probably going to sleep with a fire extinguisher tonight, and I am very scared for what the next 14 episodes have in store for me.

Also I guess I’ll mention Tim (the archival assistant, not the dead guy) here because why not. So far I’m getting major bastard energy from people’s descriptions of him, which means I will either love or hate him. Also I found it very funny but also kind of sad that Jon said he only trusts Tim to not prank him in Episode 11, and then he pulled a prank shortly before this statement took place.

- Episode 27, A Sturdy Lock 🔑

Statement of Paul McKenzie, regarding repeated nocturnal intrusions into his home.

Ok, after everything that happened in the last episode, it was nice to get a short and sweet one here. Well, as sweet as an episode of a horror podcast can be. Overall, this one isn’t my favorite, I thought it was a little bit under the standards of creativity for the show as a whole, but that’s obviously not saying much, as it was still pretty damn good in its own right. I think it was definitely very effective with its storytelling, and credit where credit is due, it certainly brought out my fear of weird noises in the middle of the night. And even if I can’t personally resonate with this aspect of it, I do really appreciate how it tackled the idea of mental illness at old age, and while I’d be surprised if the statement wasn’t real, considering where the show seems to be going, it did a very good job at planting seeds of doubt in my mind. But still, it was genuinely pretty crushing how Paul had no proof throughout the entire thing, along with how the cops treated him. It really did make me thing about what would have happened if he hadn’t washed the blood off his hands. It still had a creepy atmosphere, and the reveals at the end were pretty interesting, I hope they show us Marcus’ statement soon enough. Also, the aspect of loneliness in this one did remind me a lot of what happened in Episode 13, so I wonder if there’s some connection there. (Also, I love how I’m 27 episodes in and Jon is STILL roasting Gertrude��s organizational skills.) So while this one isn’t the most interesting for me, I still enjoyed it, and it was nice to have a slightly lighter one after Episode 26. I hope Sasha had a good few days off, she deserves it.

- Episode 28, Skintight 📷

Statement of Melanie King, regarding events at the abandoned Cambridge Military Hospital during filming in January 2015. Statement taken direct from subject.

WHOA THAT WAS SO GOOD!!! Ok, I feel like I should start off with my thoughts on the basic premise, as while those episode is certainly…not the most humorous in its execution, the premise itself kind of is. I don’t know why, but I just thought the idea of there being an in-universe competitor was a really fun concept that was executed perfectly here. It kind of reminds me of something like Hatchetfield and Clivesdale (I don’t know how many people reading this will understand that, but there seems to be overlap between TMA fans and Hatchetfield fans, and also like, shut up, let me indulge in my hyperfixations.) The bickering between Melanie and Jon was great, as was Melanie herself, I’d love to see her again as I think she oddly brought a lot to the world of the series. Although I will say that, while it doesn’t make me like him any less, Jon’s reluctance to buy into statements is a lot more frustrating when there’s another person in the room. I also absolutely love the fact that there’s an in-universe spooky podcast mentioned by name, like, come one, that’s genuinely hilarious. But comedic value aside, this one was definitely pretty creepy. In a similar vain to what Episode 23 was doing, the whole “young people enter creepy abandoned building to film stuff and then get genuinely scared” concept felt evocative of other classic horror stories, and the way they spun it into the context of the show was great. The atmosphere was definitely very creepy as well, as I have mentioned, hospitals creep me the fuck out. And lastly…oh my god, THE CONNECTIONS. So, I’ll start off by saying that all of the skin shit reminded me of what happened in Episode 18 (which I hope is true because I think some connections to other things would make me like that episode more). But that pales in comparison to the fact that we have stuff on THE ANGLERFISH, HOLY FUCK THE ANGLERFISH. I’m SO glad that they didn’t throw it away just because it was in the pilot episode. In retrospect, I think that the story of Episode 1 isn’t quite my favorite. It doesn’t really have to be, as I think the main draw of the episode is getting a first look at the framing device and general vibe of the entire podcast, but the stories didn’t really grab me until Episode 2, which is still one of my favorites. But MAN, this episode really made me appreciate the setup at the beginning so much more, and the knowledge that the people who walked into the alley didn’t necessarily die, meaning that all of those names could potentially come back, is SO exciting to me. In fact, when you consider that Sarah was kind of going through what looked like a possession, I wonder if The Anglerfish is a figure of worship in a cult, if that theory is to be true. (Also I have relatives that live in the same area as Sarah so…maybe I should tell them to watch out for their neighbor lmao.) So yeah, this…this show is just really freaking good.

Note: I have discovered the Leitner rant, and therefore I have achieved true enlightenment.

- Episode 29, Cheating Death ♟️

Statement of Nathaniel Thorp, regarding his own mortality.

I should start off by saying that I love the episode title for this, like, it’s not even metaphorical, the guy literally cheated in a game against death. Well, anyways, the main thing that caught me about the episode was how it absolutely blindsided me. While I was right about the soldier being the same as the statement giver, which I think was supposed to be obvious, everything else in those last six or so minutes left me with a wide-open jaw. (Also, can I just say that I love how poetic this guy just…decided to be? Like, I just love it when the statements really show of personalities with the way they’re written, and it comes with a cool framing device.) Regardless, I initially assumed that it was going in a very traditional line. Nathaniel cheats death, becomes immortal, and regrets it in modern day because he’s lived longer that he really should have. That, combined with the fact that “Death” didn’t seem like the one of the more creative horror monsters in the show so far, had me so prepared to just write this one off as one of my least favorites (once again, not like that’s saying much.) And then the twist comes and HOLY SHIT I WAS WRONG. The idea of there basically being multiple grim reapers at the hands of some unknowable power, who have to gain successors to finally die themselves is absolutely terrifying and extremely clever. I tip my hat to you Rusty Quill, you did a great job at fooling me. Kind of funny considering how this is a story about being punished for your hubris (which seems to be a recurring theme???) I have a few other small thoughts as well. Firstly, I can’t help but shake the feeling that Nathaniel Thorp was an actual revolutionary war soldier, but I can’t find anything online other than the character from this episode. Also, the fact that his fate remains unknown makes me think he’ll show up again, as it seems weird to NOT end the story with confirmation of his death, given the themes. Secondly, a lot of the…less than pleasant imagery here definitely reminded me of Piecemeal and The Boneturner’s Tale. I don’t remember the story inside that Leitner very well, but I might check just in case there’s any parallels between it and this statement. (Update: Not really.) And finally, I was just a little bit intrigued by the fact that we learn no one who was working at the institute in 1972 works there anymore. It’s probably nothing, but given the mysteries surrounding Gertrude’s death, I’m just a little suspicious, both in general, and of Elias because he’s still around. Overall this episode went hard, I’m still kind of stunned by what it pulled off.

Jane Prentiss statement…save me…save me Jane Prentiss statement…

- Episode 30, Killing Floor 🍖

Statement of David Laylow, regarding his time working at an industrial abattoir near Dalton.

You know what, Jon is right, there’s a lot of meat in this show. Not that I’m complaining, I mean, it does fuel my obsession with connecting the dots between statements. Regardless, while this isn’t among my favorite episodes so far, I still had a good time with it. The reason it’s not one of my favorites is purely personal, as I don’t do too well with animal violence. Like, as much as I do really appreciate how viscerally Jonny Sims can describe the statements, I will admit that the opening minutes describing the slaughter house made me more uneasy than the actual horror, and not in a particularly fun way, but it was overall fine. Speaking of the actual horror, that was actually pretty good. The endless hallways lined with doors that lead to precarious situations also kind of tapped into a personal fear of mine, but in a more fun and digestible way. And while the idea of “imagine humans being slaughtered like animals” is something I’ve seen many a time before, it was still much more well executed than many other interpretations of the idea (*cough cough*, peta) and there were also plenty of other interesting themes and ideas, like how the episode touched on the inherent horror of working in a job as gruesome as the killing floor, being enslaved to said job, and the idea that maybe we’re all just walking sacks of meat in the end, and nothing more. As for some other thoughts, I was definitely creeped out by Tom Han, I’m not sure whether or not he’s someone who spreads ✨the horrors✨or someone affected by ✨the horrors✨, and his sudden disappearance was certainly…odd. On top of that, it’s admittedly haunting to know that there’s still creepy stuff going on at the slaughter house, and that this isn’t something that happened to David, and only David. Overall, a pretty good episode, I don’t have much to say about it, but it was a fun time overall.

Tim…save me…save me Tim…

Well, if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Genuinely means the world to me when there are people willing to listen to me ramble about my horrible (affectionate) interests lmao. I should have my thoughts on the final episodes of Season 1 out in due time, and while I’m sure it’s obvious, I’m absolutely hooked on this podcast. It absolutely has the potential to become one of my favorite things ever if the overarching plot becomes more involved and this is coming from someone who up until now, wasn’t all that gripped by podcasts. While I’m a little sad that I’m as late to the party as I am, then I remembered “oh yeah, I was in elementary school when this horrifying series came out”, and I’m also hopeful that I’ll be able to be around for The Magnus Protocol while it’s airing (I know it premieres in like a week but still.) Anyways, thanks for reading and hopefully you’ll be around for my thoughts on the next batch :)

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #moira kelly #robert kelly #simon fairchild #harriet fairchild #martin blackwood #jane prentiss #albrecht von closen #gertrude robinson #jonah magnus #mary keay #gerard keay #joshua gillespie #joshua drewery #sasha james #micheal crew #micheal keay #timothy hodge #jurgen leitner #marcus mckenzie #paul mckenzie #micheal mcweirdhands #melanie king #sarah baldwin #the anglerfish #nathaniel thorp #tom han #david laylow

[cuttergauthier]

Enchanted By You | Chapter Two

Series Summaries: In which a hockey sister falls for an Formula 1 driver... Sadie Hughes Moves to Monaco to get away from the hockey world and falls in love with Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc...

Word Count 1.1k

Au Sadie Hughes x Charles Leclerc

Social Media | Real Life

National Hockey League | Formula 1

Enchanted By You Masterlist

Warning: This Story will contain Mature Language, Alcohol consumption, Cyber Bullying

May 2022

⭐︎ R e a l  L i f e ⭐︎

I woke up with the sun shining in my room, I squinted my eyes to see where my phone was on my night stand, I picked it up to check to time, it's only 8:00 a.m. i rolled over and looked out my window. i threw the bed sheets off my body and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

I took a warm shower, once I was done i dit some light makeup and curled my hair into beach waves before making my way back to my bedroom. I live in a two bedroom apartment since it's only me I didn't need anything that was too big.  I decided to wear a knee length green skirt with flowers and a white straight  neck tank top and pair it with my white airforces.

When I was dressed i made my way to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. I made myself some avocado toast, and sat down at the dining table to eat.

I decided to scroll on my phone at the same time i ate.

It's still very early back home so No one was awake yet.

i finished eating so I washed the dishes so i don't have to do it later. it's now 11:00 a.m. when i was done so i thought i would go explore Monaco more, i explore a little bit with my mom a bit ago when she helped me move in. I grabbed my purse and keys and made my way out of the apartment.

I walked downtown Monaco It's so beautiful here. I should probably try and make some friends, i saw a caffe where you could sit outside so i made my way in to order myself a coffee.

once i got to the counter the barista smiled at me.

"Bonjour" she said happily. I smiled at her.

"Bonjour, could I get a (Favourite coffee)" i asked nicely.

"Of course, that will be 5 dollars" she said with an accent. i paid and gave her my name for the order, I made my way to the waiting area.

It went fast.

"Order for Sadie" the barista said.

I made my way over and took my coffee, i gave her a smile.

"Thank you, have a wonderful day" i said.

i made my way outside hoping to find an empty table.

luckily for me theres one left. I sat and and took a sip of my coffee and scrolling on instagram.

"excuse me?" I heard someone say. I looked up to find a girl looking at me.

"Oh hey" i said smiling.

"Do you mind if i join you? I wanted to enjoy my coffee outside but every table is already taken" she asked smiling.

"Yeah of course."

"Thank you so much" she said as she sat down at the chair across from me.

"It's not a problem, I'm Sadie" i said introducing myself.

"I'm Francisca but everyone calls me Kika" She introduced herself smiling.

"I love your name" i said.

"Thank you, that's so sweet, Where are you from sadie?" she asked.

"I'm from Orlando, Florida but I grew up in Michigan, what about you?"

"That's so cool, I'm from Portugal but I spend most of my time here in Monaco or traveling"

"I've always wanted to visit Portugal"

"It's a lovely country. are you in Monaco on vacation?"

"No, I just moved here actually, i wanted a change of scenery and I visited Monaco a few years ago and i loved it so I decided to move here" I said smiling.

"Thats amazing, you're going to love living here"

"I hope so, one day I just told my parents i'm moving to Monaco, they looked at me like i was crazy but they supported me anyway." I said which made her laugh.

"I mean it is a big decision but Monaco is a beautiful place to live." she said smiling.

"I've only been here for a week and I'm already in love with this place."

"I bet, I have no plans for the rest of the day, is there any chance you would like to explore the city with me?" she asked.

"I would love too" i said smiling.

we finished our coffee and continued to get to know each before we started to walk around and explore some more.

"are you a student?" she asked me.

"No, I graduated form University of Michigan in business last year, i'm a model and social media influencer but i am currently working on starting my own swimwear line for both men and women"  I said happily. her eyes and smiled widen.

"Omg that's amazing. let me know whenever that swimwear line is out, I'll definitely be checking it out" she said smiling brightly.

"I definitely will, what about you? what do you do?" i asked curiously.

"I'm a model, but I do it less now then i used to, my boyfriends travels a lot for work during this time of the years around different countries, and since I love to travel sometimes i got with him, unless i have a photo shoot or something then i stay back, like right now, I had a photoshoot yesterday while he was in Spain, so i stayed back, he'll be back here tomorrow morning and i can't wait to see him" she said happily when she talked about what she does and her boyfriend.

"That's awesome, two of my brothers also travel a lot for work expect for them it's around Canada and the United States, I think if they traveled around the world I would follow them" i said chuckling.

" How many siblings do you have?" she asked.

"Three, my twin brother Lives in Vancouver Canada, my middle brother lives in New Jersey, and my baby brother still lives in Michigan, he's still in University" i said smiling thinking about them.

"Wow you guys are really all over the place" she said making me laugh.

"Yeah i guess we are, what about you? any siblings? "

"two, a half brother on my mom side, and one half sister who was just born a few months ago on my dads side"

"I'm sure when they grow up there going to come to you for all the advice" i said making her laugh.

"Probably"

"You are my new best friend" she said happily.

"Same here, i'm so glad you asked to sit with me today" i said smiling

"Me too"

We spent the whole day together exploring, once it was getting late we exchange numbers and promised we would hang out again before we both made our ways to our homes.

i'm happy I was finally able to make a friend, and Kika is so sweet, plus we got along great.

taglist : @luciaexcorvus​

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurbs #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc blurb #formula 1 #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 blurbs #formula 1 imagine #pierre gasly #Jack Hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #Luke Hughes #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl blurbs #nhl fic #fluff #Enchanted by you series #sadie hughes x charles leclerc #umich hockey #umich imagine

[songmingisthighs]

Ignominy

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. xxxv - i'm asking you

hybrid!san × human!reader

buy me coffee ?

everyone wants to belong, it's basic human need to connect with people around them. what happens when you're responsible for someone who belongs to two worlds but at the same time belongs to neither ? worst part is, what happens when it's your ex ?

When you got out of San's room (with much difficulty because his bed was absurdly comfortable), San was already behind his kitchen counter on his iPad with two paper bags in front of him.

"Oh hey, you found my bra," you pointed out at the item to San's right side. San lifted his head up to nod at you, "Yeah, you wouldn't be able to guess where I found it," he said which made you furrow your eyebrows as you pause to think. You couldn't guess so you shrugged at him as a sign for him to tell you. "The oven," he snickered at your surprised expression that was mixed with confusion. "How did it get there???" You asked as your eyes darted around to try and figure out how your bra got into somewhere it wasn't supposed to. San simply shrugged and closed his iPad to start takimg things out of the paper bag, shifting your attention to the food he placed on the counter.

"Oh my God," the corners aof your lips curled into the biggest grin as you recognized the packaging, "Is that from The Diner?" Your hands excitedly grabbed the packaging and started ripping it open, careful as to not let the food drop whilst simultaneously sitting yourself on the barstool.

The Diner is a 50s diner themed restaurant that you both frequented as high school students. It had hand down the best burger in South Korea and you both stood by it. The ambience was nice and the food had ALWAYS been amazing. Besides, keeping up with the theme, they employed sassy middle aged ladies as waitresses and while they're not always nasty, you love the way they took care of the both of you. You remember the pie you and San fought for as it was the last piece before you got close, you remembered the plate of fries San bought you as peace offering, you remembered the milkshake you both shared on your first date, and you themembered the broccoli cheddar soup you ate as it was raining outside the day you realized San was never coming back. After that day, you haven't been back much. Maybe once or twice every couple of months and even then all of your friends had to be there so you wouldn't break down. But at the moment, you can only focus on your excitement of eating their food again. Sure, you'd rather eat it again at the restaurant (maybe even with San), but this was great too.

Hearing the excitement in your voice made San crack a grin because it was very much his intention to be a little nostalgic. "Yeah! I've been craving for their burgers and I haven't quite had the chance to get them. Or even a good enough reason," he said as he focused on taking his burger and fries out along with both of your drinks.

One of your eyebrows instinctively twitch upwards when you noticed his words. You chewed your food and swallowed before asking him to clarify what he meant, "What do you mean a good enough reason? I thought 'hungry' or 'craving' is reason enough," you chuckled to let him know you were being genuinely curious instead of judgmental. San chewed and swallowed his food slowly as he thought over how to answer you, contemplating about whether or not he should answer with his real answer because he felt like it was embarrassing. But the look on your face just melted his doubt away. Sure, it was JUST your face, but how can he say no to that face? He could say you're a lousy assistant for not properly warming his food up but that was in the past (like a couple of weeks ago).

Hearing him speak, you realized that you had never taken into account of San's feelings or experience over what happened. Sure, you were hurt physically and ghosted, but even you knew deep down that San wouldn't have done that on purpose just because or specifically just to hurt you. He's not that kind of a guy despite what your friends speculated. And the man before you proved your point. The way he spoke and his body language, you just know that he was being truthful and genuine. All the years you spent resenting him for hurting you physically and mentally, you've never really taken time to consider his feelings or his experience.

With a deep breath, San braced himself to answer you truthfully, making a mental note that you might ridicule him and if or when you do, it's totally his fault for being weak-willed. "So..." He started, not really knowing how to say what he wanted to say, "Well, we... We went to The Diner a lot when we were young so I really associate the place with you and all the good memories we had, a reminiscence to the good old days, you know? But after what happened, I just felt ashamed and I... I can't even go there without feeling extreme guilt and like... just the biggest asshole ever," he admitted, eyes slowly looking down to his food.

You realized it had been a while since you answered him so after clearing your throat, you let your voice break the silence. "Well... Now I hope you can enjoy eating at The Diner again," you said nonchalantly in hopes to be able to calm his nerves. San whipped his head to you to see you smiling gently at him, as if reassuring him that you were okay and that you were offering an olive branch. Warmth bloomed in San's chest and it was so weird because he felt like he was going to pop like a balloon from the intensity and the unfamiliarity. It was almost uncomfortable but your presence there with him really helped because he realized that it was the same feeling he had when he was younger.

Out of sheer overwhelmed feeling, San suddenly drop his food and fast-walked into his room. Your smile dropped and your stomach sunk because you thought that he was avoiding you or shutting you out, your olive branch rejected so coldly and the feeling you felt when San ghosted you slowly crept back. So you went back to eating despite the irony that you were eating the same thing back then, the food slowly turned bitter in your mouth with the realization but you couldn't stop eating.

Your first tear was about drop when something appeared next to you on the table. Your eyes shifted to the item and slowly you realized that it was your jacket. The exacy same one Jongho stole from you and gave to Yeosang. "Oh my God," your breath hitched and you looked up to see San smiling gently at you, "This... I should've given this back to you when you first started working and I never got to thank you for accepting the job to work with me despite being slightly forced," San reached for his food and pulled it to the spot next to yours, sitting down on the vacant stool.

For a moment, you were stunned. San had started becoming nice to you, sure and that might have mostly been because you worked together and you both have been fucking around. But this felt like he was being himself to you. Not boss man San, not fuck buddy San, but just San, Choi San. "Well, how can I deny the good pay?" You teased, nudging him with your shoulder teasingly which made him chuckle and shook his head.

You had imagined spending the day fucking him again because you thought that was the only thing you both had in common currently. But the platonic, friendly thing going on between you two tught then, you didn't know how much weight lifted off your shoulders just from the simple talk. Sure, it wasn't a deep dive into your past and there were still unanswered questions, but this was a step forward and the small step felt monumental. So for the first time in a long, long while, you spent the day in peaceful bliss, doing miniscule things like talking or watching something on his youtube or even doing your own things while letting the comfortable silence envelop you. But it felt good. It felt like he was good.

taglist :

@rdiamond2727 @90s-belladonna @kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @miaatiny @shinotani @jayb17 @dreamlesswonder86 @mayonnaisehoeshit @bbymatz @yunhorights @tinybinnie @blaaiissee @yunhobug @kwanisms @yoongiigolden @kpopnightingale @maddiebabyxoxo @dea-nimus @meowmeowminnie @x-bluee @itsbeeble @gxlden-bxbyy @charreddonuts @x-woozi @jwnghyuns @marvelous-imagines-for-all @baguette-atiny @jessi-outdated @dogsongy @kirooz @ateezourstars @memorymonster @yoonguurt @atinytinaa @naiify @cecedrake2217 @spooo00oky @flamingi @thesolarplanetarysystem @hijeongguk @hongjoong-lovebot @linhyyboo12 @leeknowsnothing @knucklesdeepmingi @doom-fics @yesv01

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez social media #ateez social media au #ateez smau #ateez smut #san smut #kpop #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #kpop social au #kpop social media au #kpop smau #kpop smut #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #smt social media au #smt smau #smt ignominy

[venus-haze]

Is a Dream a Lie If It Don’t Come True (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Your new job at the Memphis Evening Observer is the breakthrough you’ve been looking for after years of dead-end jobs. You strike up a friendship with Elvis, a handsome and charming man you meet at a nearby park during your lunch breaks. As you work more closely with the paper’s crime reporters, your eyes are opened to the dangerous aspects of Memphis you’d been blissfully unaware of. Good thing Elvis is looking out for you, right?

Note: Based on an anonymous request for a non-famous Yandere!Elvis AU. The reader is gender neutral, and no descriptors are used. I made up a name for the newspaper you work for, and I based the crime reporters on Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. The title of this fic comes from one of my absolute favorite Bruce Springsteen songs, The River. Elvis is more of a “soft” yandere in this.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, and stalking, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Mentions of sexual content that involves coercion but nothing explicit. Descriptions of violent crime, fighting, and feelings of anxiety and paranoia/being unsafe. Age gap (Elvis is in his late 30s, reader is in their 20s).

You woke up unreasonably early on the first morning of your new job, but you supposed it was better than waking up unreasonably late. Your first real office job, no longer in the throes of retail chaos was something you were undoubtedly excited for, yet your excitement quickly turned to anxiety as eight in the morning grew closer. Thanks to the typing skills you tirelessly practiced in your free time, you landed a job at a local newspaper, exaggerating your experience with the industry just a bit. You wouldn’t be a reporter, but in more of an administrative role, typing up whatever was asked and getting paid almost double what you used to make.

The first hour or so at the paper consisted of a whirlwind of introductions, and you knew you’d have to ask everyone for their names again at some point. Your new coworkers seemed friendly enough, even Hugh and Lara, the crime reporters, a husband and wife duo who spent the morning drinking black coffee while mumbling to each other about the weekend police reports. You sat in on the weekly staff meeting, trying to focus on what the editor-in-chief was saying and also what a fellow typist was whispering to you about the different people who spoke and topics that were discussed as the meeting proceeded. By the time you were on your lunch break, you felt like your brain was going to melt.

You’d prepared lunch at home, your brown paper bag in hand as you crossed the street to the park. The weather was comfortable as you walked around a bit, looking for a good place to sit. It was busy for a weekday, mostly retirees sitting around and other people from nearby businesses who had the same idea you did, enjoying lunch outside. You found an empty bench with a perfect view of the pond and made yourself comfortable as you watched the ducks swim around while you ate.

The autumn breeze felt nice as it blew by, calming your nerves a bit. You knew part of you felt overwhelmed by how different your new job was compared to your past ones, and you were afraid the editor-in-chief would know you were under-qualified and fire you right back to retail hell. You took a sip of the drink you had with you, trying to shake the negative thoughts from your mind. 

You spent the next ten minutes or so people-watching, but no one seemed to be doing anything interesting. Silently, you cursed yourself for not at least bringing a book with you to pass the rest of your lunch break. Just as you were going to gather your stuff and go window-shopping to kill time, you were interrupted when a man approached.

“Mind if I join you?” the handsome man asked, holding a to-go bag from a nearby sandwich shop. “I usually sit here, but I don’t mind the company if you don’t.”

You shook your head, scooting over for him. “There’s plenty of room. I’m Y/N.”

“Elvis, nice to meet ya,” he smiled. “You work around here?”

“I work in that building, over there,” you said, pointing to one of the skyscrapers behind you. “Seventh floor, for the Memphis Evening Observer. I’m not a reporter though.”

“You wanna be?” he asked.

You thought back to the crime reporters you met that morning and shook your head. “No way. I’m happy being a typist. How about you?”

He pointed to a building adjacent to yours. “Sixth floor, accounting.”

“You like it?”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

As the next few weeks went by, you found yourself eating lunch with Elvis almost everyday. He was kind and well-read, yet you found yourself preoccupied with how incredibly attractive he was. He had to be at least ten years older than you, but since you didn’t notice a ring on his finger, you figured there was no harm in subtly flirting with him, especially since he’d flirt back. You wondered if because of your age, he didn’t take your dropping hints that you were interested in him seriously–or maybe he was married and just allowed himself to indulge in the slightest bit of emotional infidelity.

When you had commented that he seemed familiar, as if you’d seen him before, he mentioned that a little over ten years earlier, he had a burgeoning music career and seemed almost embarrassed when your eyes lit up in recognition. He didn’t go into detail about his short-lived music career, but you knew there were a decent amount of teeny boppers who found mild success during your teenage years only for you to never hear about them again except in commercials for various household products.

It was obvious he loved music, but there was a sadness in his eyes when he’d speak about it, a longing for something that was lost, or never came to be in the first place. In another universe, you could see him being a star. Though you never pried, you did want to know what happened—did his music stop charting? Was there a scandal? 

“It’s never too late to try again,” you said. “Some bars have open mics on weekends. I’d go with you, even.”

Elvis smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

When you got to your apartment that evening, you looked through your 45s, hoping to see one of his singles among your collection. You weren’t surprised when you didn’t have any, but disappointed nonetheless. That weekend when you went out with your friends, though, one of his songs was on the jukebox. As ‘Trouble’ played throughout the bar a few minutes later, you were brought back to listening to the song in your youth.

“Wasn’t this in a movie?” one of your friends asked. “I swear the guy who sings this was in a movie.”

Another friend shrugged. “Probably something from forever ago. Why’d you even put this on, Y/N?”

“Just wanted to hear it, I guess,” you said, now determined to get Elvis to go to one of the open mic nights. 

As luck would have it, the very bar you and your friends were spending your Saturday night in did have open mic on Thursdays after seven. When you informed Elvis of this on Monday afternoon, he let you know he’d think about it. You didn’t want to pressure him, but it was clear that music was his passion, and he wasn’t entirely happy with how his life had turned out. 

In the meantime, you found yourself feeling unsure about your own choice of profession. You’d never been scared of being in Memphis before, living in the city for years with no issues. You didn’t have the best relationship with your family, and had essentially been on your own since you were sixteen, though you couldn’t remember exactly what made you settle down in Memphis in the first place. Still, it seemed like you were the one increasingly tasked with typing for the small crime team, and some days, the stories would send a cold chill across your body. 

Despite your deep-rooted horror at the subject matter, you found yourself hanging around Hugh and Lara’s desks, listening in on their conversations about the latest robbery or murder. Perhaps you’d been living in naivety for longer than you should have, as you started looking over your shoulder more, suspicious of even casual day-to-day interactions. 

“You think that has any significance?” Hugh asked.

Lara raised a bemused eyebrow, “The fact that it was six feet away or the fact that her head was detached from her body in the first place?”

Hugh shrugged. “Either. Both.”

“New kid, whattya think?” Lara asked, startling you as she caught you eavesdropping. She still called you ‘new kid’ even though you’d been at the paper for months. 

You walked over to their desks, standing next to Lara to get a look at what you assumed would be a police report.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, quickly turning your head away from the photo on Hugh’s desk. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a photo of it?”

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s grotesque. I don’t understand how anyone could do that to another person,” you said. “I think whoever did that probably knew the victim and was really angry at them or something. Going through that much effort seems so…personal.”

“So it’d be a crime of passion or a fed up stalker,” Hugh said.

Lara slapped the top of her desk. “That’s what I was saying.”

“You’re right, you happy?” Hugh conceded.

“He’s disappointed there isn’t a pattern.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What, like one of those killers—what do they call them?”

“Serial killers,” Lara answered. “I don’t know why he wants one here so bad. I barely get enough sleep as it is.”

“I don’t want one here, but it’d be a hell of a story. Could maybe even get a book deal out of it,” Hugh said.

You’d zoned out from Hugh’s rambling, somehow your gaze fell on the photo again. It was grainy, black and white, but the longer you stared at it, you swore it was your face on the decapitated head. Had you been so blind to the dangers of Memphis this whole time? You weren’t stupid, you knew cities were prone to higher crime rates, it just came with having a lot of people living in such close proximity to one another. Before working for the paper, though, it had all been in your peripheral. Being face-to-face with statistics, reports, and photos made you wonder how Hugh and Lara hadn’t gone crazy.

“Shit,” Lara said, noticing your dazed expression. “Y/N, c’mon, let’s get you a cup coffee or something.”

Just as the two of you started to make your way across the office to the breakroom, you noticed Elvis standing near the receptionist’s desk, an umbrella in his hand. His face lit up when he saw you, and you did the same. 

“This the guy who makes you practically skip off to lunch every day?” Lara asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice. 

You felt your face heat up at her observation as you approached Elvis. 

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” you asked.

“Weather’s not great today,” he said, lifting up his wet umbrella, “but I was wonderin’ if I could take you out to lunch? If you’re not too busy.”

Lara gave you a small smile as she nudged you with her elbow. “Go take an early lunch. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks,” you said as she walked back to her desk. “Let me just get my things.”

It was a short walk to the sandwich shop that Elvis would regularly buy lunch from. If he didn’t bring something from home, he would have one of their to-go bags with him. As he was a regular customer, a man behind the counter greeted him, though he seemed surprised that Elvis was dining in and with someone. 

The two of you were handed menus, and while he didn’t so much as pick up his, you took a moment to decide your order. Service was quick, since you’d come in just before lunch rush. While you were normally pretty hungry this time of day, you found yourself picking at your food and letting Elvis lead the conversation.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve been awful quiet today,” Elvis asked.

You swallowed the lump in your throat that had been there since your conversation with Lara and Hugh earlier. “I swear I’ve never been afraid of living in Memphis, for as long as I’ve been here, but now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not safe.”

“Livin’ by yourself ain’t safe, that’s for sure.”

You sighed, picking at your food. “I don’t know. I always thought I was fine on my own, but–”

“You don’t have to be on your own anymore, Y/N. I’m here,” he said, his voice sincere as he reached across the table and held your trembling hand in his. “I’ll look after you.”

“Thanks, Elvis. That makes me feel a lot better, really,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He let go of your hand after a moment and said, “I don’t know if this’ll help any, but I thought about that open mic thing tomorrow, and I think I’m gonna do it.”

“Seriously?” 

“What’ve I got to lose?” he said. “I can pick you up from work, and we can go together, if you want.”

“I’d love that! You have no idea how excited I am.”

Having lunch with Elvis made you feel a lot better by the time you got back to the office. He was so easy to talk to, and you had to admit your crush on him blossomed more when he said he was there for you. Maybe a bit of liquid courage at the open mic night would be just what the both of you needed, and if you had misread everything, at least you’d have a fallback.

When you got to your desk, Hugh walked over and apologized for not warning you about the photo, explaining that it was just part of the job for he and Lara. They were so used to it that he’d forgotten it would affect you so much. You appreciated his apology, but it still left you somewhat rattled that people could even become desensitized to such violence. It made sense, though, they saw it so often in their line of work, that it was almost normal to them.

You didn’t sleep well that night, waking up every few hours, every sudden noise making your heart beat out of your chest. At one point, you could swear you saw someone’s face in your bedroom window, but when you turned the light on, there was no one there. Still, you closed the blinds and pulled the curtains shut. 

When your alarm clock screamed at you in the morning, you jolted awake, finding yourself in a cold sweat. As soon as you stood up, you could feel the exhaustion through your body, and considered calling out of work. You decided to push through your morning routine with a hot shower and hotter coffee, not wanting to let Elvis down by not being there for him that evening.

You’d taken the bus to work instead of driving, since Elvis would be picking you up afterward. The day flew by, and all you could focus on during lunch with Elvis was prying information about what he planned to do for the open mic, but to your disappointment, he insisted that he wanted it to be a surprise. 

The rest of the day at work was spent helping Lara on a low-stakes story about how there’d been reports across the city of someone stealing gasoline from people’s cars. You were grateful for the change of pace, but were still restless until five, when you grabbed your things and headed downstairs to wait in front of the building for Elvis. You realized you had no idea what kind of car he drove, but luckily he had the windows rolled down, so you could see inside as you quickly got in so as to not hold up traffic.

“Nice car,” you commented as he drove up the street.

“She does alright. You know, I used to have a pink Cadillac,” he said.

“No way.”

“Sure did. Bought it for my mama; she couldn’t drive, though, and it started gettin’ old and rusted. I loved that car.”

Unsure of how to respond, you placed your hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. He looked at your hand, then at you, and smiled. 

There was still time before the open mic at the bar started, so he drove to one of his favorite restaurants for dinner. It was a cozy place, and the comfort food seemed to calm his nerves. He explained that while he loved music and still sang and played guitar on his own time, he hadn’t performed in front of people in years. 

When you arrived at the bar, there was a decent amount of people for a weeknight, and someone was already on stage singing. Elvis looked a bit nervous as he held his guitar in one hand, his other arm around your waist. You suggested getting a drink first, which he didn’t hesitate to agree to. His eyes darted around the bar, and you noticed his leg bouncing.

“You’ll do great. I know you will,” you assured him.

He huffed out a laugh. “We’ll see.”

A few more people went up to perform, all of them pretty talented in their own right. The bar had filled up even more. You had no idea the open mic nights were so popular. Suddenly, Elvis decided he was ready, and you walked with him to the side of the stage, where the host for the night was standing. 

“Yeah, man, you can go on right after her,” the host said, motioning toward the woman who was presently on stage.

“I know you got this, but do you need anything?” you asked.

Elvis gave you a sly smile. “How ‘bout a kiss for good luck?”

As if he needed luck, but you nodded, thrilled to finally get to kiss him. His lips were soft against yours, and you gently cupped his face with your hand, caressing his cheek with your thumb. He pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, and you gasped as he gently bit your lower lip. The moment was cut short by the host telling Elvis it was his turn to go on, and you would’ve been annoyed if it wasn’t your chance to see Elvis perform.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I doubt any of y’all remember me,” Elvis said into the microphone. “But for those of you who ain’t dinosaurs, I’m Elvis Presley—“

There was a faint cheer and some light applause from the throughout the bar, which seemed to make Elvis relax a bit, as he bantered a little with the audience before going into ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ to the delight of the bar patrons. People clapped along to the beat or got up to dance, and you knew you must have looked like a fool sitting next to the stage with a wide smile on your face. 

Elvis’ voice was deeper and stronger than the recording from early in his career that you’d heard just a week before. His stage presence was unbeatable, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he sent a wink your way. Just as quickly as he started singing, the song was over—but his performance wasn’t, if the crowd had anything to say about it. Someone drunkenly shouted “encore!” which led to a chant throughout the bar until Elvis acquiesced with ‘Hound Dog.’

You noticed someone else waiting near the stage for their turn to go up, and you almost felt sorry for them, having to follow up Elvis. The smile that spread across his face at the bar’s overwhelming applause for him was infectious. You didn’t hesitate to run over to him as he walked off of the small stage, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek.

“Elvis, you were incredible!” you exclaimed.

“You’re somethin’ else, Y/N. Got me dreamin’ again,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

He merely smiled in response, as several people had gathered around him to praise his performance and mention that they loved his music and had wondered what happened to him, glad to see him on stage again, even in a little dive like this. You whispered that you’d be waiting for him at the bar while he spoke with the small group of fans. He nodded, giving you a quick kiss before you walked away.

You ordered another two of what you and Elvis had been drinking before, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him, hoping this would be the first open mic of many that he’d go to. Maybe he would never reach his former level of stardom, but Memphis certainly hadn’t forgotten about him. You were pulled from your thoughts by some intoxicated patron who clearly had no concept of what personal space was.

“Hey, baby,” a man slurred as leaned next to you against the bar. “What’re you drinkin’? I’ll buy you another.

“Thanks, but I’m here with someone,” you said, trying to stay as a calm as possible.

“I don’t see anyone here.”

“He’ll be right back,” you answered quickly.

He rolled his eyes, laughing as if you were joking. “That means I can’t buy you a drink?”

“Please leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man raged, grabbing your arm.

You tried pulling your arm from him, but panicked when you realized that even drunk, he was much stronger than you. “Let go of me. Let go!”

It felt like you blinked, and the man went head first into the bar. His face slammed against the hardwood, and you wanted to throw up at the sound of his nose definitely breaking upon impact.

You looked to Elvis, who, instead of leaving the man he had just shoved in his misery, grabbed him by his collar and practically dragged him out of the bar. Immobilized by shock and fear, you stayed frozen in place until Elvis stormed back inside a few minutes later, his hands bloody as he slammed a few dollars on the bar and gathered you and his guitar.

“Party’s over,” he said, a darkness in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry the night got ruined,” you mumbled.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for. Sons of bitches like that make me sick,” he spat. “I’m bringin’ you home. Shouldn’t be out so late anyway.”

“Can I stay the night with you?” you asked anxiously as you followed him to his car. “I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“‘Course, darlin’,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

During the drive to his place, your gaze kept drifting to the steering wheel, and how he seemed unfazed by the blood that had dried on his hands. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what conversation to make with him, so the drive was silent except for the radio playing softly. 

He pulled into his garage, his house a carbon copy of every other on the block except for the paint. You figured a suburban neighborhood would consist of mostly families, rather than bachelors like him. If he hadn’t kissed you the way he did back at the bar, you’d still be wondering if he were married or not. 

“I’m gonna wash up,” he said, nodding in the direction of what you assumed was the bathroom. “You make yourself at home, baby.”

You poked around his living room while he was washing the blood off of his hands. His bookshelf had a lot of interesting titles that ranged from religious topics to fiction, and you felt a bit of pride seeing some of the books you’d recommended to him among them. The walls had two dozen or so picture frames, each with photos of what appeared to be his family, some of him with other men in army uniforms, and a few of him as a young man during his singing career with various celebrities. None of the photos were recent, however, and you noticed a few frames didn’t have photos in them at all.

When he returned from washing up, he regaled you with the stories behind each of the photos, the two of you staying up until late in the night. Most of the photos had some happy or funny memory associated with them, but there was always a hint of yearning in his voice with the ones from the height of his fame.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said.

He nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why did you stop making music? It seems like your career was going really well, and then you just stopped.”

“It was, but uh—I had a girlfriend who my manager wanted me to stop seein’, her name was Dixie. I kept seein’ her anyway in secret. After I made my fourth movie, I got her pregnant, so I took a break from singin’ for a little while so we could get married,” he explained. “I got drafted not long after that. My mama died, and my break from music just got longer and longer. I still sang at our church, but after me and Dixie split up, they said they didn’t want a divorced man singin’ in the choir.”

“Oh my god, Elvis, I’m so sorry,” you said, moving to console him. You gasped when you accidentally put too much pressure on your arm, still tender from where you’d been manhandled. Elvis’ expression darkened as he looked at the faint bruises blossoming on your skin.

“I shoulda killed ‘im,” he growled.

You’d never been afraid of Elvis before, but you could tell he meant it. “It’s nothing. He just grabbed my arm—“

“What if I hadn’t been there? No one else was jumpin’ up to help you, were they?” 

“No,” you answered quietly.

“No,” he repeated. “When I said I was gonna look out for you, I meant it, Y/N. You got no one else.”

“My friends—“

“Your little friends can’t look after you, not the way a man can. You need a man to take care of you, don’t ya baby?” he said, the double-meaning of his words not lost on you as you looked at him wide-eyed.

You nodded, all of the fear and anxiety you’d felt the past few weeks coming back to you. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He exhaled, as if ready to argue if you disagreed. “Good, I’m glad you see I just want what’s best for you.”

It made sense, Elvis had so much more life experience than you, being older and having such a whirlwind career, even if it was short lived. Meanwhile, your naivety led to you essentially being traumatized at work, so green to the dangers of city life despite considering yourself capable and independent before. When you commented how late it was, that you still had to work in just a few hours, Elvis offered the spare bedroom–or his. You felt your face heat up when you timidly told him that you wanted to sleep with him, and he teased you for your embarrassment, assuring you nothing would happen. 

Of course, fifteen minutes into sharing a bed, half-naked with a man you were incredibly attracted to, so much happened, too much. You found yourself almost overwhelmed by his intensity, and though he certainly did take care of you, he did so like a man possessed, as if he were taking what he was owed, entitled to even. You supposed, in your dazed state afterward, it was the least you could do after everything he’d been through and had done for you. You both called out sick from your respective jobs in the morning, and you spent the rest of the weekend at his place. 

Within a month, you’d completely moved into Elvis’ house, subletting your apartment until your lease was up and the new tenant could take it over for you. You felt safer living with Elvis, especially since he’d drive you to and from work, and you’d still have lunch every day with him. It didn’t take much convincing for you to agree to sell your own car. You didn’t go anywhere by yourself anymore, you didn’t want to. When you’d brought it up the first few weeks of living with him, he’d remind you of the dangers that await you in the world on your own, and you were quick to change your mind. 

You were still a nervous wreck from work, even though the editor-in-chief had agreed to stop having you work with Lara and Hugh so closely—at Elvis’ request, of course. In your free moments, you were practically glued to Elvis’ side, whether at the grocery store or when he’d perform at the occasional open mic night in Memphis. Every time you thought things weren’t so bad, got a little too comfortable on your own, something would happen that’d leave you as terrified as ever, crying in Elvis’ arms as he’d softly scold you for not being with him, reminding you that not everyone was as good of a person as he was, that he was the only person you could really trust. As long as he could do anything about it, it would stay that way.

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @crash-and-cure @kittenlittle24 @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch @peachy-deaths @kibumslatina @adoreyouusugar @raefoxiegirl @donnamarie23 @ilovehobi101​ @memphis-menace​ @animeketsu-yander​

#austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis

[lorrainmorgan]

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

Part 2 Next

...He continued dancing with her for a few more moments, before leaning in and speaking quietly into her ear. "Do you wish to go somewhere with less people?"...

***

Lorrain Morgana was Omini's date for the Yule Ball, he was very happy and excited that she had accepted his request to go with him.

“ Hello Mr Gaunt” She said while coming down the stairs of the common room in her elegant gown

He smiled as she came down the stairs. She looked absolutely gorgeous. He could tell by her shadows and sparkles on her dress thanks to his wand…

"You look ravishing, fair lady. The most beautiful girl in the room, if not the whole castle. Not even The Mirror of Erised itself could rival your beauty."

Lorrain's cheeks began turning red.

“ Thank You Ominis, you look very handsome yourself “. She took the boy’s arm and began to walk outside Slytherin’s common room. 

He smiled as they made it to the Great Hall. The room was covered in snow and ice, and candles were on most of the tables and floating over the ceiling as always. There was a large amount of food prepared by house elves, and many of the tables were covered in all sorts of delicious dishes.

Ominis had grabbed a glass of cold butterbeer on his way in, but he had a feeling his date was more interested in the food than the drink, so he offered his free hand to her.

"Let us go get some food, shall we?"

The girl smiled. “ I'm actually a little overwhelmed by all the people here, I've never seen the Great Hall so crowded like this before “. She said as she grabbed Omini's arm tighter with both of her hands, it made her feel protected.

It was the first real chance for most students to dress up in their most lavish and elegant clothes, so that was likely the reason for the large crowd. Even the teachers were wearing some form of formal clothing instead of their usual robe.

Ominis smiled as her hand gripped his arm tightly. 

"Yes, it's quite a crowd. But it's quite nice to see everyone in proper attire for a change. Makes a change."

She burst out laughing at Omini's comment on how everyone was finally elegant, at his level. “ Don't be rude Ominis Gaunt !”.

He smirked as her cheek brushed against his arm, still giggling. The hug made it feel as though she was clinging to him, like he was some form of shield against the crowd. That was the exact feeling he wanted to inspire in her, the feeling of absolute protection.

Finally they arrived at a table, ate dinner and then the music started playing. Lorrain knew how to dance but not as good as Ominis, and he knew that. It had become a topic of conversation multiple times, especially in potion’s class. 

His eyes lit up as the music began to play.

"I hope you haven't forgotten that I am quite the dancer, my lady. I doubt you are ready to accept defeat".

He chuckled jokingly, though he was quite serious about the fact that he was a great dancer. The music began to play some slow and romantic music, which was typical in a Hogwarts ball. He offered her his hand this time and began to lead her towards the center of the dance floor.

Ominis felt the interesting textures on her dress, and the thought of her knowing about his preference for interesting textures to touch and her purposefully making it that way crossed his mind. He didn't know how to feel about it. Happy that she knew of it, sad that she felt the need to do so, or simply amazed that he felt so close to her that she would do something like that just for him. One thing was for sure: his heart felt a little warmer with this knowledge.

The room began to appear a little small from everyone dancing at the center. Lorrain began to have officially social anxiety, even tho she was very social and cheerful, and Ominis could feel her social battery running low. He noticed how she began to shrink away from the attention of the crowd, and his instinct was to pull her in closer. But that was the precise reason she was shrinking back in the first place. A sudden burst of clarity came to, and he thought of a way to solve her problem which also involved himself.

He continued to dance with her for a few more moments, before leaning in and speaking quietly into her ear.

"Do you wish to go somewhere with less people?"

The girl smiled at his date, it seemed that Ominis was always looking out for her.

Deathday Ballroom? She whispered while coming closer to Omini's ear.

There was a slight flicker of surprise on his face when she asked to go to the Deathday Ballroom, but he quickly composed himself.

"Yes... You've read my mind. Shall we?" He took her hand and led her through the crowd towards the large room on the left. The Deathday Ballroom was a large room located in the Hogwarts dungeons, beside the Duelling Room, and it was filled with ghosts dancing around. They arrived and began their dancing again.

Her face began to come closer to his from every dance move they were doing, her heart was beating fast and almost came out of her chest. Ominis took the lead once they were close enough to almost embrace. The ghosts continued to dance around them as he led her in a slow dance with their bodies pressed tightly together. The dancing began to gain more speed, and soon, their feet stepped in perfect unison to the music. She felt warm, she felt close to him, in all the ways a girl could ever feel close to a man… 

The music stopped, the song was over, and they ended up in hugging from behind, a typical finishing pose for those ballads. She turned around and grabbed his cheeks slowly. Ominis was not caring his wand, so he began to ask her if she was alright but then…

Her hands slowly grabbed his cheeks before she leaned in and grabbed his face. Her lips brushed his mouth, soft and gentle, with the same care and reverence that one might handle fine China with. Her gentle touch on his cheeks was like the softest touch from the purest clouds. Lorra continued kissing him, she had waited a long time to do so.

His hands pulled her in closer, the touch of her body against his made him feel a sensation that he had only ever experienced in his imagination. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. He felt her hair flowing against his fingers and he gently ran them through her red curly hair. Their kiss was unlike anything Ominis had ever experienced in his life, and the taste of her lips was intoxicating to his senses.

Her hand went up thru his well combed hair, messing it a little bit, not too much. She then parted the kiss to catch her breath.

For a moment, they were both just out of breath and their noses were slightly touching. Their hot breath mingled together, and the smell of her was just as sweet as her kiss was. As she touched his hair, he was brought to a different level of ecstasy. His lips were still parted, ready to kiss her back if she chose to, and their breath was still heavy from the intense and intimate moment they had just shared.

“ I'm sorry ” Lorrain began to explain herself. What in the world was she thinking? Kissing Ominis so passionate like that… What would he think of her now? ...She wasn't really sorry tho…

Her apology brought a smile to the boy’s face he couldn't suppress. It was a genuine and true smile from the heart, not one just for the show. He put his hands onto hers and said:

"If anyone should be sorry, it is me for not realizing such action was permitted on this date. You have nothing to apologize for, Lorra. In fact, you have no need to worry." He squeezed her hands and leaned in and kissed her once again, this time, a little bit more passionately.

She smiled while he was kissing her, the ghosts around them were still dancing to a new song, the floating candles were surrounding them now while everything else was dark.

“ Tell me Ominis…”, She said as she parted the kiss. “ Do you think I'm a mad woman for falling so hard for you in such a small amount of time? “ She asked just a few inches away from his face.

Ominis’s heart fluttered at her question. She was truly charming. Her lips were irresistible and her sweet and honeyed perfume made him want to kiss her again.

"Falling hard for you? You could not have fallen as hard for me as I did for you already. The moment I first sensed the beauty of your eyes, the moment I first heard your heavenly voice speak my name, I was already hopelessly lost and in your spell. Your kiss was just the final confirmation of what I already knew."

She hugged him tightly, embracing his scent and his warmth. He grabbed his wand to get a better feeling of the room, and then guided her to an old but elegant couch on a corner of the ballroom.

He sat down with her on the couch, her pressed up against his body. She could feel the gentle touch of his breath on her neck, which made her heart beat a little faster and her senses a little more sensitive. Even without seeing what she was doing, he knew where her face was directed: up at his, and he knew exactly where her eyes were looking: right into his. This was more intimate than a dance, it was intimate because it was not simply an act of romance. This was love.

She suddenly started gently touching his face, like he had done when they first met, two years ago. The feeling of Lorrain’s fingers gently caressing his face was something so new to him yet so familiar. Her caress felt like an extension of her very own essence, of her soul, of who she was. Her breath was warm against his cheek and her kisses felt as though all of their feelings and emotions were being exchanged with each other's. Her fingers touching his face only made him feel more in love. His own fingers wrapped around her back and pulled her closer to him.

“ Is there something you'd like to tell me, Mr Gaunt?” She suddenly asked. She loved calling him like that for some reason. She knew what she was getting into, involved with, in love with... but she wasn't gonna be the first one to say those three words...

Ominis smiled as she called him "Mr. Gaunt" and was amused that of all those titles, that was the one she chose. But the title he wanted to call her was much different."There is... there is something I've wanted to tell you, but I was afraid to." His voice was soft and gentle as he spoke to her. She could feel the intensity of his emotions and the sincerity of his words...

***

Hope you enjoy it 🥹 next part coming up soon I hope!

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #ominis smut #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #filth #absolute filth #slytherin

[nom-central]

Let Sleeping Bears Lie

Madeline had been gone for a while...did something happen to her?

She probably just got distracted. It was like her to take off the second they got to the campsite- leaving Ruya alone to actually set up the camp. They sighed, while the help would've been appreciated...a trip out to the National Park was something she wanted for the longest time. Nature photography was her thing...now that the camp was set up, now was a good time to look for her. She said she was taking the easternmost trail...

Ruya picked up their bag and hit the trail, helpfully marked for visitors. The parks were certainly beautiful, but they didn't doubt there were dangers here. They had read up on them beforehand- landslides, getting stranded, wild animal attacks...this park had a notable "attraction" they were worried about. Ashford, some kind of man-bear thing notorious for charming visitors out of their food...they wouldn't be surprised if he also charmed visitors into being food, too. Can't ever trust a bear...

Hopefully Madeline was just taking pictures of a creek or something. Ruya crossed over one that cut through the trail, when a deep rumbling sound caught their attention. They weren't near any cliffs so it couldn't be a rockslide, and it couldn't be an earthquake...it sounded much more like someone snoring. Could there be people camping off the trails? They moved to investigate, hopefully one of them had seen Madeline! It's only been about an hour, these people were likely already here...

The direction the sound was coming from led Ruya to a glade, but there wasn't a camp here. Lying asleep in a sunbeam was a huge, furry brown beartaur, rolled over onto his back and snoring deeply. His stomach on his human half looked VERY full, wriggling and squirming with clearly lively prey. Nearby on the ground was a familiar object, and Ruya's heart dropped.

"MADELINE!" Throwing all caution and the things they learned to the wind, Ruya rushed over to the beartaur. Pressing their hands into his stomach, they tried to feel around for her. "Are you okay?! I'm gonna get you out of there, okay...! I promise!"

Though her words were muffled by the taur's fat and noisily working stomach, she seemed well enough to try to respond. Ruya was too busy pushing around and trying to come up with a plan that they didn't notice that all the activity was starting to wake the sleeping predator. Their efforts were halted by a grunt and low growl, and they froze in place as the bear slowly rolled over, sitting up with his bear half laying down. He blinked blearily down at Ruya, taking in their features and panicked expression.

"...mmh. You're not a ranger. Whaddaya want? Trying to sleep, here..."

"Y-you...!! You ate my friend! Spit her out now! Or I'll...!" Ashford tilted his head, still not fully awake to process what was going on. He looked down at his full stomach, letting out a quiet belch as his meal kicked around. "Oh. That uh, wasn't in there when I went to sleep. That your friend? Must've been sleep eating again. Sorry."

"YES! Let her go, you monster! This was supposed to be the perfect trip for her...!" They push against his stomach again, which only stirred up a burp. Ashford's ears went a bit flat in irritation. "She'll be fine, relax...taking a nap on a full belly feels real nice, so can I get back to sleep? Geez, don't the rangers teach you people anything?" He grumbled, already trying to lay back down. Ruya wasn't having any of it, and while it annoyed Ashford greatly...he wasn't going to hurt them. He had another idea, anyhow...

"Ugh, fine. You want her back so bad? Help me out." His bear half sat up now, leaving Ruya with their face full of his gurgling belly. "Push right there for me, won't ya? It'll help me bring her up faster." Ruya was quick to obey, pushing their hands into Madeline from the outside. After a few pushes his stomach burbled loudly, but he didn't look like he was bringing her up...instead, the movements she was making started to sink downwards. Ruya watched Ashford's belly shrink, with Madeline's body sliding deep into his lower half's stomach and filling it out. She was much harder to see and hear now, barely making any bumps in his stomach.

"H-huh...?"

Ashford grinned, leaning down to the black-haired human. "Hasn't anyone told you to let sleeping bears lie? You and your friend are learning that lesson firsthand...but hey! I'm a nice guy! I'll let you two hang out together while I take a nice long nap, and you can think about not bugging me while I sleep. Deal? Deal!"

Before they could reply or even try to run, Ashford lunged forward and caught their head right in his maw. Strong arms pinned their arms to their sides, leaving them to helplessly kick and wiggle as he sampled their flavor for a moment. Digging their knees into his fat stomach did nothing to help their situation, leaving them helpless as he started to swallow. Thick, powerful gulps pulled them into his throat, and his hands only fed them deeper inside. The taur's heartbeat echoed around them as his swallows continued, eventually pushing them into his empty, first stomach. It was a tight fit, they were taller than Madeline- they were forced to curl up as his stomach almost smugly gurgled around them.

"Mm, you weren't half bad. Come poke me again sometime, aye? Bring your friend too, I didn't exactly get to taste her n' all..." Ruya's world rocked as he flopped over, rolling back over to catch the sun now that both bellies were full. Ruya kicked and punched at the walls, which got no reaction outside of a voice from the lower stomach.

"Ruya? Ruya! Hey, did you bring my camera in with you? I dropped it, wasn't expecting him to clamp down on my hand in his sleep...this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I want to take some pictures of a beartaur's stomach!"

"...you mean you WANTED this?! You're totally fine with just, being swallowed up??"

"Uh, yeah? I'm perfectly fine! This is just a part of nature, I'm getting the closest look ever! My phone camera isn't getting good shots, so...is that a no? You don't have it? They needed to stop taking her places.

#v0re #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #samesize vore #unwilling vore #multiple prey #Ashford #Madeline #Ruya #long post #sorry this is like. hella fucking long but i dont really have anywhere to put long fics #readmores are your friend! #anyway im glad i got to use ashford