#but i cant get the idea to leave my brain

[sillyfroggremlin]

maybe I've just been reading a lot of meddison fanfic lately but... a fic of them inspired by "Homewrecking Era" by xana... who can stop me

[thedrotter]

a once in a lifetime miracle: oc art!! this is Shiva.

doodles from a month or so, but i cant really draw properly right now. but i wanted to do something meanwhile so i colored these :33

[triglycercule]

I love reading your tags section

thank you qin-qin16 its where i do one of the things i do moderately well: YAP ‼️‼️‼️😁😁😁😁😁🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏✨✨✨✨

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[quarklynx]

Folks, can we please tag posts regarding current events? not everyone is in a space where they should be seeing content like that quite so frequently

[endbeginning]

and if i said.... pet.er peve.nsie.....

[thelovelybitten]

*rushing to finish all my Stendy Week prompts 😀😀*

[faelenasleep]

There's a thing in screenwriting called a logline, or an elevator pitch. They're used to pitch a story to a publisher or agent, however writers of any kind (novels, fanfic, comics, film, games, etc) can use them to narrow their story's scope, sharpen the story's conflict, and get a better understanding their story.

Any great story can be summarized in only a line or two. Here's the logline for How To Train Your Dragon, for example.

A hapless young Viking who aspires to hunt dragons becomes the unlikely friend of a young dragon himself and learns there may be more to the creatures than he assumed.

You can read more about loglines here.

How To Write A Logline (Reedsy Video)

List of Famous Loglines

How To Write A Logline (Masterclass Article)

How to Write a Logline Producers Won’t Pass On (Studio Binder Article)

Developing the skill of briefly summarising your creative works isn't just good for posting them on fanfiction archives and itch.io, it's also a good way of cultivating creative discipline. If you can't explain in a few short sentences what a work's deal is, that may be a sign that you don't actually know where you're going with it yourself; composing that summary obliges you to come up with an answer to the question "what the fuck am I doing here?"

[nerdie-faerie]

This has got to be the worst move out yet

[apollo-zero-one]

Too old to be a kid too young to be an adult just the right age to cry myself to sleep

[mimisplayground]

More on Ghost being nasty and then theres a certain ask in my inbox abt Krueger thats itching my brain and I WILL be writing abt >:3

But just nasty Ghost who gets home from the gym and you have to avoid him like the plague until he goes to take a shower. Because he’s sweaty, kinda gross, and the first thing he wants to do is latch onto you and give you wet kisses that leave you cringing at the feeling.

Finally greeting him when he showers just to still get the gross wet kisses. And hes totally biting at your face a bit too, which leaves you wiggling out of his grasp.

When you two are eating dinner and something drops onto your chest and before you can grab a napkin he’s already licking it up. And you just groan and shove away his head.

Laying on the couch together but really its just Simon putting his full weight on top of you. Bonus points when he inevitably falls asleep snoring like a train engine and you can feel his drool pooling on you. Good luck kicking him off too, he doesn’t budge.

And of course, as we remember, he fucks just as nasty too. He’s spitting straight on his dick before he thrusts into you, needs to make sure your insides are as mixed with him as he can. Has you in the meanest grip possible and is playing with your nipples and your body as much as he can.

Makes it his goal to have you squirt, thrusts hard and groans a “fuckin’ hell… tight fuckin’ grip,” as he wipes sweat from his face. Merciless pace, salivating so bad he’ll probably choke on his own spit a bit and still fuck you through it.

Manages to get you to squirt and he’s pulling out and licking it off of your body. Cums while hes humping the sheets below him bites your tummy a bit as he does. Almost howling with the way he moans.

Collapses on top of you not because he’s too tired to get up but because he cant stand the idea of you not being covered with his sweat and cum just yet. Because he’s gross, and nasty, and he loves you :(

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[dizzybizz]

hai here is a sketch dump with too many fandoms :) sorry about the ungodly amount of men here i have been going through it and by it i mean gay

ok wait i ran out of tags??? it wont let me tag them all😭😭😭 im gonna have to be sparing with them uhh i guess i will have to ramble under the cut then cus i like rambling in my tags but i cant with this one 😭

(ok im back from the ramble: it is way too long.... proceed forward if you want to see some guy just absolutely talk nonsense for entirely too long)

no cus i swear i have tried tagging more stuff than this before and never hit the limit but whatever

hello i really use this like a fkn blog huh

i just wanted to provide some thoughts on the harper and rosé one first bc its important to me 😌 cus i was thinking abt harper and how in my head and heart of hearts she would be the kid who thought you get pregnant from kissing and i dont think she ever really grew out of that belief. <- this ended up spawning the idea of harper being a sex-repulsed ace and i will die on this hill actually. fight me or die, you die either way actually nvm

this is just a buncha blorbos i dont know what to tell you really. sketch pages like these always end up so weird for me bc for some reason my brain always wants the characters in them to interact in some way. whether that be talking or just reacting to what the other is doing... its something i cant stop with, its so stupid and silly and i hate it and i love it. where else would i see kabru slowly losing his mind with how loud phoenix wright is in court????

I THOUGHT I HAD GOTTEN OFF THE RAILS WITH THAT BUT THEN THE NEXT PAGE HAPPENED. and all i could do was laugh and ask "what the fuck am i drawing??? HOW DID WE GET HERE? WHY IS THISTLE HERE WITH LEOPIKA HELP" LIKE that page started with the big leopika and then i was like "man i miss thistle lemme draw him real quick" but the curse struck and now hes being homophobic so </3

i rlly like how the nic(k) page turned out ... i just have a lot of nicks i like drawing idk.. the lil guy is an oc,,, one day his ref sheet will be finished and itll be awesome but not for now, sorry baby, no can do. im weirdly happy with how the hands turned out for all of them tho?? so thats a W

yotasuke, murai, nick (youll never know which one im referring to. .. jkjk its hoult i love the pose there ehehhe), nic and the entire last page r my favs. i like em all but those rlly get me yknow- the olly too ofc but ive already posted him, dont mind him being here, hes part of the set. AND OVER ALL IVE BEEN HAVING SO FUN WITH SHADING BLACK AND JUST LEAVING SPOTS BLANK ITS SO ?`????

WHY IS THIS SO LONG PLS DONT READ ALL THIS THIS IS STRAIGHT UP EMBARRASSING AGHSDFGSDHJSGD im all like "yeah i dont like talking about myself or whatever" but as soon as i get to my process or blorbos or smth the floodgates fucking break open, not even burst man.

also dont mind how i havent even acknowledged pingas twink pokemon counterpart. hes just here for shits and giggles i dont know the guy like at all, i watched a handful of eps of horizons and that was it RIP

[melliemell]

HEYA GUESS WHOS BACK~

THE FIC U WROTE W THE POCKY PROMPT WAS SO GOOD LIKE ONG?? SOO NOW IM BACK FOR MORE >:)

IM THINKING.. CHRISTMAS THEMED DATES!! COZ ITS THE XMAS SEASON WOULD THEY HAVE ANY CUTE DATES U NORMALLY CANT HAVE IN THE SUMMER? (EXAMPLE; ICE SKATING) (also I’d prefer if u wrote for Dazai and Ranpo again i cannot get enough of those idiots 🙏🙏🙏) THX IN ADVANCE~ -Annon who still hasn’t found their glasses… seriously where are they😭😭

Omg hi again!! I'll have you know I've been listening to Christmas songs on repeat as I wrote this. My brain is fried and so ready for the Holidays. I blame u for this.

And please don't go around blind like that, I pray for you and your glasses, nonnie

BSD Cast ft. Christmas Dates

(Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Sigma, Chuuya, Atsushi)

Dazai - Drunk Decorating

“Whaat? Gimme the unicorn here, I have a feeling about this.”

And you’d watch in horror, giggles bubbling out of your lips as the dumbass would duck-tape the poor plush to your Christmas tree, eyes sparkling with child’s delight. The alcohol swirling about in both your veins would’ve started manifesting at some point during the evening, all according to Dazai’s precise calculations. Totally.

If there was one thing Dazai was good at, it was being unconventional. Decorating for Christmas while being drunk off your asses was not on your to-do list, but boy does it leave an impactful memory. Nobody remembers whose idea it was. Most of the night consisted of snippets of hyper-intense clarity… followed by what the actual fuck random scraps of memory. 

Did we really snatch the Agency’s decorations from reception? Of course not, duh. Why is Ranpo’s overcoat hanging from our Christmas tree? How mysterious. You’d be giggling uncontrollably at everything as the night progressed.

You’ve never struggled so hard for your life as when you had to outrun Dazai’s lanky frame, his sticky fingers at the ready to steal whatever shiny ornament you fought tooth and nail to secure. All efforts would end up futile though. Especially when you’d find yourself barely keeping your balance atop Dazai’s shoulders with no clue as to how he managed that.

With tape in one hand and his encouraging instructions as your guide…

Your ceiling had never looked this sparkly and hideous.

Get prepared for an intense hangover and even clingier Dazai the next morning. He will not, under any circumstances, let you leave him alone for the whole day. Suffering together is an act of love, after all.

Ranpo - Snowball Fight

The moment the first snow hit, it would be like a switch had turned on in Ranpo’s behaviour. He’d be used to your antics by now so being extra aware of his surroundings–just in case–was a mandatory tactic for survival on his part. Especially the more it snowed…

You knew how much Ranpo loved being coddled and cuddled all the time, so it came as no surprise his complete despise of cold weather, the sensation of freezing in wet clothes making him shudder in distaste. 

He always had a grumpy face on, cheeks flushed and lips pouting as you waddled through the snow every time you had to leave home. 

He was adorable… and completely at your mercy.

You both knew what was to come. The first snowball would barely scrape his hat, Ranpo’s body spinning around quickly to face you, eyes betrayed. 

“Aw, come on! I knew it.”

He’d whine a lot, making you giggle even more as you prepared for the upcoming battle.

Ranpo’s not a very agile person, but his observation skills combined with years of practice being with you made him nearly impossible to hit, dodging like his actual life depended on it. There was no mercy for you either, taking every hit with pride as you chased each other down the snowed path. 

It would go on until you were both freezing, you grinning like a lunatic and Ranpo’s face of defeat bordering on exasperation. He’d absolutely not like you tackling him down on the snow either, hair soaking and nose as red as it could get. Shame he looked so cute like that; it’s not like you could help it.

Get prepared for extra snuggles as you get back home. That and Ranpo’s cold feet being shoved against your calves the moment he had you locked in an unassuming hug. 

Sweet, sweet revenge, here it comes.

Fyodor - Ice Skating

Fyodor’s not a very social person if he could help it. Spending quality time in a quiet, peaceful place was more down his alley than being jammed up beside people, most of whom were probably barely able to stay on their skates to begin with. An unpleasant hassle, in his opinion.

It would take some convincing and a good dose of bribing before you had him sighing in defeat, your hands interlocked as you towed him along to the skating rink. 

Of course the bastard knew how to skate. Of course. 

Very careful around you, and absolutely refusing to hold onto your hand until you got the hang of how to balance properly. Ungodly amount of patience, even if you caught a whiff of annoyance from him here and there– it was mostly directed towards people veering too close for your comfort, making you clutch harder to the railings, your progress forgotten every time. 

A surprisingly encouraging teacher, with praise where praise was due. Yet strict enough for it to feel more like a coaching session than an actual date. That is, until you figured out how to glide your skates without support, smile wide and exited as it matched Fyodor’s content nod of approval. 

Hands interlocked as he pulled you along, the fun of it engulfed you more as your worry slowly dissipated. Dragging Fyodor to the centre of the ring on wobbly legs was harder than expected, but the sappy kiss you managed to pry out of him was all worth it. 

There was something about silly little romantic moments like those that melted your heart on the spot. And having Fyodor pull you flush against him, hands cupping your cheeks as he rubbed some warmth into them–yeah, you could only look at his lovely violet eyes, your gaze filling with affection.

Sigma - Christmas Shopping

You know how a cat looks when it gets excited to see its human get back? No? It’s the exact same thing with Sigma. 

He’d be all swirling emotions and anticipation on the inside, yet barely any signs of it slipping through his demeanor of collected calmness. You might even mistake it for indifference for all the Christmas shopping you have to do. Maybe even a chore that needs to be done than a fun activity for you two.

You’d be so wrong. 

Christmas is a family holiday; the time of year you spend with your loved ones. At home. He’ll be home, with you. And he has to choose whether orange or red garlands would go best with your kitchen curtains. Sigma’s this close to losing it and having a full breakdown from how happy he actually is that Sigma.exe has stopped working properly. 

Constant battle between being happy with whatever you choose to buy, and the internal desire for everything to be perfect. He has to give you the best Christmas you’ve ever had. Would absolutely go crazy on the shopping lists. You mentioned something offhand that you liked? There’s three of it waiting for you the next day. Can’t choose on a tree? Why, you can have one in the living room, and one for your bedroom too. He’ll take care of it, don’t you worry about anything.

Sweats the whole time as he tries to take care of it all.

Absolutely needs reminders that you’re in this together, and no, you being there with me is enough, Sigma. I don’t care for anything else. Refuses to let go of your hand anywhere you go, basking in the warm feeling of being loved to the fullest.

Chuuya - Cabin Getaway

Absolutely his idea. 

As absurdly far away from the city as you could get, deep in the mountains with the most beautiful view that steals your breath away. You’re afraid to ask how much it cost. Better not. 

Warm blankets with and a fireplace to snuggle by, any ambitions for trying your skills at setting up dinner were soon forgotten. Not when Chuuya’s chest was firm against your back, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your shoulders. You were practically melting into him, losing yourself in his warm breath beside your cheek, the deep, low tone he talked with as you enjoyed each other’s company. He was so full of passion usually, the emotions spilling out of him in a constant stream of need for action. 

Not now. Now Chuuya was… here. All soft smiles and light laughter as he poured more wine into your glasses as the night progressed. Talking about life and its meaning, enjoying the moments to the fullest. Having his arm thrown around you as he kept you close was a bliss you never wished to end.

The night was long and filled with a sense of being right where you were meant to be. And when you rose up, pulling Chuuya by the hand as hooded eyes met yours, his grin widening–you found yourself kissing him then. And you didn’t stop until you were both stumbling back to the bedroom, your clothes leaving a trail behind you.

He was all yours for the taking, warm and willing for your every whim. Such a lovely place he found, it’d be a shame not to have a bit of fun… everywhere. 

Finding your clothes in the morning was definitely a hassle, one both of you couldn’t stop laughing about even as Chuuya’s hat definitely wasn’t supposed to be hanging from the chandelier.

Atsushi - Sledge Date

It was an idea you’ve both had for a while. Neither one of you knew how to navigate a thing like that, but hey–it was happening.

Atsushi swears he did not steal a sledge. He only asked Dazai if he had one by chance, and he was so kind to offer it half an hour later, all wide grins and wiggling eyebrows. You’ve never seen Dazai own a thing like that, let alone have it at such a quick disposal. Maybe it was best not to ponder too much over it.

The moment you saw the hill you were meant to glide gracefully down from, you stomach did a double flip. Yeah, you were both going to die, this was not the cute little slide rides you had imagined. 

It took Atsushi some encouraging words and a promise to not let go of you no matter what, and you were gingerly sitting behind him, hands gripping firmly around his torse as you glued your stiff body to his back. His hand rested atop your own, warm and soothing as he rubbed your knuckles.

Atsushi was surprisingly calm about this. Maybe he felt your need for a secure presence beside you or he just naturally took on the role. It didn’t matter, really. Not when he didn’t shut up the entire time, whether it be panicked rambling as you slid down or his general chatter. 

Atsushi kept throwing glances behind him, checking in on you each time you went down. And he held your hand firmly as you groaned from having to climb back up every time. His attentiveness was cute, even more so every time he asked you how you felt. Knowing you had someone who didn’t get annoyed at your complaints or belittled your worries felt… nice. Yeah, really nice. 

You couldn’t wait to shower him in kisses once you got back home.

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof… whimper

(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con, Knotting

It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.

“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.

But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.

“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.

“G-get off of me, get out, get—”

His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.

“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”

You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….

How did he know where you live?

How did he know where the spare key was?

How did he know where your bedroom was?

How did he find you at the bar?

Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.

Then where’s your dog?

“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”

He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.

“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”

You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.

All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.

“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”

You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.

“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.

“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”

Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…

“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”

Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.

He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.

And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.

Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.

“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.

Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.

“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”

Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.

You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.

You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.

“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.

“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”

You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.

“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”

You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.

“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”

Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.

“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”

“Alright, hen. C’mere.”

He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.

“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.

He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”

And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.

How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.

“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”

How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.

“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”

That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.

You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…

And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.

Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).

He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.

“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.

“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”

It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.

“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”

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