[tired-biscuit]

˗ˏˋ biscuit ˎˊ˗ she/her, 27

(n)sfw + dc (multifandom x reader writer) // 18+ MDNI

rules / masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi / tags

recent:

man of honor (knight!rengoku kyojuro, multi-chapter fic)

no joy in giving if you’re never pleased (rengoku kyojuro, one-shot, 7.3k)

best friends to lovers — werewolf edition! (werewolf!bsf!kiba, two part series, 49k)

i licked it so it’s mine (stepbrother!yuuji, one-shot, 6.7k)

#biscuit drabbles for shorter fics

requests: closed

thirsts: open

[potsiepumpkin]

When the chronic fatigue is chronic

[tired-biscuit]

still thinking about werewolf reader and werewolf kiba and how they are when heat strikes reader for the first time.

[inmyvampireempire]

I love tumblr because somehow I can end up being mutuals with a celebrity (someone that wrote a fic that I loved)

[marleysfinest]

just think. he's probably stroking it rn thinking about you. just ponder that. mull it over

[ciricearts]

he's working hard!

[probablyreal]

on my puter

[tired-biscuit]

okay but all in all naruto would make a decent knight... not the one in charge of everything that's for sure, but maybe this makes it even easier to rope him into doing these things that he knows he shouldn't....

oh my goshhh, yes… he reminds you of a puppy when you first lay eyes on him; even more so by the time several months pass and you get to know him better and fall in love with him - with his charm, his grin, his heart, the sunlight which seems to live inside him.

he’s eager to please and painfully naive, and he harbours such a tremendous amount of awe and dedication for you, his lady, that he will do anything, anything you ask of him.

and that also means that he will agree to sneak you out of the castle late at night, when everyone is fast asleep aside from the two guards who stand watch at the gate, surely his comrades, and who now conveniently decide to turn a blind eye after spotting two figures slipping past, heading towards the nearby forest.

and then, when you’re alone in the woods with him, nothing but the sound of the breeze swishing between the trees and the low chirp of insects filling your ears, he’ll obediently come to a stop when you reach out to tug on his sleeve, moonlight reflecting in his pretty blue eyes that don’t appear blue at all in the dark at that moment, and he’ll smile warmly and ask what you want him to do next.

and then you’ll take his hand with both of yours and you’ll guide him a couple of steps forward, until your back is pressing against a tree, the ridges digging into your spine, and you’ll guide that same hand to the side of your face, making him caress it, feeling the warmth of his palm, and you’ll utter something along the lines of i want you to take me now and you’ll nearly tremble in anticipation, the buzz, the excitement of it all.

when he finally lets your request sink in and leans in to tentatively press his lips to yours, it’s done so with caution at first, a mere whisper of a kiss, like he almost doesn’t believe that you’d ask him of doing such a thing. he shudders when you respond by immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your mouth a fraction wider; gets increasingly more hungry with each passing breath you exchange with him.

before you know it, he’s everywhere all at once. starved for touch, aching and desperate and insatiable and still so, so eager. like he’s been waiting for you to give him a taste for all his life. he presses you further up against the tree, makes you gasp at the uncharacteristically brute force behind it, in the way he deepens the kiss and lets out almost a whine-like sound when he grabs both sides of your face and shoves his tongue inside your mouth now.

his whole body aligns itself with yours. you are so close that you don’t know where your chest ends and his begins. he messily kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, then buries his face into your neck. he pushes even closer and his hips buck forwards brazenly, like they have a mind of their own, like he doesn’t have manners, and you can immediately tell how badly he desires you - as if the kissing didn’t tell you enough already.

the hardness of him that you feel now pressing against you and which reminds you that he might be kind and sweet but is still a man at his core causes you to whimper out a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. he silences it by greedily putting his mouth on yours again, almost like he wants to swallow it, to make it a part of himself. you can taste him, smell him, feel him, all his want, all his intensity, all that sunlight; it makes you arch your back, away from the tree and further into him. you wish to be full of him, of his warmth.

but then, he suddenly pulls back. breaks the kiss.

he’s panting when you peer up at him from underneath your lashes. his chest rises and falls in quick motions, his face is feverish, you can feel the heat of his forehead as he rests it on yours. his thumb strokes your bottom lip. you wince at the slight pain his teeth must have left behind.

when he speaks, he isn’t formal. however, that is to be expected, since he hasn’t spoken formally a day in his life.

“i need to take you back to the castle first.”

you blink, dumbfounded.

“back to the castle?”

“yes,” he says, taking a step back. his voice is hoarse but when he looks at you again, his eyes are full of that same warmth that you now miss feeling on your skin. “gotta do it the proper way.”

bed and all.

[tired-biscuit]

newly turned werewolf reader, and werewolf kiba who tries to help you learn the ropes of lycanthropy.

[tired-biscuit]

i think the entire thing is… frustrating in the beginning. complicated. upsetting.

especially because kiba has always been known to be impatient and prone to quick anger, you know? so he pretty much SUCKS when it comes to teaching a new wolf self-control. he’s strict - he’s so strict - and he’s unforgiving and annoying, and gosh; you just want to bite his fucking head off to make him stop pestering you all the damn time about how you should live your life.

he doesn’t let you do anything by yourself. doesn’t let you see your friends, always telling you that you aren’t ready yet and to make up bullshit excuses whenever they ask to hang out. doesn’t let you open the door, even if it’s just the mailman carrying the hundredth package you’ve ordered in the last two weeks out of sheer boredom. doesn’t let you eat what you want.

he doesn’t let you breathe.

instead, he forces you to keep consuming vegetables and other foods that weren’t once a living thing and that now taste absolutely disgusting to your palette whilst they travel down your throat. apparently switching to an only meat diet all of a sudden ‘doesn’t pass as normal’ in the human world. neither does gulping everything down instead of actually chewing, but you still have to work on that.

second, he makes you stretch. a lot. your arms, your legs, but especially your spine, shoulders and jaw. you haven’t had your first transformation yet, but it’s approaching fast and he says that those parts hurt the most during the change. he doesn’t sugarcoat it. in his words, it’s supposed to be awful, disgusting, painful. pain like you’ve never experienced before and which you’ll have to learn to live with during every full moon from now on. so every little bit helps.

besides the weird yoga, he also takes you out for runs in order to blow off steam, like you’re some goddamn dog. always at night and always when there’s barely anybody around. and even if you hate being told what to do by him, running feels good. so you run and run and run, letting the cold wind hit you in the face and your heart quicken its already unnaturally hurried heartbeat, but despite it bringing some sort of satisfaction into your new life, it’s never enough.

you’re so fast, inhumanly fast, but you’ve still got so much energy left to spare even after your legs give out and you fall onto your back and tell him in-between sharp, rapid inhales that you can’t do this anymore, that you’re done. you’re fucking done.

he stands above you, breathing fast, too, obscuring some of the stars and the fat sliver of the moon that now keeps calling out to you both, taunting you. giving you a look of what you could almost say is full of pity, which only causes an atrocious wildfire to erupt deep inside your chest, your veins, your mind.

there’s just so much anger and resentment swirling inside you now. all this terrible, animalistic rage that had never been a part of you before the bite, but is now digging deep into the very center of who you are as a being. monster. whatever the fuck you are now.

you can’t stand it, can’t stand being holed up inside an apartment and your own body day after day, breaking at the seams because of all these emotions and urges and instincts, as well as the never-ending hunger. you need to distract yourself somehow.

so you do. you sneak out when he isn’t home to watch over you one friday night. you put on your nicest pair of jeans and your cutest top that never fails to make your tits look good, and you leave him a note that basically tells him to go fuck himself before heading straight to the club.

and well… you don’t know what you’re expecting to happen as soon as you arrive to your destination, but it definitely isn’t this. because the moment the bouncer lets you through the doors, you’re hit with so many different smells that it makes your vision spin.

it’s like a slap to the face. there’s the scent of sweat. alcohol. perfume. a million different brands of deodorant. arousal. chewing gum. dry shampoo. fruit chapstick. cigarette smoke. the tang of fake jewelry and bitter jealousy. more sweat, even more alcohol.

your head hurts. your ears hurt. the music is too loud for your newly sensitive hearing. your nostrils burn. you start to sweat too, only adding to the already strong pool of aroma. it’s too much. it’s overwhelming.

a hand wraps around your elbow just as you’re about to make a 180 and leave.

“hey. you okay?”

you look up. you don’t recognize the guy that’s pulling you slightly closer now so that he can get a good look at you, his expression mildly worried. he’s tall, attractive. wears a cool shirt that’s mostly unbuttoned and styles his hair in a way that looks like he’s just had sex even though it’s just gel, which you can of course smell. he probably thinks he’s the shit. maybe he is.

“i’m fine,” you snap, yanking your elbow back and not really caring about the fact that you’re being unnecessarily mean to a stranger who’s just trying to be nice to you and help you.

you clench your jaw. unclench it. your teeth are starting to hurt, too. nobody can help you. especially not him.

the stranger takes another look at you before he leans in closer to your ear. “you sure? because you’re looking kind of-”

you don’t hear whatever else it is that he’s telling you because you can’t focus. he’s close, too close, and his cologne is too strong, and his breath smells like marlboro reds despite the mint that’s sitting on his tongue, and his cool guy shirt smells like it just came straight from the store, that awful artificial scent, because he probably bought it for tonight and didn’t have the time to wash it yet.

your head burns. your chest burns. you clench your teeth again with an awful-sounding click that’s only audible to you over the music. you don’t want him this close to you, it angers you that he’s putting you through this. you can’t breathe, it’s all too much all over again. a second wave of overstimulation mixing with the booming bass; this one even greater than the last.

you lift your hand to shove him away from you. or to punch him in the face. whatever works better.

however, before you can accomplish your decision, you can feel a firm, no, tenacious grip suddenly clasping around your bicep.

the hold this person has on your arm hurts. weird. besides strong smells, sounds and probably silver, nothing can make you hurt nowadays. especially not a human being.

but that’s because they’re not a human being. they’re a wolf, just like you.

kiba appears to be reasonably pissed when you turn to look at him. he’s dressed in sweatpants and a simple t-shirt; the same clothes he left in for a quick trip to the 24/7 mini-market that’s close to your home, and that now make him stand out amongst the dolled up girls and the men who’d at least put in the effort to put on jeans.

his eyes are dark, brown like always, but you catch the brief flash of yellow whenever the reflectors pass over his face. the thin, sharp pupils, same as yours. he’s used his abilities to track you down by your scent.

silently, you’re impressed by how calmly he seems to be handling the situation despite all the factors that are almost making you go haywire. he’s not as sensitive as you are. how can he be, when he’s older than you by a couple of years and has been stuck with the same crap for far longer?

still, that doesn’t stop you from opening your mouth to send him to hell for following you. and just as you prepare to do so, he shuts you right up by spinning on his heels and dragging you straight towards the exit.

he hauls you along with way more force than he needs to. digs the nails he’d just clipped for the fourth time this week into your skin, not really caring that he’s making you trip on your own two feet while doing so. but hey, at least it’s better than him grabbing you by the scruff of your neck like some cat, right?

you glare at his back as you pass through the first set of doors. then the other. you can’t see his face, but you can smell the anger that he’s exuding, the burning hot fury. the disbelief. the rage. it’s making his shoulders stiff, his posture tense. the muscles ripple whenever you quietly growl your protests behind him.

if that’s what he looks like from behind, then it’s no wonder why nobody dares to approach either one of you to ask if everything is all right or for him to let you go.

even with the initial protests, you keep your mouth shut when you step out of the club and onto the sidewalk, finally allowing yourself to take a deep breath. the air outside is cool and crisp, but you can’t feel the bite of its chill.

neither can kiba. you’re both too angry. too disappointed. too hot-blooded. not enough human.

it’s only when you reach the safety of the park that serves as a shortcut to your home that you finally dare to yank your arm from his grasp and firmly plant your feet into the ground.

he turns around, failing to conceal the flutter of a muscle that immediately appears in his cheek when his eyes land on you. despite the experience that he’s got under his belt, he’s barely holding it together now.

“i don’t want to go back yet,” you say, lifting your chin in defiance. “i’m not going back.”

“why?” he asks, his voice deep. growly. oh, he’s mad mad. you can tell by a single word.

“because i’m sick and tired of being stuck inside all day.”

the muscle in his cheek flutters again. he clenches his jaw in order to calm it, teeth grinding together. you can hear the scraping the action brings. “it’s for your own good.”

his reasoning angers you further. you know he’s right, but you don’t want him to be right right now. you just want to rage. to scream. to destroy and hurt and bite and thrash. the desire is so strong that you’re blinded by it.

“for my own good,” you mock, laughing out a dry sound. the upcoming tantrum makes you curl your hands into fists by your sides, creating crescent-shaped markings on your palms. fitting. “what’s next on the list, then? you’re going to chain me to my bed whenever you have to go somewhere?”

he blinks. “might have to since you almost broke that poor sucker’s jaw earlier.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re real strong now, you do realize that, right…?” he asks. “one punch, and his teeth would come flying out of his mouth like goddamn popcorn. one shove, and you’d be breaking at least two of his ribs, sending him straight to the hospital. and for what? for a chance for you to act like a lil’ fuckin’ brat? for a chance to get back at me, or whatever?”

“he was all up in my face,” you say, looking down at your sneakers. “i… i just needed some space to breathe.”

“what you needed was to calm the fuck down,” he retaliates with a snarl. “he was just making sure you were okay because you looked like you were losing your shit.”

“i wasn’t!”

“you were! for fuck’s sake.” he looks at you. there it is again - that godawful pity, taking over and softening the corners of his eyes. the furrow of his brow. “you can’t just-… you gotta take it slow. you gotta adjust first.”

the pity he feels for you makes you burn from inside out. you feel so confident and strong but weak and scared at the same time. you feel lost. hopeless. aimless. powerful and on top of the food chain. nothing can hurt you but yourself.

it’s like a blessing and a curse.

your throat tightens as you bare your teeth at him. “i don’t want to adjust.” i’m too scared. living in denial gives me hope that this might not be real after all.

“well, you’ll have to,” he says. “because like it or not, sweetheart, this is your life now.”

your life.

your life. your life. your life.

your life has become this.

you’ll outlive all of your friends. you’ll never enjoy a slice of chocolate cake again. you’ll smell the lie before you can comfort yourself with it. you’ll be torn apart every full moon, pain and gore your only friends before you’re reassembled back together into a different shape that isn’t you but is you at the same time.

you lunge forward, aiming to tackle him. he was right, you are strong; the same force you used just now would send a regular human flying across the grass, but since he isn’t one, all it does is make him grunt and shuffle a couple of steps backwards.

so you grab fistfuls of his t-shirt instead and pull. the fabric tears easily underneath your nails. the sound of it shredding is satisfying, though only for a brief second because you’re pushing at him again right afterwards. slamming your fists into his chest. over his stupid heart that beats in the same stupidly fast rhythm as yours does now.

he tries to hold you so that he can make you stop hurting him, fighting the awful, bestial urge to return the favour when you end up scratching the side of his face.

he’s better than this now. he knows what it’s like; to hurt like this. he used to be just like you. worse. he wanted to use his new teeth and swallow the entire world for the way it wronged him.

blood seeps out of the wound. hot and rich and deep red - so dark that it almost appears black in the shade of the trees that surround you. it drips down to his jaw. runs along the side of his neck. you watch as the gash you left on his cheek closes up and heals before the blood even has the chance to dry.

the scent of it still lingers in the air though. it makes your stomach churn. causes saliva to pool inside your mouth. your pupils expand.

hunger. you’re starving. you want to lick the side of his face.

the disgust you feel for yourself in that moment makes you sob right into his chest.

[mr-deep-downer]

I should quit my job to pursue a life of meaningless violence

[tired-biscuit]

okay but all in all naruto would make a decent knight... not the one in charge of everything that's for sure, but maybe this makes it even easier to rope him into doing these things that he knows he shouldn't....

oh my goshhh, yes… he reminds you of a puppy when you first lay eyes on him; even more so by the time several months pass and you get to know him better and fall in love with him - with his charm, his grin, his heart, the sunlight which seems to live inside him.

he’s eager to please and painfully naive, and he harbours such a tremendous amount of awe and dedication for you, his lady, that he will do anything, anything you ask of him.

and that also means that he will agree to sneak you out of the castle late at night, when everyone is fast asleep aside from the two guards who stand watch at the gate, surely his comrades, and who now conveniently decide to turn a blind eye after spotting two figures slipping past, heading towards the nearby forest.

and then, when you’re alone in the woods with him, nothing but the sound of the breeze swishing between the trees and the low chirp of insects filling your ears, he’ll obediently come to a stop when you reach out to tug on his sleeve, moonlight reflecting in his pretty blue eyes that don’t appear blue at all in the dark at that moment, and he’ll smile warmly and ask what you want him to do next.

and then you’ll take his hand with both of yours and you’ll guide him a couple of steps forward, until your back is pressing against a tree, the ridges digging into your spine, and you’ll guide that same hand to the side of your face, making him caress it, feeling the warmth of his palm, and you’ll utter something along the lines of i want you to take me now and you’ll nearly tremble in anticipation, the buzz, the excitement of it all.

when he finally lets your request sink in and leans in to tentatively press his lips to yours, it’s done so with caution at first, a mere whisper of a kiss, like he almost doesn’t believe that you’d ask him of doing such a thing. he shudders when you respond by immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your mouth a fraction wider; gets increasingly more hungry with each passing breath you exchange with him.

before you know it, he’s everywhere all at once. starved for touch, aching and desperate and insatiable and still so, so eager. like he’s been waiting for you to give him a taste for all his life. he presses you further up against the tree, makes you gasp at the uncharacteristically brute force behind it, in the way he deepens the kiss and lets out almost a whine-like sound when he grabs both sides of your face and shoves his tongue inside your mouth now.

his whole body aligns itself with yours. you are so close that you don’t know where your chest ends and his begins. he messily kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, then buries his face into your neck. he pushes even closer and his hips buck forwards brazenly, like they have a mind of their own, like he doesn’t have manners, and you can immediately tell how badly he desires you - as if the kissing didn’t tell you enough already.

the hardness of him that you feel now pressing against you and which reminds you that he might be kind and sweet but is still a man at his core causes you to whimper out a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. he silences it by greedily putting his mouth on yours again, almost like he wants to swallow it, to make it a part of himself. you can taste him, smell him, feel him, all his want, all his intensity, all that sunlight; it makes you arch your back, away from the tree and further into him. you wish to be full of him, of his warmth.

but then, he suddenly pulls back. breaks the kiss.

he’s panting when you peer up at him from underneath your lashes. his chest rises and falls in quick motions, his face is feverish, you can feel the heat of his forehead as he rests it on yours. his thumb strokes your bottom lip. you wince at the slight pain his teeth must have left behind.

when he speaks, he isn’t formal. however, that is to be expected, since he hasn’t spoken formally a day in his life.

“i need to take you back to the castle first.”

you blink, dumbfounded.

“back to the castle?”

“yes,” he says, taking a step back. his voice is hoarse but when he looks at you again, his eyes are full of that same warmth that you now miss feeling on your skin. “gotta do it the proper way.”

bed and all.

[tired-biscuit]

hello pretend i’m an anon pls post thirst pls

about who friend, about who

[cosmicdraghon]

[les-fleur]

and for the lady, perhaps whatever the fuck she wants

[animentality]

[beautifulterriblequeen]

A sign to tap

[tired-biscuit]

tbh kiba would lose his virginity and never get depressed again, he’s so simple minded that it somehow works in his favour

[tired-biscuit]

he’s like “this pussy saved me” and he actually means it disjsisjsjssj

[tired-biscuit]

i’m so sorry for all the horny posting, i just have a lot on my mind djjshshs