Im down bad for pathetic guys omg

Oh well. You unlock the door, eyes fixed on your phone screen, and pretend to greet the partner you’re supposedly visiting.

“Babe, I'm back –”

Red. It’s everywhere. Splattered across the walls in crimson streaks, staining the carpet. Ripped shreds of fabric are strewn about, soaked in that dark, viscous liquid. And in the middle of it all, on the edge of the pristine bed, sits the big, bad wolf, eyeing you with a feral gaze.

…oh.

You're so, so fucked.

“Don’t even think about running.” Ashveil’s voice is a threat, a threat to your psyche, that is, because that low growl alone makes your knees buckle.

You stammer, frozen in place. Your heart pounds in your ears, hands trembling. “How- how did you get inside my apartment?”

With a disapproving click of his tongue, Ashveil stands up. “Oh, come on. You know how the story goes, don’t you? Don’t play dumb.”

The carpet underneath his feet lets him stalk closer to you, silent, like a true predator cornering whatever he has set his sights on. Every step closer to you forces you further against the wall, until you’re pressed right against it, with him towering over you.

Disbelief spreads on your face. “What the hell are you talking about?! What weirdo breaks into someone’s home and leaves everything full of –”

Metallic coldness clamps around your chin, gentle enough to betray his affection, firm enough to underline how very serious he is. His prosthetic fingers dig into your cheek. A yelp leaves your lips.

“I am no weirdo.” A low hum, nose pressing against the side of your neck. You can feel him inhaling your scent. “People nowadays call us ‘aberrations’, when we no longer act the way our dear, new CEO wants us to.”

You try to turn your head away, fearing you'll just go slack and surrender any second, but Ashveil's grip is unrelenting. Focus, focus! You'll never hear the end of it if you fawn and freeze now.

“So you're just an imagenae?” Too cocky. Too late. Biting your tongue won't take the words back.

Ashveil janks you closer. “I,” he downright growls, and it makes a shiver run down your spine, “am the big –” he punctuates “– bad. Wolf.” Tilting your chin up, he forces you to look into those silver hues of his, pink gleaming with hunger. “And you, my dear Little Red, are my next meal.”

It’s a gut punch in the best form, fear mixing with growing arousal in a way that has your mind spinning and everything below the waistline tingly. Every second pinned under his gaze makes you feel weaker, so utterly easy for the taking. Adrenaline floods your system, drowning out any logical thought.

“You… You ate…?"

“That's how the story goes, sweetheart,” he mocks, sickeningly sweet. Ashveil clicks his tongue. “Though you’ve sure messed up my plan so far… But that’s alright." A clawed thumb brushes your cheekbone. “That just means that I’m allowed to change some things too.”

You gulp as he leans down again, lip brushing the soft shell of your ear.

His words are a breath, a disgustingly tender whisper. “I think I wanna have my fun with you before I swallow you whole.”

Trying to reach for the doorknob earns you a tight grip around your wrist, before Ashveil promptly hauls you over his shoulder. You scream.

What’s worse: the bastard has the audacity to laugh.

You land softly on the bed, still restrained by Ashveil’s grip as he presses between your legs, bringing your wrists above your head. Knees pressing your thighs apart, he looks down at you. Time and time again, he’s looked down at you before ravaging you. Today feels different. Today makes your pulse spike as if you’re really about to be devoured by a beast. His tongue is searing hot as it descends on your neck, licking up from your throat to the sensitive spot behind your ear, savoring you properly as he hums and groans right into your ear. That voice of his is gonna be the death of you.

“You’re even tastier than they were,” he grunts, moving your wrists together to free his gloved hand. Bringing it to his lips, he bites at his fingertips to pull the white fabric off, tossing it aside without a care in the world. Then, those elegant fingers dip down beneath the red fabric of your hoodie, slowly pulling it up.

Sparks fly on your exposed skin with every inch of skin he reveals. For the first time, you try to squirm. “D- don't!”

“I don't think that's for you to decide, Little Red,” he huffs. “You've meddled into my fairy tale long enough. I'm not going to let you ruin it anymore.”

Expertly maneuvering you onto your back, Ashveil pulls the hoodie above your head, keeping you pinned beneath him. It’s useless, thrashing into the sheets in this position, and he knows it. Not being able to be hypnotised by his pretty face is a crime in and of itself. What you can hear, however, is the familiar clicking of metal accessories falling onto carpeted floor, followed by the soft thud of his fedora and the heavy weight of his coat. Something rips. A zipper opens. Next, you feel how he drapes himself over you, pressing his entire body into your back as he reaches forward to grab something out of the nightstand.

Aeons, you can feel how hard he is.

A drawer slams shut. Ashveil leans up, letting you breathe again, until he drags you back belly-up and the air is knocked out of your lungs by the sheer sight before you: he hasn’t taken off his compression shirt, but ripped it open, and the leather band across his chest just looks desperately shameless, with how it’s pushing his exposed tits together. Pert nipples peek through the sheer fabric, torso heaving as he pants. His fly is open, bulge spilling out of his pants, still held tight inside his briefs.

You can’t help the whimper that leaves your throat, less so when his eyes are fixated on you like this.

Equally entranced by your bare torso, Ashveil runs a hand over your belly, trailing upwards. It’s unfair, how he’s the only one allowed to touch, how he has you pinned like this, how you already know that he’s going to ruin you. A hiss presses past your lips as you suddenly feel teeth sinking into your throat, immediately followed by an apologetic kiss.

His head falls forward, burying his face into your shoulder. “...I’m getting ahead of myself,” he grumbles, displeased about the fact that he can’t just eat you alive now, not when he has you spread out all pretty before him. Instead, his hand leaves your chest to slide back down, fiddling with the button of your pants.

“Listen –" you try in a last-ditch effort to… you don't even know what you're asking for. Your brain is mush. “I- I'm not tasty at all –”

“Oh, but you are. The most delectable little thing,” he grins as he takes his time slowly pulling your pants down, exposing your underwear and gorgeous thighs. Amusement glimmers in his eyes as he lets out a low whistle. “Would you look at that? I think you're very much looking forward to being devoured.” 

Every inch of your skin tingles. The fabric of your underwear feels insulting, clinging and sticking to your skin and exposing the desperation of your body. Higher, higher, every part of you feels like it’s the highest of heavens, in the lowest of hells, needing him, loving him, wanting him to ravage you and make you his.

Ashveil cups your groin, fingers running over the wet spot that's formed there. “Eager, are we?”

A moan escapes your throat, yet you vehemently shake your head.

“Come on, don’t deny it. This is your body finally accepting its role in this little fairy tale of ours.” Your pants join the discarded pile on the floor, along with your underwear, and the cold air in the room hits you all at once.

Are you shivering from the drop in temperature, or excitement? Both, likely, and Ashveil eats it right up.

“Tell you what: if you’re nice, I’ll make sure you have fun too.”

Testing the waters, Ashveil finally loosens his grip around your wrists, hoisting you up in one quick movement until you’re sitting in his lap, with his hard-on directly pressing against your most sensitive spots. He chuckles at the little surprised sound you let out, and then, he brings your arms around his neck. Technically, following the horrifying scenario that you're a victim about to be devoured, you should use this chance to get away, or at least to fight a little.

No such thing happens. Not with how you're pressed against his warm, ample chest, when this is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. You’re right where you want to be.

When you hear the plop of a bottlecap opening, you realize what Ashveil pulled out of the drawer earlier. In fact, you feel it, cool and slimy, coating his fingers as he circles your entrance. A small gasp escapes you at the sensation, yet you don't feel him pressing in just yet. Before he does anything, he leans forward, nuzzling your nose and letting out a small hum, an unspoken question. Silly pup, still asking for permission at a time like this. It's endearing. Once you nod, that's when you feel how he presses in, one long finger prodding inside of you.

“Ah- mmh-” you pant.

He groans. “That’s it, just give in. You're going to feel so wonderful around me…” A pensive spark flickers in his eyes while you try not to move yourself into his finger, and his prosthetic hand finds your wrist once more. Oh, that grin is definitely cooking up something. “However, we can’t lose the plot entirely now, can we?”

Huh?

Bringing your wrist up, he makes your hand brush against his wolf ears. Aeons, they're so fluffy, it nearly distracts you from the scene.

“In the original, Little Red goes on to gasp at how… different Grandma looks, once she comes to visit,” the wolf explains, canines flashing in the light. “I already spoke my lines earlier: now it's your turn, Little Red.”

Is Ashveil seriously going to make you say that right now? Ugh, but you know him: if you don't, he's going to drag this on forever. He's already stopped pumping inside of you, expectantly waiting for you to follow suit.

You swallow. “O- oh, mister wolf,” you stammer, somewhat embarrassed, “what big ears you have – Ah!”

Another finger joins the one already inside of you as Ashveil sets a lazy tempo, making sure to drag his fingertips against your most sensitive spots, wringing a whimper from your throat. It's slow, too slow. It's torture, and he's loving it.

“The better to hear your sweet moans with,” he chuckles, so unapologetic that it sparks something in you.

Still holding your wrist, Ashveil drags your hand over his cheek, leaning into your touch. Nuzzling into your palms like the sweet puppy in wolf's clothes he is. That is, until he opens his mouth again, tongue lapping at your thumb, before he gently brings it between his teeth, wide and smirking.

Fuck, fuck, it's all too much, way too much. How does he expect you to concentrate like this, between his pretty face and his fingers scissoring you open? Cruel. Mean. Downright evil.

“And- Ah, and what b- big teeth you have,” you continue, somewhere between impatience and surrender. His clothed groin grinding against your stomach isn’t making this any better.

“The better to bite you with, dear.” Releasing your thumb, Ashveil laces your fingers together, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“And what big – mmh! What big hands you have!”

“The better to hold you captive with.” Just as promised, his prosthetic reaches for your wrists once more, manhandling you until you’re underneath him again. Lithe fingers pull out of you, leaving you to shudder and ache for something inside of you. “Now for the final part…”

Finally, desperately, Ashveil reaches for his pants, pulling both slacks and briefs down to expose himself. His bare member hits your stomach, precum beading on the flush tip, staining your skin. 

“And… and what-” Aeons, the sentence doesn't want to leave your mouth. “What big… Uhm– what big cock you have–”

“The better to fuck you with.”

Stars spark behind your eyes as a shudder wracks your body, moans spilling freely from your lips as he pushes past the tight rim, thrusting inside in one smooth motion

“F- fuck!”

Ashveil's drawn-out groan reverberates within you, cock twitching deliciously inside your warm walls. His wolf ears are flat against his head. “That’s it… Take it, Little Red. Take all of me.”

The first thrust is shallow, grinding inside of you, an animalistic desire to be as deep as possible. Then, his thrusts start to go further, further, until Ashveil picks up a desperate rhythm, panting like a rutting dog. You’re very grateful to have paid for a soundproof room, because you can’t hold your moans back, and neither can he. Obscene. It’s the only way to describe the volume, the scent in the room, how you’re arching into him and gripping at the sheets.

This sentimental old wolf can't take it anymore, because finally, for the first time tonight, he allows himself to kiss you. Devour might be a better term, however, with the way his lips repeatedly crash into yours, tongue dipping inside your mouth to play with yours. There's no pretense, no play in this: just pure, raw passion. You match it in turn, hands leaving the sheets to claw at his back and shoulders. Aeons, it feels so good to kiss him, to feel him all around you. More. More, more, more, you need more. Skin meets skin and metal as Ashveil’s hands drag down your body to your hips, anchoring himself to piston into you, tip catching against your rim only to hit your deepest spots over and over and over again. Though not rough – not yet, at least – Ashveil is needy, wholly entranced with the way you keep sucking him in, how warm and wet and wonderful you feel around him.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as your lips part, drool dribbling down his chin. He swallows with a grunt. “Feels so good, sucking me right in.” 

Is keeping your eyes open better, or closing them? Keeping your eyes closed makes you aware of how tightly he’s holding you, how his metal hand digs into your flesh, lets you feel everything with full intensity. Opening your eyes lets you witness the scrunch in Ashveil’s brows, his parted lips, flushed cheeks, and – now that he catches you staring – that predatory glint in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a smirk.

“Someone’s having fun,” Ashveil muses.

“Fuck – mh! Fuck you!”

“Already on it, sweetheart.”

This bastard – No second later, your side hits the mattress as Ashveil manhandles you, hauling one leg over his shoulder. His prosthetic curls around your thigh while his free hand reaches forward, stroking over your sex. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he pulls back, but he doesn’t pull out. Just holding, waiting, teasing. Then, just as you’re about to moan in protest, he plunges right back in, and your head falls back with a scream.

“Ah… Ah…” Your head is spinning from the double stimulation.

This new angle lets him aim at all those spots he knows drive you crazy, now that his initial frenzy has sharpened into the calculated hunt for your shared bliss. With no remorse, he sets a steady pace, balls slapping against the curve of your ass every time his pelvis digs into the meat of your thigh. Loving and bullying are one and the same right now. Ashveil’s fingers are pure magic on you, stroking and circling and teasing you, until you feel the familiar pressure of an incoming orgasm wring itself ever tighter into your gut. The view of his dick disappearing inside of you, his pecs heaving with each breath, it’s all making you spiral.

Your hand finds his wrist. “I’m – I’m close –”

Apparently, that was an invitation, because he nearly folds you in half as he bends down, lips finding your neck, sucking and biting and earning so many more of those beautiful noises he adores to hear spill from your throat.

“Yeah? My Little Red is gonna cum? Love how this old wolf is treating you that much?” It’s no question, it’s a statement that requires no comment, because your body is already speaking for you. Ashveil only keeps the pace of his hand and hips. “Don’t look away now. Let me see how you come undone.”

Fighting against it is useless. There’s no stopping it, not that you’d want to. As soon as he finds that deepest spot again, a shudder wracks your entire body as your muscles tense up, before all tension snaps. You whimper. You shake. You twitch and tighten around him and cry out in relief.

Oh, but Ashveil is not done. Far from it. That sweet exhaustion that would settle in after your orgasm doesn’t come, because he’s still fucking you into the matress.

“Nghh… Ah…” If he had a cheesy line in mind, it's gone. There's not a single thought behind those gray eyes anymore as they watch you shiver beneath him. “Perfect, so perfect…”

Even as you feel like your entire body is burning, he doesn’t stop. How could he? He’s so, so close to losing his mind.

His pace has turned into shallow staccato, chasing his own pleasure with reckless abandon. Strong arms curl around your thigh as he ruts into you, pressing you into the mattress with each thrust. “Mine, mine, only mine.”

That’s all it takes. Warm cum floods your hole as Ashveil fucks himself silly, still giving shallow thrusts even as it starts leaking down the curve of your ass, until he finally collapses on top of you with a whimper, wolf ears twitching.

Hot, humid. Both of you gasp for air, desperately wanting to cool down, yet unable to separate from each other’s warmth for just one second. After a short while, when your breathing returns to normal and your pulse slows down, Ashveil slowly leans up, but not before pressing a kiss to the myriad of bite marks he left on your neck.

“I’ll be right back.”

Pulling out is the worst part for both of you, but unlike at home, where you can cuddle with him buried inside of you for as long as you like, you’re unfortunately in a place that charges by the hour. Ugh.

Ashveil stands up to grab some towels, while you reach over to the little fridge next to the bed, pulling out two water bottles. Once he returns, you let him clean you up and offer him a bottle, and you both drink what tastes like crisp mountain water to your thirsty tongues. When you’re both done, you lay back down, and with a pat to your chest, you invite Ashveil to rest on top of you. Which he immediately does, laying himself on top of you without crushing you and burying his face into your neck..

Now that you’re back in reality, you can’t help but tease him. “Didn’t you want to eat me up now, meanie wolf?”

Ashveil grumbles, voice muffled against your neck. “Let this old man rest for a bit before I do that…”

You chuckle. Then, you bury your hand into his silky hair, gently petting him over, rubbing over his ears. Ah, wait. Those moved earlier, didn’t they?

“How did you get the ears and tail?”

“One of the kids I help out regularly made it with imagenesis.”

“And you don’t feel bad about defiling them like this?”

He chuckles. “Nah. They’ll fade any minute anyway. Besides, they helped to flesh out the scene, didn’t they?”

It’s true. Ashveil has put so much effort into making sure you had fun, and this fact fills you with a warmth that fills your heart. Oh, how you love this sweet detective.

“Ash… Thank you. For everything: for going along with this in the first place, for setting things up.” You lean down, pressing a kiss to his temple. “For making this an unforgettable experience. I couldn’t have wished for a better partner.”

Ashveil slides off of you to lay down next to you, and although he’s blushing, he doesn’t feel the need to hide himself. In fact, he’s even smiling, a goofy, lovesick smile that makes his eyes sparkle. “Y- yeah? You liked it?”

“I loved it,” you smile back, equally tender. “I love you, Ashveil.”

How much he loves to hear those words. Nuzzling his nose against yours, he wraps his arms around your body and kisses you, lets out a small sigh. Ashveil presses his forehead to yours. “I love you too, dear.”

For a little while, you just stay like this, intertwined in each other’s arms, before curiosity flickers in your mind again.

“How did you find everything? Did you have fun?” Sure, he’s known to do things for others, but you hope that he also enjoyed himself beyond just pleasing you.

“Oh, it was loads of fun,” he grins. “The list was actually helpful. Gave me lots of ideas without revealing anything about what I had in mind. The fact that you didn’t know everything? It was exciting.” 

Okay, you have to snort a bit. “You know, when I checked the mark for ‘blood’, I was expecting a bite going a bit too deep, or using fake blood to simulate an injury… not an entire crime scene.”

“...oh.”

The moment that worry  forms on his face, you take his face, kissing the tip of his nose. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It was honestly unexpected in the best way.” You pause, looking around to see that the walls and carpet are still very much covered in fake blood. “Uh… Did we end up paying that cleaning fee in advance...?”

“The room is getting renovated soon, so they didn’t mind me making things messy here.”

You sigh in relief.

Ashveil chuckles at your reaction. Then, he looks into your eyes once more, tone hesitant. “You weren’t very vocal today.”

“Well, I wasn’t allowed to cry, to beg for my life, to ask you to stop, nothing along those lines,” you huff. There is no accusation in your voice. You know why he asked that of you. “And just screaming about how good it feels would kinda go against the whole scenario.”

“You did get very willing the more I riled you up,” he grins.

“Duh. I was honestly fighting to keep up appearances. You were making it hard for me, you know.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Next time, I could tie you up. Then, you wouldn’t need to pretend to struggle at all.”

A sigh. “Once a Ranger, always a Ranger…” Your hands go up to ruffle his hair once more. “But we can continue this conversation at home. I don’t wanna pay for an extra hour here.”

Upon uttering the magic words ‘pay extra’, Ashveil shoots up in bed, and in the blink of an eye, he’s already dressed. What the hell, how did he do that? His clothes are way too complicated for that.

….

No hour later, you’re both snuggled under the covers of your bed, holding each other as sleep weighs down on both of you. With a kiss, you wish him a good night, and then, you’re out like a light in the arms of the man you love more than anything else in this world.

My first time actually writing smut, hope you guys liked it! For those who saw my post about taxes, always make sure to file your taxes on time and that everything is correct; don't end up like me.

Part 1

“Roleplaying… in bed?”

From the couch of your apartment, Ashveil looks up at you with raised eyebrows and a slight tilt of his head.

Without wanting to sound too much like a freak, you quickly follow up with a “remember that last movie we watched, where the couple pretended not to know each other at a bar?”

His eyes light up. “Oh! Yeah, I remember that, that did look fun,” he nods, “wouldn't be the first time I do something along those lines.”

Well that's very great to hear. Which means he can probably be convinced to do something that's not quite so tame, right?

You nod along. “I’ve always wanted to try something like that, so, I was wondering whether you'd like us… to…”

You trail off as a wide, downright evil smirk spreads across Ashveil's face

“Wh- what?”

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugs, “hadn’t expected my sweetheart to be so kinky, that's all –”

A pillow promptly lands in his face, earning a yelp from him before it falls to his lap. His eyes are wide.

“H- hey, I’m being vulnerable here!” you stutter between astonishment at his behavior and embarrassment at how quickly he clocked you.

As much as you like to tease him, his intuition isn’t all that bad, and he has the very annoying trait of reading you better than you’d like to, at times. So what if you're a bit into that stuff? Everyone has their peculiarities, the childhood trauma that somehow got turned into a weird fixation and now serves as a coping mechanism more than anything. Roleplaying is fun, and that's the end of it.

You huff, insecurity creeping up. “If you’re just teasing me with no intention to do something, I can just shut up.” Being teased is one thing, feeling like you’re being made fun of is another.

“Aright, alright. Why don’t you tell me about what you have in mind, hm?” Patting his lap, Ashveil invites you to join him, and he wraps your arms around your waist once you do. Another smirk spreads on his face. “No need to beat around the bush with something as meek as ‘pretending to meet at a bar’. What’s your goal here, love?”

Here it goes. After thinking about this for months, you finally have the chance to lay bare all those desires that you’ve been hiding within the deepest parts of your depraved brain. Gosh, you’ve seen this guy naked and whimpering – why are you suddenly getting shy about this?

“Okay, so… You know that old fairytale called red riding hood and the big bad wolf?”

“Not predictable at all.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

“You can't predict a plot twist in a movie even if it's obvious from the first damn minute.”

“I can predict you just fine. I think that's a lot more fun.”

You're going to strangle this man. That shit-eating grin is just asking for it, really. Instead, you retort to more civilized methods to get back at him.

“Hm… Though, I’m not sure that you can pull off the big, bad wolf,” you lament, rolling off of him and flopping down next to him on the couch.

Ashveil sputters, every point of his pride wounded to a degree that rivals insulting his very own being. He’s downright offended. “Me? I am THE big bad wolf,” he retorts, frantically pointing to all the wolf badges and motifs all over his clothing. “That’s my entire thing!”

You tilt your head from side to side, taunting. “I don’t know. The big wolf is supposed to be scary – that’s the whole fun of the scenario. It’s about the dynamic, the adrenaline,” you explain, a director in another life, it seems. A side eye meets those grey hues. “And you’re a lot of things… but not frightening.”

For a moment, it seems that Ashveil wants to protest, but his expression slowly softens, eyebrows furrowed and gaze pensive. When he opens his mouth again, it’s a soft, low murmur. “...I don’t want you to fear me.”

The sudden shift in mood is a whiplash, making you feel guilty for teasing him like that. He was a feared Galaxy Ranger once. Aeons, you know he can still be intimidating when he wants to be. Of course he wouldn’t want to put you in the same spot as corrupt scoundrels and evildoers.

You lean up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hey, come on. I could never be scared of you,” you promise, taking his prosthetic hand into yours and pressing it against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I know I’m not the infamous ‘First Fang’ anymore, but I don’t want to cross a line there’s no going back from.”

You huff. “I’m more resilient than you think.”

“I know you are,” he smiles.

“So leave it to me to determine where that line is.” A pause. “How about this: you can be as scary as you feel comfortable being. And if something goes too far, I’ll stop you, ‘kay?”

That proposal visibly lets his tense shoulders sag with relief. Nodding, Ashveil’s head drops to your shoulder, where he lets out a small sigh, “...yeah. Sounds good.”

“Also, just saying. I wouldn't be choosing this scenario if I wasn't into a bit of fearplay, you know.”

“Not to mention your very obvious love for seeing this old wolf in action,” he giggles, and you clearly feel a smile against your neck.

You ruffle his hair with a chuckle.

…

Usually, the setting of Little Red Riding Hood is a forest, but there are no forests anywhere close to Duomension City without travelling for miles. So no flower picking, no forest path, and no cabin in the woods where dear grandma lies in wait. Thankfully, the whole dressing up part is the easiest thing about this – there’s all sorts of peculiar people running around every day, and your little red and wolf cosplays won’t stand out from the crowd. Which means the only thing you need to focus on is somehow translating the old fairy tale into a modern version without losing the charm of the original.

“... Narrator, you know what this is all a buildup for, right?”

You sit on the chair in Ashveil's office, with Mr. N sitting on the table while he taps his phone. The detective is out to run errands, and his faithful assistant has offered to help you out on your little mission of coming up with the details of the scenario. Frankly, having the monkey meddle into the whole thing is a bit…

“Rest assured that I know what Mr. Ashveil and you are planning with this,” he nods, occasionally checking something on the computer. “I’d rather the both of you find a location more fitting for your little adventure than the office. I've marked down a few reputable places, and sent you some links about helpful tips and tricks for what you two have in mind.”

Uhm. Are you– Are you seriously getting kink PSA from a monkey? Why is he so well informed?? The logical explanation would be that, as the one actually doing the detective work in the agency, Narrator has collected a lot of info about all sorts of places. Or maybe he used to be into that stuff when he was still human. You don't want to think about any other possible explanation.

…

A few days and lots of communication later, you and Ashveil decided on a location. Initially, you eyed the website of a love hotel that uses imagenesis to create whatever environment you want, but just one hour in a room was more than your monthly salary. Nope, that was definitely too much for your budget, not to mention Ashveil’s. Instead, you found a little motel aimed at kinky couples, advertising soundproof rooms, a snack bar and free contraceptives, as well as a collection of accessories like handcuffs or blindfolds for rent. Still a bit pricey, yet the both of you agreed that doing anything like that within the thin walls of your apartment would not only be super embarrassing, but could also lead to prying neighbours assuming things they shouldn’t. 

So here you are: dressed in your favorite red hoodie, just a few streets from Perdido Station, following the route that you agreed on. Hopefully nobody recognizes you two… You try to keep your eyes fixed to the screen of your phone, wanting the surprise of Ashveil popping up to be as genuine as possible. Walking alone late in the evening is not a very smart thing to do, though, so you still try to stay aware of your surroundings as best as possible.

“Good evening, Little Red Riding Hood,” a voice calls from an alley, a dark purr beckoning you to stray from your path and walk right into your doom.

You walk past him.

Behind you, you can hear confused footsteps going into one direction, then the other, before you see the flash of white and red press past you to hide in another alleyway a few steps ahead.

You can't help it. You know it's cruel of you, and you're barely holding in your laughter, but you had to do it to him. 

“Good evening, Little Red Riding Hood,” Ashveil repeats, louder this time, because you clearly didn't hear him.

That's when you finally look up from your phone and turn to face him: from beneath his usual coat, a long, black tail sprouts forth, a raven dark fading into white, similar to his own hair. One tall ear peaks from the raised side of his fedora, the other hanging down on the other side, almost blending into his hair. You’d make a comment about how the one floppy ear makes him look kinda silly, but you instead find yourself staring. It’s easy to forget it when you often get to see this man at his worst, but Ashveil is gorgeous. His silvery eyes, staring at you from behind hooded lids, the hint of a smile on his delicate lips, and now, the ears and tail that not only fit beautifully into his overall aesthetic, but also remind you of what’s about to come.

Ah, right, you gotta answer him.

“Uh… Are you talking with me?” Feigning confusion, you look around the empty alley.

Ashveil’s eyes narrow, tilting his head. “Where are you going so late in the evening?”

“That’s none of your business?”

“That’s not –” A deep breath, before the wolf continues, irritation mixing into his deep voice. “You’re supposed to say ‘to my grandmother’s house’, Little Red,” he grumbles.

Seeing Ashveil pout, even if he’s just pretending this time, never fails to amuse you.

You frown at him. “And why would I say that? My grandma doesn’t even live anywhere close…”

Teeth gritted, hands flexing, he narrows his eyes again. “Because that’s how the story goes.”

You do your best to look at him as if he was a random weirdo on the streets who knows every officer by name with how often he gets the police called on him. Then, you snap your fingers. “Oohh, I get it! They’re doing some kind of Red Riding Hood adaptation, right?” Suddenly crowding his personal space, you lean in closer. “Is this a promotion for a new movie? Do you walk up to anyone wearing red? Is someone recording this?”

Ashveil can do nothing but look dumbfounded as you take out your phone and snap a selfie with him.

“Hmm, I haven’t seen any ads at all, are you gonna use this video as material? Because I wanna be paid for this if this is gonna go online.”

The dread of paying money catches up to him, because he snaps back into his role and glares down at you. “There is no adaptation! This is no movie, and no ad campaign either,” he huffs and puffs and blows the – no, wait, wrong fairy tale.

Putting your phone away, you take a step back. “Uh, so… You’re a cosplayer, then? A really weird one,” you add under your breath.

“Listen –”

“Hang on.” Fishing your phone out of your pocket again, you hold it up to your ear. “Oh, hi babe! Yeah, I'll be home in a min.”

There is no other person on the line. You just need an excuse to get away… and to ragebait Ashveil as much as possible. Without another word towards him, you walk off towards the Dreamless Coffee location nearby, leaving him behind. Aeons, you'd pay to see the expression on his face right now.

Instead, you follow the plan the two of you set up, sitting yourself on one of the little tables outside the cafe without ordering anything. Checking the time on your phone, you see that you still have about half an hour before you have to head for the motel, and you start to wonder: What will happen once you get there? Will Ashveil really put on a granny costume and lay down in bed? A grin spreads on your face as you imagine him trying to imitate the voice of an old woman, pitch croaking and cracking. He may be able to look like one, with a bit of makeup, but his voice has always been his biggest giveaway.

Maybe Ashveil has something completely different in store? After all, you've put a lot of creative liberty into your version of the fairytale, but what matters is the core, right? Unassuming little thing gets ravaged by the mean wolf. Adaptation, modernization, all begets change. What matters is having fun, for Aha’s sake!

Some part of you… worries. Not because you don't trust Ashveil, of course you do. But this is the first time the two of you are doing this, and you hope that it's not too much for either of you.

Relax. That's why you have safe words and gestures, you remind yourself. It's all gonna be fine.

Inside your phonecase, the keycard to your room sits snugly, and every time your fingers run over it, you’re reminded that this is all going to happen soon. You’re finally going to live out this fantasy. It’s gonna be fine, and fun, and hot.

Perhaps an eternity passes, even if it’s over in seconds, as your phone screen flickers to life with the sound of a timer. It’s time.

Ever since Ashveil got released I've wanted to write a Red Riding Hood fic, and after a lot of time slacking off, part 1 is done! I'm posting this part already because this fic got significantly longer than expected; part 2 will be out sometime this week!

Wallowing in self-pity inside his freezer is something he has come to see as part of his daily routine, the insecurity biting into him as much as the shadow in his arm. That is until light suddenly floods his eyes. After a few seconds of annoyed blinking, those grey eyes focus, and he stares into the cheeky expression of you, bent over him.

"Good afternoon, you sleepyhead!" You greet him cheerfully, taking a few steps backwards so he can get out of the big metal box. "I'm always surprised that you get cases at all when you lay in here like a corpse most of the day..."

With an annoyed moan, he gets up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm too old to work early in the morning. Most crimes happen at night anyway."

"You still don't look a day older than me. And your hips work better than mine," you grin. 

Pink floods his cheeks as he tries to stutter something in response. It would be a funny comment, a jab at his age, if he didn't know exactly what you’re alluding to. Aeons forbid a man still get some action at his age. It’s not like you’ve ever complained, after all.

"Come on, get up. Today is my day off, and I want to spend the day with my boyfriend. And no, I will NOT get into that freezer."

"Oh come on, it's cozy! Just gotta stay cuddled nice and close, it's really nice in the summer."

"Well I’d rather not catch a cold, thank you very much."

Ashveil laughs. A freezer turned cryocapsule really isn’t the best place to cuddle, and since his tiny, cluttered office has nothing better to offer, it's time to take the little walk over to your apartment so you two can spend the day glued to each other (and the couch, most likely)..

As he stands up, his limbs crack, back feeling sore. Ouch. This scrap of metal may be able to keep you young for several centuries, but the cramps and tension in his muscles afterwards is something he never looks forward to. Always the same with this damned thing.

Holding out his cane for him, you type something into your phone in the meantime. "Do we wanna watch the new episode of the show we started the other day?"

Just as he’s about to answer, he notices the little spider caught in your hair. Poor thing. He carefully reaches forward to remove the tiny stowaway before you can notice. Then it happens: a scream. Not just any scream: red-faced, trembling, breathing heavily, you press yourself against the wall, hands clasped tightly over your mouth.

Ashveil can only stare. At his cold prosthetic hand that just brushed over your nape, at your body and how you make yourself so small. He stares into your eyes, wide open. Full of shock, surprise... So pleading. 

This is the first time he has seen this expression on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks carefully, hoping that he didn’t hurt you by mistake.

You stutter. "YES! Uh-" your voice breaks, and it takes a few attempts until you can speak again.  "I- uh, your- your hand is cold, and- I. Uh, I-"

So the cold? Is that it?

Again, he lifts his freezing fingers and gently runs those metal claws over your skin, and the whimper in your throat floods his bloodstream with want. Such a beautiful sound, so sweet, unlike anything he has heard from you before. Ashveil needs to hear it again. Panic floods your eyes, uncertainty flickering and looking for an escape, and he’s quick to cage you against the wall with his healthy arm.

"Ah ah ah. Don't run away," he rasps, voice low and sultry as he presses his chest against yours, keeping you pressed against the wall. God, how your heartbeat hammers against him. He gently pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer and lifts your gaze to his. "Or do you not like this?"

If you didn't like it, you would have complained a long time ago. This silence is making him so, so ravenous. Do you even know what you’re doing to him right now, looking so utterly helpless?

You swallow. "I- I do, just-"

Ashveil has never wanted his hand back as much as he does now. The things he’d do to feel the throbbing in your veins, the things he’d sacrifice to feel the trembling of your skin. A metal fingertip gently moves from your cheek, tracing your vein, wandering further and further down your neck, until his hand disappears into your shirt. An icy claw gropes your chest.

"A- Ah-," you moan, biting your lip. "Ashveil..."

"Shh. It's all right. Just let go," he whispers. "I'll take good care of you, dear."

Though I was joking? I wasn't. My creative writing club has an NSFW session each semester, and this time, I got temperature play as a prompt. Who would fit better than our dear detective who sleeps in the freezer? If this sounds a bit off from my usual writing, I had to translate everything, so be nice.

Blinding him with the tiny light of his office, you open the door to the fridge, eyes wide and scared and so utterly sweet that it makes something inside him clench.

“Ash!” You cry, kneeling down next to the fridge so you can be at eye level with him. Instantly, your hands cup his cheeks, looking into those eyes that bear so much pain, even if they soften at the sight of you.

He tries himself at a smile, but only manages to wince. “Hey there, dear…”

“It's one of your episodes, isn't it? Shit, you should have told me –”

“Didn’t wanna worry you.”

“And yet here I am! Worried!” You scoff, tenderly wiping at a fresh cut on his face, likely stemming from his prosthetic scratching his cheek, if the claw marks on the inside of the fridge are anything to go by.

Every time this happens, you make him promise to tell you, so you can try to help, and every time, you only discover he went through an episode again after it is already over. How can you sit idly by when he needs you? How can you call yourself his love if you can't do anything for him? It's not fair. Why is he the one suffering, if he only ever wanted to help others?

Ashveil hasn't told you everything. You understand why, and you accept that it's for your own good. But when it comes to this – to something he has no control over, he feels just as helpless as you do.

Taking a deep breath, you stand up again. Even if your voice comes out like a broken croak, there is determination in it. “What do you need? If there's anything I can do for you – anything I can give you, please tell me.”

Don't. Don't offer yourself so sweetly, don't stick your head into the wolf’s mouth. Nothing good can come out of this. If you tempt him like this, he's only going to scare you away because, Aeons know, nobody would agree to this. Because of course there is something you can do. Of course there is. But he'd rather die than lose you.

For a fraction of a second, Ashveil's eyes flicker to the side, unwilling to meet your gaze. If there's something you've learned in your time with him, it's what that little gesture means.

“...spit it out,” you demand.

“My love-”

“Now.” Your tone leaves no room for discussion as you cross your arms in front of your chest, staring down at him.

Finally, Ashveil lets out a shaky breath. It's no use. The pain and hunger are wearing away at his resolve, and he finds himself blurting out the most horrifying sentence you could ever hear from his lips.

“I could… Devour you.” As soon as he sees the horror in your face, he quickly scrambles to his feet, taking your hands in his. He curses himself for being so bad with words. “Not as in- like, kill you-” 

He really isn't making it better. Dumb, dumb old wolf!

Ashveil bites his tongue, before he tries again. “My ‘shadow’ makes me hunger. It demands that I fill the void in me… That I feed it with malice and injustice.” Then, his tone softens. Softly, his clawed hand rubs over your knuckles. “But it also hungers for… love, for warmth. For something that I can call mine.”

You are frozen in place. This is more than he has ever told you about his affliction, and you can tell that the words only leave his mouth reluctantly. And devouring you? …What have you gotten yourself into?

“My shadow only consumes sin. It could never hurt you,” he insists. “So it's less about devouring and more about… knowing you're in there, and that I can protect you.” Ashveil clears his throat, grey eyes falling to the floor. “It is entirely safe, I promise. Yet I know that it's horrifying to even think about. Which is why I've never brought it up until now.”

Protection? That's the last thing on your mind when you think about a leviathan swallowing you. Still… you can see Ashveil's weary expression. See the exhaustion in him, the pain, the hunger, even if he tries to hide it. The way his hands shake in yours tells you enough. If he promises that it's safe… if it really helps him…

You gulp. “What will happen to me, once you swallow me?”

Look at you. The first to die in a horror movie. The innocent little lamb, happily trotting towards the executioner.

Ashveil perks up at the question, expecting shock, fear, disgust, a simple rejection, in the best case. He didn't expect you to want to know more, let alone actually consider it.

He clears his throat. “Well… once I swallow you, you'll be inside… me,“ he explains, though he struggles with what that means. “My shadow will hold onto you, until I feel better… or until you want out.”

“How will you know if I want out?”

Amidst the horror of this situation, his soft chuckle feels like a ray of sunshine peeking through clouds. “Don’t worry, dearest. The beast can taste everything inside of it. It will know how you feel, what you want, need…” 

Letting your hands drop, he goes to wrap his arms around your body, signing softly. You don’t even know all the emotions currently swirling inside of him, the exhaustion mixing with worry and yet it’s all permeated with the warmth of gratitude, with awe that maybe, just maybe, all the fear inside his heart was less warranted than he thought. 

His voice is a soft grumble against your ear. “It knows how important you are to me. And I won't let it harm you.”

Feeling his warmth around you grounds you, the anxiety of finding him in this state and then being presented with this choice leaving you dizzy. You can smell the faint scent of iron lingering, clinging to his skin and mixing with the distinct smell of freezer burn. Somehow, you know that this is no solution. Just a temporary thing to keep him safe and sane.

“...okay.”

It’s better than letting him fend for himself in the tiny freezer.

Ashveil’s grip around you tightens, and you feel him gulp. He takes your chin, making you look into his silver eyes, that pink tint overtaking them completely. “Are you sure? Because I won't let you do this unless you're absolutely certain.”

A deep breath. “I’m sure,” you nod, your hands finding his wrists, desperate for something to ground you. “I trust you.”

It makes him choke a bit. Despite the adrenaline he smells on you, you’re still willing to do this. Insanity, this is what all of this is, yet the way his gaze darkens and his breath grows heavy, he can’t deny how much he craves this. Aeons, he feels feral.

“...alright.” Giving in feels like the first breath after almost drowning. “Ready?”

You nod.

With the gentlest touch, Ashveil grabs your cheeks, pulling you closer into a kiss. Somehow, his lips always feel soft, even if he definitely doesn’t take care of himself well enough. The kiss is loving, reassuring, consolidating his promise to keep you safe. The more the kiss continues, however, the deeper it becomes, more passionate. Your lips are parted, letting his tongue slide inside your mouth, and it really feels like he wants to devour you. Small little feral groans and moans fill the air, a testament of what's really lurking beneath the surface.

Suddenly, you hear wet, squelching sounds come from underneath your feet, but Ashveil's grip is too strong to let you look down. You're scared, of course you are. Every creature is born with this instinct of self-preservation. Still, you do everything to fight it, because you want to help him. You need to help him. And so, instead of dreading what's to come, you close your eyes and wait for it to happen.

When your lips part, a giant maw engulfs you, and everything goes black.

What happens next is a mystery to both of you. One of his beasts devoured you, that's a fact. But how exactly you managed to get into him, or where you'd be, if they were to cut Ashveil open? That's an entirely different question.

Slowly, you wake up. The first thing you feel is the sheer warmth surrounding you, the humidity in the air. All around you, you feel something pressing against your body, warm walls that keep you there. When you open your eyes, you see nothing but darkness. Well, if you're inside of his… stomach? Arm? In any case, it would be weird if there were any light sources inside his body.

From the outside, Ashveil can feel you. Even if there's no visible change to him, he can feel you inside of him, filling that void that usually haunts him and threatens to tear him apart. Aeons, your aftertaste still lingers on his tongue… For the first time since he forced that cursed shadow into his arm, he not only feels peace – it's sheer bliss to have you inside of him.

Tentatively, Ashveil speaks up. “Can you hear me, little one?”

Wherever you are, his voice sounds muffled, words too far away to understand. Yet being able to hear him at all already calms your racing pulse somewhat. At least, you know that you're alive, and that this isn't some sort of purgatory. Uhm. You think. You doubt that he'd hear you if you were to answer, so instead, you tentatively try to explore what's around you, only relying on your other senses. Thankfully, there's no smell of bile or leftover takeout slowly dissolving in acid filling the air. In fact, you can't smell anything at all. Perhaps any food he consumes is assimilated instantly? Or you’re not in his stomach after all?

Slowly, you start to feel around your space. You're laying on something fleshy, encapsulated like a sardine in a tin, but you don't feel suffocated. It's more like being wrapped in lots and lots of blankets… This whole situation should weird you out more, so why was that the first comparison that came to your mind? Maybe you've really gotten used to living with and loving a beast.

Though Ashveil isn't sure what's happening, he knows that you're safe. He can feel you in there, can feel your steady heartbeat. Carefully, he lowers himself back into the fridge, writes a message to Mr. N to not disturb him, and closes the door. He doesn't need anyone interrupting this moment. He wants to savor this properly. Wants to savor you, buried so deep in his core, where nobody can harm you.

Just when you're about to see if you can reach for your phone, the sudden touch of something brushing against your leg makes your heart skip a beat. Is- is there anything else in here?

That's when you suddenly hear it.

“Mine.”

It's clearly Ashveil's voice, yet it sounds like anything but him. The word isn't a physical sound, but instead a deep, possessive growl that reverberates inside your head. Soon, that voice is joined by many more, all of them sounding like him, yet you know that it must be the shadow in his arm borrowing his voice.

“Sweet.” / “Cute.” / “Love.” / “Tasty”

They chant all around you as you feel more things brushing along your body, until thick, powerful tendrils coil around your arms and legs and your torso. For a second, you're worried that they'll squeeze you, but they simply undulate along your body, feeling every inch of you.

“Mine,” it growls again, but this time, it sounds less like a threat, and more like a giddy animal purring. One of them brushes against your cheek, and it's akin to a pet nuzzling its owner.

“Stay?” / “Stay.” / “Stay?” / “Stay!”

…just what have you gotten yourself into?

Timidly, your hand raises, hoping that nothing bad will happen when you touch the tendril. “... I'm staying.”

And when those words fall from your lips, the tendrils tighten around you in a loving embrace, keeping you trapped in the weirdest hug you've ever experienced.

You sigh. 

Every minute that you spend inside of him, Ashveil feels himself grow more and more tired. The violent spasms earlier drained his energy, and the added sensation of being sated only adds to his growing sleepiness. Like a wolf laying down to rest in his den after a long hunt, he can barely keep his eyes open, and frankly, he doesn't want to. You trust him – enough to now be inside of him. That alone fills him with so much love that he may just cry.

Similarly, with the way you're being surrounded by warmth from all sides, you can't help but feel incredibly sleepy despite your circumstances. Knowing that Ashveil is doing better, or at least so you hope, is bringing you a sense of comfort that only makes you feel all the more love for him. Realistically, you should be scared of this monster dwelling inside of him, holding you so tight. But how can you, when it's a part of him? When it wants you here, and needs you so?

Maybe you've really got a fucked up sense of self-preservation. Maybe you're just too trusting with this old wolf. But as you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, both you and Ashveil know that there's no other place you'd rather be right now.