A friend, a mate, and all things in-between
18+ MDNI, fem!reader/werewolf!bsf!kiba
premise: after finding out the truth about the role you supposedly play in kiba’s life, you settle on a compromise of taking things slow and seeing where the wind takes you while you’re at it.
cw: monsterfucking, knotting, implied breeding, mounting, size difference, omegaverse themes, werewolf saliva used as aphrodisiac. college/modern AU, friends to lovers, established mating bond, jealousy, descriptions of a close call-cheating encounter in the past, usage of sweetheart and bunny as pet names for reader.
wc: 22.8k
find part one here!
———
On Saturday, Kiba takes you out for dinner, exactly like he’d promised.
The restaurant by the lake that you’ve decided to visit is quaint as much as it is familiar. The lighting is dim but warm, and the tables are clean even if some of the edges have been smoothed out with age and use. Pictures and framed newspaper articles cover the walls. All of them feature your little town in some way or another.
There’s a pleasant tune playing on the tiny, white speakers that are fixed in the corner. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard the song on the radio before. The easy-going notes resemble the elevator music you sometimes hear whenever you go shopping at the local mall and have to reach the garage underneath, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad, necessarily.
If you had to describe the place, it reminds you of a diner that’s gotten stuck in the past, that is if a diner was situated next to a lake and the modern aspects of it were entirely excluded, of course.
After all, there is a shiny new coffee machine sitting behind the counter, and the waitress is wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt instead of a uniform and rollerblades — the latter being a missed opportunity in your opinion.
But speaking of time; both yourself and Kiba used to come here all the time back when you were younger, even going so far back that your feet were left dangling in the air as soon as your butts had plopped onto the same plushy chairs you’re sitting in now. Making choices was easier back then — the only food you ordered had come from the kids menu.
You can still hear his, ‘Are ya gonna finish that?’ somewhere in the back of your mind.
As well as his mother’s immediate hiss of disapproval, ‘For goodness’ sake, boy, let the poor girl eat her food in peace! With the way you’re acting, people are gonna start thinking that I don’t feed you enough.’
In the beginning, you both ate here with your parents. Afterwards — when the soles of your sneakers were able to firmly touch the floor and Kiba had won the bet and got his driver’s license well before you did — it was mostly just the two of you.
But as you sit across from him at the table that’s situated right next to the window, and which you’ve personally favoured for years — you know that he prefers the one that’s in the corner — you come to realize that this date is different from all the previous ones that you’ve been on in this exact place with him.
Because unlike the rest, this one is actually for real.
And it shows, you think. In many ways, with the most obvious one being the fact that your best friend has tidied himself up rather nicely despite the high temperatures outside.
There are jeans instead of gym shorts on his strong legs, and clean shoes on his feet instead of the busted sneakers that he swears up and down are still holding on just fine. He’s even gone through the hassle of putting on a short-sleeved button-up with a pretty pattern that cleverly melds into the colour of the cotton if you’re looking closely enough — not that you are!
In classic Kiba fashion, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone; open just enough for the glint of a thin golden chain to catch your eye whenever he tilts his head to the side or stretches his neck.
You haven’t been staring at the piece of jewelry for long, wondering where or who he’d gotten it from, however you can still tell that there’s no pendant hanging off the necklace. No charm or initial either.
Good.
Wait, wait, wait… why is that good? Are you by any chance hoping that he’ll agree to wear yours because of it?
The thought succeeds in heating up your face with stress — a popular emotion this entire situation has been evoking as of late. Ever since he had admitted that you were his mate back in the tent, you’re still feeling the pressure of deciding if you actually want to be one.
And placing a mark like that on him, clasping your golden initial around his neck and consequently announcing that he’s your property now… It’d signal just that, now wouldn’t it?
Attempting to whisk away the dilemma that’s been plaguing your mind for the last couple of days, you force your eyes to dip from your best friend’s neck, down to the plate of half-eaten food that you’ve still got sitting in front of you.
Your grip on the fork is tight as you chew. The food is good, even if you can’t taste it all that much from how absent-minded you are.
In a mere instant, Kiba is leaning in to ask, “You okay?”
He’s always asking that as of late.
Are you all right?
Is everything okay?
Are you sure?
“Yeah.” The nod you give him is so stiff and fast that it comes across as unnatural instead of genuine. “I’m fine.”
You try to ignore the curious smile that curls his lips as he continues to watch you eat, undoubtedly inhaling the anxiety that riddles your scent in subtle waves now.
He’s learned that it intensifies whenever his foot accidentally touches yours underneath the table. That it doubles in strength whenever he looks you in the eyes for too long. Sometimes it even happens when he grins. Practically everything seems to be setting you off today.
You’re nervous, that much is clear. Are way up in your head about this entire thing just like you are with everything else that happens in your life. And while finding out that you’re basically a perfect biological match for your best friend is no small feat, the young werewolf’s opinion remains: you need to fucking relax.
With how hard you’re squeezing that fork, it’s making him fear that you’re trying to split it in half — an act that he definitely wouldn’t mind doing to you again.
Woah there, reel it back in, lover boy… Easy!
Willing himself to push the dirty thought away by thinking about the food he’s eating instead, Kiba swallows the bite of steak he’d just been chewing on with a small, albeit conflicted sigh.
The meat tastes rich despite the fact that it’s been served nearly raw — the bloodier, the better when it comes to dining with a werewolf, you suppose — however, he finds it hard to fully appreciate the meal when unlike his taste buds, his libido is far from appeased.
“Anyways.” He pauses to glide the tip of his tongue across his front teeth, further appreciating the savory taste that’s stuck there before he leans in slightly closer again. “You look really pretty tonight.”
Hearing his compliment, you look up from your plate; carefully eyeing him from underneath your lashes which you’ve taken the time to coat with a thin layer of mascara before leaving the house. It was a decision made solely for your own peace of mind.
Well, probably.
Taking a shallow breath now, you ask, “I do?”
“What kind of stupid question is that… ‘Course you’re pretty, bunny. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on,” he says, chuckling quietly and propping his cheek against one palm with such ease that it’s almost scary.
Watching you succumb further into yourself in response to his niceness is entertaining as hell, he can’t lie. You’re lost, vulnerable. If looks as sweet as the one that’s sitting on your face right now had the power to kill, he’d be proclaimed a dead man ages ago.
It compels him to add, “You’ve always been pretty to me.”
Messing with you or not, what he says now is the truth. Sticking by your side in the role of your best friend for so many years, Kiba has seen you be at your best as often as he’s experienced you at your worst, and has nonetheless always, always thought the exact same thing about you: that you’re perfect.
Perfect for him, that is.
Whether you’re wearing trendy skirts or hoodies so big that they entirely hide your shape, he still likes you all the same. Whether you’re walking around with freshly washed hair and with make-up on your face, or you’re still stumbling around because you’ve just woken up from a nap that has left you all disoriented and sweaty — to him there’s no difference as long as it’s you.
Part of it is the bond’s doing. It veils you with an appeal that draws him to you no matter what. However, whilst that may be the case, he thinks that the majority of his wild infatuation has to do with plain familiarity instead.
After all, it’s your heart that is his favourite thing about you, that much he’s positive about… Even if the shy little smile that you give him now could be considered quite the competitor.
And quite the competitor it is! Kiba’s eyes are practically glued to the wet-like sheen of your lip gloss when you slowly shake your head to chide a meek, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he inquires immediately with a grin of his own.
“Stop flirting,” you say, placing the fork back onto your plate with a soft clink. Crossing your legs underneath the table, your body language is trying its hardest to appear strict as you add, “We said we were going to take it slow, remember…? Or are you just playing dumb on purpose?”
“What’re you talking about; we are taking it slow,” he says, his tone a matter-of-fact one. “Actually, I doubt it can get much slower than this.”
Your lips purse in response. “Talking in a way that makes you sound like you’re trying to get into my pants does not mean slow, Kiba.”
“You’re not wearing any pants, though.” His gaze slips down to the light sundress you’ve put on for the night. It makes your tits look great, but he knows you wouldn’t be happy to hear that.
You snap your fingers in front of his nose, forcing him to avert his attention from your dress. “That’s besides the point and you know it.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He takes another bite of his food, then points his fork at you, seemingly in an accusatory type of way as he mutters, “I’m just saying… If we did it my way, I would’ve bent you over ages ago.”
“Can… Can you not?! God.” You fight to extinguish the heat that immediately begins to simmer on your cheeks, but it’s proving to be quite difficult. The warmth is so strong that it even manages to travel down to the base of your neck. “Just… be quiet for a second, okay?”
His upper lip twitches as his grin widens. “Why?”
“Just ‘cause!”
Kiba huffs a laugh at the slightly higher pitch that you speak in now, shoulders shaking the tiniest bit. He watches you clear your throat and readjust in your seat, and even goes as far as to drag his gaze from your face to your neck when you reach over to take a small sip of the cocktail you’ve ordered. It still sits on the table looking half-full; creating a prominent circle of moisture on the crispy white table cloth underneath.
The drink is colourful and summery. Even has a little paper umbrella on top. He had joked about how girly it looks earlier, but had secretly considered ordering the exact same thing just to see what the inside of your mouth must taste like. After some consideration, he’d ended up settling on a coke though.
He knows you’d nag him to no end about drinking when he’s the one who’s driving… even if alcohol doesn’t do shit when it comes to him.
Still, girly drink or not, the ice somewhat succeeds in cooling you off and poses a challenge to the sudden heat of bashfulness that threatens to sweep you off your feet. It’s like all your senses have gone acute all of a sudden.
The sigh you let out because of it is one of only partial relief.
“What’s the matter? You hot?” Kiba teases instantly, his voice dropping so dangerously low that you can almost feel it reverberate in your bones. “Hot and bothered?”
“Shut up,” you hiss before taking another sip, this time a larger one. You need it if you wish to endure this menace of a man.
“What’s in it for me?” the mentioned menace questions now, taunting you with that infuriating half-smile that he knows damn well provokes you immensely. He even goes as far as to wiggle his eyebrows as he gives his best effort to purr, “Does it make you feel things, mm? Makes you wanna— Hey!”
His taunting gets replaced with a huff of disapproval when you suddenly kick him in the shin, making the fork rattle atop your plate. The kick itself is nowhere near to being powerful enough to actually hurt him, considering his thick skin and the firm cords of muscle that hide underneath, but it does get the message across. Kind of.
“What’d you do that for?” A playful little pout sits on Kiba’s mouth now. It makes him look younger than he actually is; makes him resemble the kid that you spent all your time with back in high school, as well as all the years prior to that.
“Because it was well deserved, you dumbass,” you mumble, still staring at his face. A small, slightly less nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat when he bristles in answer. “Now be quiet and eat your dinner.”
Not even batting an eye, he blurts out, “I’d rather eat you, though.”
You give it your best shot to scowl at him even if the tease sparks heat somewhere inside your middle all over again. It’s the reason why your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to be when you say, “You’re hopeless, you know that? Actually hopeless.”
“Actually, I think I'm quite on my game tonight.” He gives you a wink, reaching for his fork again. “But you can keep tellin’ yourself that if it makes ya feel any better, sweetheart.”
He’s right.
It makes you sigh.
———
The rest of your first proper date with your best friend goes well. Scarily so.
In fact, neither of you picks up the phone during the entirety of it. The only exception is when you decide to stalk your old classmates from high school together and share a good laugh about some of the results you stumble upon.
“Oh shit, he’s actually completely bald… What the hell?”
“Called it! I fuckin’ called it!”
Your face hurts from laughing so much and with the initial nervousness gone, dinner goes smoothly. You end up sharing dessert and talking nearly until closing time — releasing the growingly impatient waitress from your clutches at long last and mumbling sheepish apologies along the way because of it.
To be honest, the entire outing isn’t much different from all the previous ones you’ve indulged in the exact same restaurant all those years ago.
However, you soon find out that that is because the change in your dynamic presents itself afterwards; when he turns to look you in the eye the second you sit in his car and asks you if you want to go to his place, despite the fact that it’s getting late and he doesn’t live with his mom anymore.
And you go. You nod your head yes and you fucking go. For what reason, you, yourself don’t know, but you might as well find out while you’re at it.
So around quarter to midnight, you arrive to the little apartment that Kiba calls his new home. It’s cozy and a little messy, though not to a degree that should cause concern. Otherwise, it’s lived in and definitely your standard guy apartment.
He shows you the kitchen, immediately rolling his eyes when your gaze lands onto the small pile of dishes in the sink — two cereal bowls and a mug that for some reason says ‘World’s Best Dad’ on it — and points you in the direction of the bathroom, his roommate’s bedroom, and finally, his own room, which you tell him you’ll take a look at some other time, preferably during the day and when you don’t have three sugary cocktails coursing your blood and clouding your better judgement.
You did say that you were going to take it slow, after all.
By the time he drags you into the living room, you let out a small gasp of joy when you come face to face with Akamaru, who lays curled up on the couch, depicting the epitome of comfort.
Scurrying to sit down next to the big pup and offering him your hand to sniff so that he can hopefully recognize you despite not seeing you in years, you begin to understand what Kiba had meant with the term ‘senior dog’ during your camping trip earlier.
Christ, he’s gotten so old.
“So, what do you think?” your best friend calls out from the hallway now. He’d gone there to hang up your jacket for you at first, but it seems like he’s also using the chance to turn off the lights as he goes.
…As well as to run off into his room to change his fancy clothes for a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a simple T-shirt. Typical.
“It’s a nice place. Pretty spacious.” You’re too busy petting Akamaru, pretending you aren’t interested in him when he throws himself onto the couch right next to you, even if your body tenses up just the tiniest bit at the closeness.
You’ve already fucked him, for crying out loud — several times in the span of one night. What are you acting so damn nervous for?
“But?” he mumbles, seemingly not noticing the subtle change in your body language as he crosses his ankles and flicks on the television.
“What do you mean but? There’s no but,” you chide in answer, still scratching the white canine behind the ears and really trying to put all your focus into the movement instead of the warmth of your best friend’s body that is slowly spilling into your side now.
The brown patches in Akamaru’s fur have gotten dull in colour with old age. His eyes look tired and he’s also nowhere as lively as he used to be, though he still puts in the effort to give you an appreciative little wag of his tail when your fingers dig into the sweet spot that you remember is hiding underneath his chin.
“There’s always a but with you,” Kiba insists, changing the channel yet again. He’s not paying attention to the TV, not really anyways, but he pretends that he does just so that you can breathe a little easier.
However, when you turn your head so that you can shoot him a glare for the sly remark, you catch him staring right back at you with that stupidly lovestruck smile playing on his lips.
Lowering your gaze, you try to act like it doesn’t cause butterflies to start fluttering inside your belly. Meanwhile, he tries to act like he can’t smell the sudden sweetness that the feeling evokes in your scent.
“Oh, fine.” You pause, ceasing the petting for a moment. “I suppose it could use a little bit of a woman’s touch here and there… And you definitely could’ve washed the dishes prior to inviting me, but that’s all.”
“For your information, I didn’t wash the dishes ‘cause it’s Kankuro’s turn to do ‘em,” he says. And grins. “And if the place really needs a woman’s touch as badly as you say it does, then you’re more than welcome to touch it all over.”
“Kankuro is your roommate, I take it?” you ask, choosing to skip over the thing he’s hinting at. The butterflies still continue to flutter, though.
“Yep,” Kiba replies, playing with the remote now. The symbol on the power button has long since faded out with use and it doesn’t surprise him really. Him and Kankuro had found the TV on Facebook Marketplace. Bought it so cheap that it felt like a steal.
You listen to the quiet click of claws as Akamaru slides off the couch and ventures down the hallway, aiming straight towards Kiba’s bedroom. He’s probably going to use the chance to hog up as much space on the bed as he possibly can before his owner can beat him to it. Smart dog.
“What’s he like?” you inquire. “This Kankuro guy?”
“He’s, you know… Kanks is just a regular dude as far as I’m concerned,” your best friend says, still staring at the remote. “Cleans up after himself and is good with Akamaru. He does that cosplayin’ shit from time to time, though… Paints his face for those anime conventions that you see online and stuff. It’s pretty dope.”
“Does he know about,” you trail off, making sure to lower your voice just in case, “you know… The whole howling at the moon thingy?”
“Fuck no.” Kiba shakes his head, his lips curling into a smile. “You, Hana and mom are still the only ones who know, but now I’m kind of starting to think that I should’ve kept it a family secret instead of telling your dorky ass about it… Howling at the moon thingy? What are ya; twelve?”
You stick your tongue out at him at the remark. He tries not to stare at it for too long.
“Say…” A couple of moments pass. Your gaze dips to your lap as you ask, “How come you never told Tamaki?”
The mention of his ex-girlfriend makes Kiba want to cringe. His smile falters, twitching downwards at the corners, but he forces it to remain at least semi-present despite the fact that you’re not looking at him. Either your hands must have become the most interesting thing in the world, or you’re ashamed for inquiring about his past relationships.
“Ah, you know,” he mutters after a short moment of silence. His tone sounds very distant out of the blue. “Just never found the right time for it, I suppose.”
You hum at his answer; just a little noise of acknowledgement. “You never found the time even after being with her for… several years?”
How could he, if it also meant having to explain that he was eternally tied to his best friend; the girl he’d always assured her that she shouldn’t be worried about?
Kiba gives a hard, obvious swallow, unable to stop his jaw from clenching a little. “Yeah.”
You pick at your nails, pretending there’s something underneath them in order to appear busy. “Do you miss her?”
“I, um… I think I used to, but I definitely don’t anymore.” He sees the dumbfounded look you give him now and scrubs a tired hand over his face. “I know it sounds awful when I put it like that, trust me, I know, but the bond between me and you doesn’t let me feel things like… that anymore. For other people, I mean. It’s just… It’s a bitch to explain.”
He had loved Tamaki. Perhaps he still does; in a way that would never be enough for her and that is considerably less than what she actually deserves, but after finally connecting with you, his mate, the mere thought of ever being intimate with someone else again repulses him greatly.
He’d tried to make it work. To give her what she’d desired, deserved. Every embrace, kiss, conversation, trip, and so much more. However, you’d always been right there, sitting in the back of his mind during it all. And now that he’d gotten the chance to place his mouth on yours, and had tasted you, had been inside you, he feels so fucking stupid for even attempting to do such a thing in the first place.
It’s either you or nobody.
“So, anyway… Cosplay, huh?” you ask randomly, clearly trying to brush the heavy topic away despite being the one who initiated it.
He blinks, slowly. “What about it?”
“You really think it’s cool?”
“Yes,” he snips all of a sudden. The change of tone makes you even more puzzled than you already are, especially when he adds, “Is it that hard to believe or somethin’?”
“Well… yeah,” you mumble while scratching your cheek. It’s a challenge to contain the surprise that tries to show on your face now; your eyebrows are insisting on rising up nearly to your hairline. “I mean, the Kiba I know would’ve straight up bullied a person like that.”
He blanches at your statement. “That was one time! I was just being honest with the poor suckers when I told them that carrying Yu-Gi-Oh! cards to school is the reason why they’re all still virgins… In fact, I was probably doing them a favour!”
“No,” you object. “You were being mean.”
“Then it’s a good thing that we’re not in high school anymore, I guess.” He flicks the remote onto a nearby pillow and crosses his arms behind his head before he says, “And just so you know, I’m not just some mean asshole that you constantly keep referring to me as. People can change. Myself included.”
“I didn’t–... I didn’t mean it like that,” you reply a bit too fast, feeling every blink your eyelids make. His gaze is unmoving from your face and it’s causing you to become hyper-aware of your body. “I know there’s more to you than just acting like a prick, come on. I wouldn’t be friends with you otherwise.”
He sighs in answer, his face tight. You do the same.
Awkwardness settles in.
“Uh,” you utter at some point, finally daring to look up at him again. “Want to tell me the reason why you like it, though?”
“Like what?” he asks dumbly.
“Cosplay.”
“Oh.” A brief second passes before he, at long last, chuckles. You’re relieved to see his shoulders sag a bit with it. “Well, if I’ve gotta pick one thing, I guess it’s ‘cause most of the chicks are dressed in those hot, skintight bodysuits?”
“Seriously?” A pang of jealousy resonates within you, but you do your best to repress it. It’s too early to be feeling all that. “That’s the best thing you can come up with? Girls in tight bodysuits?”
“No, I’m just messin’ with ya, hah…” He grins, but swallows thickly again and runs his fingers over the back of his head before he continues, “While those are nice, don’t get me wrong, I guess I really like it because it’s like Halloween, in a way?”
“Halloween?” you repeat, even more confused.
“Yeah.” He gives you a nod that could almost come across as sheepish. “Someone can dress up as something that’s supposed to be big and scary, and when people see it, they aren’t… Well, they aren’t afraid of it, necessarily? Instead they just think it’s cool and fun, you know?”
Finally, Kiba tears his gaze from your face, allowing it to settle onto his lap instead. Silence stretches between you once more as you continue to stare at him. Your head tilts to the side just as his drops lower, and you make the decision to reach out so that you can gently pat his knee in understanding.
Your entire body begins to glow from within when his hand rests atop your own. He traces your knuckles and gives them a gentle squeeze. The sensation is truly something you haven’t had the chance to experience before with anyone other than your best friend. There’s just so much nostalgia hiding in the small portrayal of affection.
The tone of your voice slips into something soft because of it, so soft that it comes across as barely above a whisper even to his sensitive wolf hearing when you ask, “I take it that that someone is you, in your… other form?”
“What? No, I, uh… It’s not me.” He lets go of your hand to awkwardly clear his throat, trying to ignore the sudden ache that appears in it before he sits cross-legged and rests his elbows on his knees.
By the time he’s ready to speak again, he’s already fiddling with his fingers. “Besides, even if I actually wanted to go, I still couldn’t. I’m far too big for that. Far too… scary-lookin’.”
He wants to though, you can see it bright as day. Can see that he’s tired of hiding a whole other half of himself — a half that he’ll unfortunately have to keep hidden for as long as he lives. Tired of making excuses and being overly cautious when he’s the exact opposite of it, and missing out on important events whenever they’re set on days following up to a full moon. Tired of receiving weird, uncomfortable glances whenever instinct takes over and his true nature pushes forward a bit too far past the barriers, when all he yearns for is to be liked.
Just… fed up with it all.
However, you also know that Kiba hates being perceived as vulnerable. So rather than moping with him and indulging his sadness and thus worsening it, you instead use the chance to snort and playfully nudge him in the shoulder.
“Oh, yeah?” you say, making sure the lilt in your voice is overly noticeable. “Is that so?”
The nudge you give him makes him look up, as does the sudden change in your tone. At the sight of your friendly smile and the challenge simmering in your eyes, his expression eventually lightens to something a bit less stormy.
You’ll do just about anything to drag your best friend out of the bubble of melancholy that he’s surrounded himself with.
And the best thing about it? You know that he would’ve done the same for you.
“Yeah,” he says, playing along now, albeit reluctantly. He’s still not quite where you want him exactly, but you’re getting there.
“Well, how big and scary are we talking, big boy?” you continue to inquire, wiggling your eyebrows.
“I–” He snickers at your flirtatious prodding, rolling his eyes right afterwards. “Too big for anyone to handle,” he says, “and that includes you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Can he truly get that big? You’ve never had the chance to see him turn full wolf yet, so his statement causes your stomach to fill with warmth. Heat travels downwards, over your thighs and between your legs, and you swear that you can hear him inhale a breath that’s slightly deeper than usual when it happens.
The unannounced nerves are making you want to start pacing around the room, but you force your body to keep still.
“Well, you not believing me ain’t my problem, now is it?” he says, his smile suddenly wistful now. The light that comes from the TV makes his unnaturally big canines glimmer with moisture. It’s hard to not look at his mouth because of it.
Words slightly wobbly, you manage to say, “I’m your mate, though.”
Mate. He perks up at the word, just like he always does, but his voice doesn’t make him sound particularly fazed as he utters, “And?”
“And that makes me your problem,” you explain, finally daring to move so that you can scratch your cheek again. It’s nothing more but an attempt at self-soothing. “Doesn’t it?”
You’re unsure why you’re pushing on this specific topic — especially after being the one who had once again suggested taking things slow in the first place — however, to be fair, you’ve been curious about it for a long while, even before you’d tangled yourself into this whole ‘bonded for life’ mess.
But now that the link has been revealed, the desire to lay your eyes on the unthinkable has become as potent as ever.
There is just something so undeniably appealing about the idea of seeing him in his werewolf form. Something thrilling in discovering the unknown; touching it with your hands and grazing it with the tips of your fingers. Something reassuring in accepting all of him, especially after he’d just partially trusted you with his insecurities revolving around this specific topic.
So yes, it’s either that, or it’s the newly discovered monsterfucker that’s been hiding inside you this whole time that’s talking and coaxing him into showing himself now. Or perhaps it’s both. Who knows?
You try to feign indifference to the best of your capability as you wait for his answer, even if every single inch of you is buzzing with relentless expectation.
With bated breath that could very well match your own to perfection, Kiba inches ever so slightly closer, seemingly completely unintentionally. His gaze is laser-focused as he studies every feature that your face provides. The curve of your jaw, the shape of your lips, the colour of your eyes — he burns it all into memory before he at long last settles on the upper corner of your left cheek.
His burning stare causes your heart to pound faster than it normally would, and you know that he can hear it despite the fact that his ears are nowhere near your chest. Still, you insist on not moving a muscle. Insist on being brave.
“I’m too big for ya,” he says finally, gesturing over himself with his hand. “This is all you’re gonna get after you’re done playing the ‘takin’ it slow’ game with me.”
You bristle, clearly displeased with his answer. “But I’m–”
“It doesn’t work like that,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “Believe me, I wish it would, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re only human.”
“Humans can adapt! And being one, as you’ve so kindly pointed out, I’m pretty sure I can take it,” you object, heart still going thump, thump, thump! Something tells you that this isn’t just about cheering him up anymore. “Actually, I know I can.”
If he’s fucked you like a feral animal without transforming, how off the rails can he get if he doesn’t have anything holding him back anymore?
You tense up when he gives you a harsh, almost derisive kind of laugh. Sit straighter when he says, “I’d tear you to shreds.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“The point is that I could.” The corners of his mouth twitch downwards at the horrible thought. “And that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”
You roll your eyes. “Since when are you one to say no to taking risks?”
“Since last week,” he replies. “Give or take.”
“You mean…?” A quick wave of heat washes over your face again. You went camping last week and he’d slipped into rut whilst sharing a tent with you; accidentally confessing everything that’s tied him to you ever since he’d first laid eyes on you all those years ago.
He nods. “You’d be surprised how much being with a mate can change a wolf… I’m boring as fuck now.”
“But I don’t want you to change! I love you just the way you are,” you find yourself saying. The reason must be that last cocktail you persuaded yourself into ordering and eventually drinking. It’s untied your tongue like it’s nothing but a measly shoelace.
Nevertheless…
Love.
Kiba’s breath hitches at the word, deeply-rooted emotions swelling within his broad chest, however he — very painfully — chooses not to ask to hear it again as soon as the subtle whiff of anxiety wafts over to his nose.
You’re embarrassed because of what you’ve just said. It makes his chest squeeze to the brink of pain.
“I mean–” you start, fumbling with your words. “I–”
“It’s okay,” he says, patting your knee as casually as he’s able despite the fact that the smile he gives you now seems just a smidge too tight. “I know what you meant. Now stop making it awkward or I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
Hyper-sensitive — his touch lights your skin on fire. His palm barely moves from its initial spot, but you can feel every callus to adorn his fingers, every minuscule stroke, as well as the reassuring squeeze that makes you want to straight up jump his bones.
And fuck, it’s nice. So nice, in fact, that it persuades you to stop him when he goes to pull his hand off your leg.
“Wait… don’t.”
“Mm?”
“You can touch me.” The words roll off your tongue before you can reel them back in again, but you still decide to put on your bravest front even if your upper lip is a second away from quivering.
Short-lived surprise crosses Kiba’s face. You watch with nervous eyes as his hand falters before it eventually settles on its original spot again. He grasps it more firmly this time. Squeezes with intent instead of reassurance.
There’s a beat of unsure stillness in the air before he brings himself to ask, “Like that?”
You give him a nod, feeling a little more confident while also paying mind not to be so tense. There are so many things you have to keep track of; god, why can’t you just relax and be more like him? Everything has to be so darn complicated whenever it comes to you!
“Bunny,” he says, his tone still slightly unsure. “I thought I told you to stop making it awkward.”
Phantom lightning strikes your insides, melting them into liquid. “I’m not making it awkward.”
“‘Course you are. You’re completely stiff.” His grip tightens and it makes your eyes grow wide and your body turn even tenser in response.
His own eyes aren’t their usual chocolate brown shade when he lifts his gaze to look at you again, but they sure are dark as sin.
“See?” is all he says, a little out of breath.
“I’m not,” you insist, the sentence completely useless. Your throat feels terribly dry all of a sudden. It makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. “You’re just… imagining things.”
He quirks one brow. Repeats your challenge from earlier with the same tone, “Oh, yeah?”
You bite your lip — a lame attempt to refocus. “Yeah.”
But before you know it, he uses one hand to shove you until you’re laying flat on your back, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, causing you to let out a little noise of startlement.
His head pops into your field of vision as he hovers over you now. Aside from the light that comes from the TV, the room is shrouded in darkness. It makes only half of his face visible, however you can still see the glimmer of his teeth when he smiles down at you.
“You’re still sure about me imagining things?” he asks, clasping his fingers around the fat of your thigh. “‘Cause this is looking pretty real to me.”
“Y-yes,” you reply, challenging him further. “I’m sure.”
His grin turns wolfish as he drags his gaze over your somewhat disheveled form. Across both of your collarbones, now exposed due to the thin spaghetti straps of your dress slipping off your shoulders slightly, as well as the rising hem that’s slowly showing off more and more of your legs.
He’s looking at you like he’s planning to eat you. But rather than digging in, all he does is sneer as he says, “Brave words for someone who oddly resembles a plank right now.”
Well… that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.
“Fuck you,” you drawl in answer, a mere hint of disappointment crossing your features — disappointment you’ll never admit to feeling. Urging your body to relax once more just so that you can prove him wrong, you instead try to focus on calming down your breathing.
However, it’s hard to do so when your best friend is literally on top of you, watching you with hungry eyes and the most complacent of smiles. Hard to do so when his fingers are now toying with the string that ties the front of your dress together and holds your tits in place. Hard to do so when—
A small gasp escapes your lips when he jabs you in the side all of a sudden.
The bridge of your nose scrunches in annoyance. When you try to stop him from repeating the action, he just takes you by the wrist and uses the chance to pin it above your head. “Don’t do that.”
“Or what?” He huffs a laugh at your weak attempt to fight back. Pokes you in the side again, making you whine. “What are you gonna do ‘bout it, hmm?”
You don’t say anything as you squirm underneath him, trying to break free from his grip, but your efforts are to no avail. He’s got you locked in tight; has even made sure to pin your other hand the same way he did the first one when you tried to use it to push him in the chest.
“C’mon, bunny,” he taunts, his smile growing, growing, growing. Gosh, he really is such a wolf, isn’t he? “Is that really the best you can do?”
“No, it’s just not fair,” you say, trying to tame your pulse. The position you’ve wound up in is making your mind wander to all sorts of things. Dirty things.
“What’s not fair?” he asks, rubbing his thumb across your wrist.
“The fact that you’re so much stronger than me and expect me to throw you off like it’s nothing,” you mumble, huffing as you look up at the spot where he’s pressing down on your wrists. “I mean, how am I supposed to do anything, when you can hold me down with just one hand?”
The way his pupils widen with obvious excitement at your statement should concern you, but you know better than to think that he’d ever actually hurt you. It’s just the predator in him playing. A side he cannot stop from slipping into the spotlight every so often. A side he feels safe enough to share with you.
He likes being described as big and overpowering. Call it a guilty pleasure.
“Try using your legs,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with want. You can still distinguish the smile in it though. “I heard bunnies are supposed to have quite a kick to ‘em.”
“I’m not an actual bunny, shut up,” you fuss, but do exactly as he says. You kick your legs…
…and end up wrapping them around his waist instead.
Flustered warmth sears your face, neck and chest all over again as your ankles lock on the small of his back seemingly by their own accord. The skirt of your dress hikes up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs; offering him a glimpse of your cutesy underwear that you didn’t think twice about wearing because you weren’t planning on starting anything with him tonight.
And yet here you are.
The rise in temperature that you’re feeling all over blazes into something more profound now. Heat gathers in your stomach. Your legs. Between them, too. Anticipation tightens your skin, bringing the blood that runs underneath it to an angry simmer.
Kiba’s smile slowly fades when he senses the particular tension that now riddles the air around you. You stare at each other even if it’s hard for you and easy for him. For fuck’s sake, it feels like he’s burning holes into your fucking forehead when he looks at you like that.
“What is it?” you ask, nerves working overtime. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”
“You smell so fucking good when you’re turned on, did you know that?” he rasps in answer, completely ignoring your question and pitiful attempt at diffusing the situation. His nose is already leading him to that very tender spot hiding in the crook of your neck.
You flinch when he nudges your jawline, silently asking you for permission to give him more space. Not trusting the lump of nervosity that’s taken up residency inside your throat to not betray you all of a sudden, you allow it wordlessly and by angling your head slightly to the right.
“Your scent is so… I can smell how wet your cunt is even from here, god,” he trails off without an ounce of shame, every word lower and lower in tone. He takes another deep breath. Savours it with a soft groan. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”
Embarrassment flashes through you like lightning does a stormy sky. The realization that he can immediately pick up on the scent of your arousal — as well as the aftermath that the ability brings — is overwhelming.
It makes your heart thrum even faster than it did before. Consequently, your thoughts are now nothing more but a jumbled mess as you desperately attempt to tame your pulse back into a rhythm that’s normal instead of completely erratic.
But it’s not just you who’s having a hard time. The muscles in Kiba’s arms have gone completely stiff and his inhales are deep and audible instead of calm. He only pauses them to press cautious little kisses over your neck, most of which he eventually starts mixing with even smaller nips with the help of his teeth.
You’re pouring with sweat because of it. His apartment is warm, too warm even if it didn’t feel like that before, and his mouth is hot just like his tongue is as it repeatedly presses against your sweet spot. The action even causes goosebumps to appear all over your arms and legs. Great.
“Relax,” he mumbles, the tip of his nose practically smushed against your neck. “We’ve done this before.”
“What makes you think that we’ll do it again?” you hiss, fighting tooth and nail to appear authoritative. It doesn’t come off as strongly as you want it to, though.
“Call it a hunch,” he says, unable to resist a smirk. “Or whatever.”
Your lips remain a firm line. Unimpressed. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Sure am,” he trails off with a lazy grin as his fingers brush the side of your neck. He looks at you. And winks. “You can be too, if you wanna. Full of me, I mean.”
“N-no?! The hell,” you splutter out, squirming even more. Sly motherfucker, damn him. “I thought I told you-”
“Relax! C’mon,” he repeats, huffing another laugh. “You know damn well that I’m just fucking with you, sorry, messing… No need to lecture me all the time.”
You roll your eyes. “You say that as if you can actually be lectured in the first place.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Did it ever cross that naggy mind of yours that I don’t listen to you because I don’t want to, and not because I can’t?”
“Oh yeah, many times,” you reply, glaring at him. “Drives my naggy mind crazy.”
He muses like a satisfied cat at your statement. “You drive me crazy.”
“Stop hitting on me!” Your entire face scrunches up in annoyance. “Sweet talking isn’t gonna get you laid.”
“Then what will?” He drags his tongue along your pulse point. Blows air on the trail of saliva so that he can watch you writhe at the cold sensation to overcome you, then. “You want me to chase you around a lil’ bit first? Play a little game of prey versus predator with ya to get you to sit on my dick tonight?”
A small groan of agitation is the best you can do when it comes to answering his taunting.
“Or do you want me to really work for it, hmm, bunny?” His grip tightens around your wrists. As if to serve as a reminder. “Even though, judging by how you’re lookin’ right now, I could just take it all for myself either way?”
Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. “You wouldn’t.”
His upper lip curls, revealing those sharp canine teeth again. “Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t.”
But he could.
Still, your breaths continue to intermingle. Doubt gets overridden by lust. Hands explore; one pair of them courageous as it can be, the other perfectly timid in contrast. The former even uses that courage to hike the hem of your dress up to your waist, completely exposing your lower half amidst all the grinding and writhing that’s slowly, but surely, coming into fruition.
Kiba looks like he’s already won as he leers between your legs with that obnoxiously knowing glint in his eye and the equally as infuriating half-smile.
He seems to be aware that you’re trying your absolute hardest not to react to the obvious bulge that’s in his sweatpants now. That you’re trying to ignore the rushing thrill that surges through you whenever he presses it against your traitor of a cunt — which still hides under the plain cotton panties you apparently swore you wouldn’t let him see tonight.
So he pushes it against you again. And again. Applying pressure, rubbing, testing out the playing field, waiting for you to tell him to stop.
You don’t though. No, all you do is bite your lip in order to suppress the moan that’s impatiently waiting behind your clenched teeth and wiggle your hips whenever the hot contact strikes.
“Fuck, you’re so cute.” He can’t hide how entertained he is as he mumbles, “You want my cock? ‘Cause I’ll more than gladly give it to ya.”
A low hiss slips past your lips when his hard-on manages to bump your clit over the layers of clothes. It makes your brows furrow and your legs squeeze around his waist even tighter.
“I didn’t–” You pause to close your eyes and inhale a rather wobbly breath. By the time you open them again, he’s already staring right back. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, his own eyes flashing with what you think could be pride. “I can already tell from how fuckin’ soaked you are... Look.”
He reaches down between you then, running a single knuckle down your clothed slit. Your hips buck in answer to the touch almost immediately; the damp patch that’s formed on your underwear now turning more noticeable, shaping the outline of your pussy even further.
It makes him yearn to tug your panties to the side so that he can feel the slick coating his fingers before he can push them into your tight little hole, but he knows you’ll cause a fuss and close up on him if he moves even a smidge too quickly for your liking.
Still, the sight nearly makes him drool. His cock twitches. Starts to physically ache with need. It’s not as bad as it was during his rut last week, but fuck… this entire stage of foreplay and trying to lure you into pound town could be a close second, he can’t lie.
“Do you always get this wet whenever someone touches you,” he finds himself asking, “or is all of this just f’me?”
He hopes it’s the latter. Wants it so bad. The mere thought of someone else seeing you like this, touching you, spreading their scent all over you, claiming you, loving you… He’d let you go if you wanted to be with someone other than him, he’s told you so before, but that doesn’t mean that he’d be particularly happy about it.
Actually, he’d be quite miserable. Excruciatingly so.
You give him a pointed glare, face stern. He’s received the same look from you so many times over the years that he’s grown to love it, but you don’t fail to notice how his smile tightens with each passing moment that he waits for you to answer his question.
“Well?” he pushes, unable to resist. His eyes are getting more yellow by the second and his teeth are getting bigger. It makes his voice sound gruff as he says, “Who’s it for, bunny, mm?”
“I’m not telling you,” you say quietly, trying to make sense of all the emotions that are swelling up inside your chest now.
It’s a challenge to do so when they’ve been continuously swept under the rug for years on end and have only just recently been brought back into the open, though. When you’re unsure where your friendship stands. When you don’t even know if the love that your best friend feels for you is actually genuine, or if it’s just a thing that’s been forced forward solely because of the mating bond that eternally connects him to you.
You can’t help but wonder: would he still love you the same way he loves you now even if you weren’t his mate? If he were nothing more but a simple human, unable to connect with someone on such a deep biological level. Would he still fall for you — his best friend?
Or would he still be with his now ex-girlfriend, surely renting an apartment with her and exchanging doting glances and smiles during breakfast every morning, mind completely free from you the second you’d leave for college after every summer?
Would he even be your friend?
What if you’re just a burden to him?
“Hey.”
The sudden pinch that you receive to your left cheek tugs you out of your inner turmoil that has come to plague you all of a sudden.
Kiba’s eyebrows are cinched tight when you blink up at him. A small wrinkle of worry etches into his forehead and continues to deepen with the heavy silence to surround you. Even his jaw seems to be set firmly in place.
Instead of hot and bothered, he just looks plain worried now despite the gleam of sweat on his brow and the almost sex hair.
“Mm?” is all you decide to let out whilst rubbing your wrists that he’s since let go of.
“You okay?” he asks, choosing to stroke your cheek instead of pinching it this time around. The pads of his fingers are rough, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. “You’ve completely zoned out on me just now.”
“I’m fine,” you say, despite that your chest remains feeling unbearably tight. The urge to touch it as a means to console yourself is hard to suppress, however you’re well aware that it’d just cause him to worry even further. “Sorry.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you smell kind of sad all of a sudden,” he mumbles, wolf eyes still zeroing in on you. He’s following every minuscule movement you make and it’s unnerving. “And I don’t know about you, but that definitely ain’t a thing a dude would want his girl to feel when he’s planning on sinking balls deep into her.”
“Sad?” you repeat, ignoring the lewd comment even if it makes you feel tingly between your legs. His cock, albeit not as hard anymore, is still persistently pressing against your pussy.
“Yeah,” he says. “Kind of like rain.”
This fascinates you. Your expression lightens as a result. “You mean like petrichor?”
He gives you somewhat of a dumb look, biting the inside of his cheek. “What?”
“Never mind, it’s just something dorky we learned in school,” you say, chuckling faintly at the confused puzzlement that now sits on his face. “Forget I said anything.”
He doesn’t respond, so you sigh, running your palm over the side of your neck he’d just been kissing a moment prior. The skin there is still warm. Tender. It makes you shiver when your fingers graze it.
“C’mon, what’s wrong?” he mutters, still eyeing you just as intensely as before. “I can tell whenever something’s bothering you… Spit it out.”
“Nothing is bothering me, okay? Gosh,” you try to reassure him, but still turn your head to the side to stare at the television.
The movie he’d put on earlier is already halfway through and you doubt he has the option to rewind it. Oh, well.
Watching you dismiss the entire thing, Kiba looks like he’s about to fight you on it, surely getting ready to accuse you of being a liar like he’s had a habit of playfully doing in the past. However, just when his mouth pops open to say the words, you prevent him from doing so by pressing both of your palms on his front and gathering up his T-shirt between your fingers.
He stills only for a second before he starts to push out his chest at your touch, puffing up with male-like bravado as he goes. His shoulders square up. His eyes flash with that sublime yellow colour. And you might be imagining the whole thing at this point, but you swear that even his scent grows stronger in intensity.
The entire room is engulfed by that signature amber scent now. You peer up at him once more, mind slightly hazy and astounded.
But besides the astonishment, you also feel… soothed. Kind of.
Burden or no burden, he’s down bad for you all the same, isn’t he?
“What is it now?” he grumbles in answer to the wide look in your eyes. “You’re starin’ at me all weird-like again.”
You swallow the saliva that’s gathered in your mouth for what must be the millionth time tonight. It’s runny and thin, laced with adrenaline. “Are you courting me right now?”
“Huh?” His face twists into a look of pure confusion for a second time in a row.
“You’re pushing your chest out like a bird during one of those mating dances that you see on TV,” you explain, tugging on his T-shirt as if it’ll help you prove your point. “Are you trying to impress me or something?”
“Tsch… What? No... It’s just, ah… The fuck?” He blinks, shaking his head as if he’s trying to get his thoughts in order. His back hunches slightly with the action. You’ve caught him completely off guard.
You smile. “What is it, then?”
“It’s just my body reacting to a mate’s touch, damn… I told you about it in the woods last week, didn’t I? What’s with all the questions all of a sudden?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth once more, apparently unaffected by what you have to say, but also immediately draws back; causing distance until he’s lying between you and the backrest of the couch instead of on top of you.
You’re not aware of it, but he’s beginning to blush like a sucker after he realizes how that treacherously primal part of his brain had made him react just now — fully without his knowledge.
Trying to appear bigger and wooing you with his scent? What are you, animals? Besides, you aren’t even capable of distinguishing pheromones like he can, for fuck’s sake! What’s he doing all of this weird shit for?!
This time, heat continues to climb up Kiba’s neck instead of yours, and overtakes his entire face with such speed that it makes his cheeks itchy. Even the tips of his ears have turned hot to the touch. He feels like he’s on the verge of melting into a puddle of despair any second now.
Gosh, you must think he’s such a loser.
He doesn’t say anything else as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer until your back is pressed against his chest, feeling slightly relieved to not hear any protests from your side.
But to some extent, he’s not all that surprised. While you might be taking this entire thing slow, spooning is nothing new. You’ve done it even whilst you were both desperately trying to keep your friendship as something purely platonic instead of whatever it is now. So when you compare it to all the grinding that you did just now, this is angel city.
His voice is barely above a sheepish murmur as he says, “Whatever… Let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”
You don’t mention that the film is nearing its end and that you’ve already seen it in theaters a couple months ago with your friends from college. Nor the fact that you found his little portrayal of desire — as well as the feeling of embarrassment that followed it afterwards — outright adorable and that it helped ease your worries a little bit.
No, all you do is snuggle up closer to him and nod your head yes.
———
Summer passes by quickly when you’re reunited with your best friend again.
If you had to describe the last couple of months with one word, it’d be nostalgic. During the days when he’s off work and you’re not busy with your family, Kiba makes sure to take you on a trip down memory lane one way or another.
On some evenings, you drop by the small convenience store that you used to constantly occupy as kids, so that you can buy popsicles and then sit on a bench in the nearby park; taking turns licking the different flavours and talking late into the night, or at least until the artificial colouring has been wiped away from your tongues.
On particularly hot days, you drive to the lake where you’ve both been taught how to swim by your parents in order to cool off, and compete to see who's able to hold their breath the longest. He ends up being the winner almost every time, of course, and never misses the chance to rub it in your face.
You even still do shitty movie marathons, however this time they’re occasionally accompanied by Kiba’s roommate, Kankuro, who you’ve since learned is a pretty cool guy, despite his slightly odd obsession with purple face paint. He’s also the one who’d helped you bake Kiba’s birthday cake back in July.
All in all, things concerning your best friend have remained quite the same as they’ve always been. Well, most of them did.
There may have been a couple of changes here and there ever since you’ve learned you were his mate.
Some are pretty tame. For example, you can’t brush over the look of pure longing that appears in his eyes as he watches you lick a rogue droplet of sugar whenever you’re sucking on the popsicle he’d just handed you. Or the way his touch lingers on your shoulders and traces down your spine and hips when you ask him to help you apply sunscreen on your back after your swim.
But then there are some of the more twisted kind. Sometimes, whenever Kankuro can’t make it to your movie marathons, you also can’t ignore the way your best friend sighs and grunts and whispers the nastiest of profanities into the side of your neck as you sit on his lap and rub your clothed pussy against the hard-on in his pants.
It’s always done the same way. On his couch, in the dark, and never talked about afterwards since it tends to make you both agitated with even more lust. Your skirt is bunched up in his too-big hands — you’re always making sure they don’t go any farther than that because they try, oh boy, do they try — and there are zero kisses exchanged between you in order to keep things moving slow but still giving him the fix he needs so that he doesn’t slip into another unannounced rut, as he likes to call it.
So far, your compromise shows promise. Over the span of the last couple of weeks, there had only been one single occasion of actual skin on skin contact; when he’d somehow managed to distract you for long enough to pull your panties to the side and pull out his cock from the confines of his clothes without you being quick enough to stop him.
However, much to his — and secretly your own — misfortune, you’d been mewling his name and rubbing your pussy against him for a long while back then, consequently overstimulating him to great, almost unfair lengths in the process. The second his cockhead had gotten the chance to bump against your soaked entrance, he was not bound to last.
So he’d spilled everything he had with a sharp hiss and a frustrated “fuuuck” and just like that, you were safe from being pounded into oblivion once again — if you exclude the sticky, cloudy white mess splattering between your thighs, that is.
And that was that.
But now, with summer coming to a swift end and a new school year waiting right around the corner, the time has come for you to say goodbye to your best friend once again.
Kiba accompanies you to the airport and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug when it’s time for you to board your flight, his features unusually impassive during the entirety of it. He leans down to kiss your cheek, surely receiving curious glances from your parents with the act, and mumbles something about texting him when you land so that he knows you’re safe.
You do as he asks of you when you arrive to campus that day, even going as far as to send him a picture of your little student apartment that you share with two other roommates, jokingly calling it a dump. He reads your text message almost instantly, but his reply is curt. When you call him to say good night after you’ve finished unpacking your stuff and settling in, you barely recognize the sound of his voice.
“G’night,” he mutters. “Try not to be a dumbass on your first day.”
The jab is meant to be playful, but instead it comes across as void of any kind of emotion whatsoever. Flat and unlively. You can tell even if he desperately tries to cover it up with more teasing remarks and lame jokes.
It gets better over time, though. You’re well aware that he’s handling the distance way worse than any other regular human would, especially since he’s a semi-mated wolf now, so you try to keep him in the loop as often as you can. He, on the other hand, tries to give you space and keeps his more possessive side on a tight leash. His main priority is to make your friendship — or should you say situationship — work.
Speaking of his more possessive side, you’ve both made precautions to lessen the chance of the beast within him from going haywire. He makes sure to go completely off the grid during a full moon, and every so often, you mail him a T-shirt or two so that he still has a way of inhaling your scent and thus satisfying the urge to come seek you out. After the scent fades out, he sends your clothes back washed, but not ironed; typical for a man like him, before the cycle repeats itself again.
He’d once, jokingly, not so jokingly, texted you about sending him a pair of your panties instead, however all he got in response to that was an angry wall of text and a series of pissed off-looking emojis. He’d abandoned the idea soon after.
You do indulge him with phone sex from time to time, though. And while you do keep telling yourself that it’s done solely to keep him in-check, deep down, you know that that simply isn’t the case.
Because when the hour is late, Kiba likes to remind you just how badly he misses you in that warm, rich, confident voice that makes your back want to straight up arch from the bed. Likes to talk about all the things that he wants to do to you with zero hesitance — hesitance you wish you, yourself didn’t have — while he strokes his cock; all until you find yourself reaching into the drawer of your nightstand so that you can hurriedly press your trusty pink vibrator to your clit.
But it’s not just you who finds him hot — your roommates do, too. They’ve peered over your shoulder once or twice while you were FaceTiming him in the kitchen, fully clothed, of course, and have since been asking for regular updates on your so-called ‘boyfriend’, wondering when they’ll get to meet the guy who’s actually managed to swipe the rug from underneath your feet, in person.
And the answer is: on Halloween. They’ll meet him on Halloween.
———
Oddly enough, Kiba seems to fit right into the college party scene, despite never pursuing a degree of his own.
After successfully planning out his visit together, you realize that the frat house that you’ve dragged him to in order to celebrate this year’s Halloween in, is packed with people; some of them in costumes, while the rest have decided to go for a more casual approach.
Dressed in jeans, the same faded baseball cap that you saw him wearing back when you’d bumped into him in the grocery store at the beginning of summer, and a simple T-shirt and flannel combo, your best friend doesn’t particularly stand out amongst the latter.
He’d landed this morning, grinning tiredly and with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You nearly started bursting at the seams with joy the second you caught sight of him halfway across the airport. He wasn’t much better.
Hugging out all your emotions first, you then spent the entire day catching up, as well as healing the phantom wounds that the distance had caused. It was nice. So nice, in fact, that you’d almost forgotten how easy and complicated it was at the same time with him.
And now here you are. Together again.
Eyes glimmering with fondness, you watch as he leisurely chats with your friends who he’d already gotten to meet back at the apartment. As is expected for an extrovert like Kiba, he has no problem keeping up with the conversation.
His body language is relaxed even when he has to lie about wearing yellow contacts; swiftly feigning that it’s because he wants to keep the spirit of Halloween alive and because he, of course, couldn’t possibly have brought a full costume with him to the airport.
Meanwhile, you’re well aware that his reasoning couldn’t be farther from the truth. His eyes had shifted from their regular brown shade the second he’d caught you emerging from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and with a bunny ears headband sitting atop your head — a rather mediocre choice of a costume, but one that you knew he’d dig nonetheless.
“What, no heels?”
“Have you seen the floor of a frat house before?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to now, and then you’re going to understand why I chose normal girl shoes.”
While riddled with mischief at your answer, his eyes haven’t gone back to normal since.
And neither has he. No, instead he had spent a good twenty minutes scenting you in the privacy of your little bedroom; embracing you and running his rough hands up and down your arms and sides, touching your neck and face all over until you were almost late to the party and glittery highlighter coated every last one of his fingers.
“You do realize that normal people don’t have a heightened sense of smell like you do, right?” you’d grumbled by the fourth repetitive stroke, making a face when he even went as far as to lean in and start rubbing his cheek against your own. “Nobody is going to be like, ‘Woah, watch out! This one smells like werewolf property!’ if I get kidnapped or something.”
The laughter-like sound he’d let out had come across as terribly jeering. “You say that like anyone would even have a chance of forcibly taking you away from me.”
With a soft incline of your head, you had asked, “Wouldn’t they?”
“‘Course not, you silly bunny.” He’d looked you right in the eyes then, his pupils briefly thinning into feline-like slits, allowing the apex predator within to shine on through. “I’d rip out their throats with my teeth before they’d even get a chance to blink. Easy as pie.”
His gaze had been shiver-inducing. The words even more so. “But what if there would be like… ten of them?”
“I can take on ten people.”
“You can barely handle me whenever I’m in a lousy mood.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you don’t count, then.” The grin he’d given you in return had been sharp. Too sharp, despite the cutesy dimple digging into his cheek. Especially as he held your face between his palms and purred, “Also, you’re not my property, you’re my mate. It’s supposed to make us equals, so please try to act like one for my sake, yeah?”
And they said romance was dead.
“Yeah.” Attempting to not pay attention to the butterflies that were wildly fluttering in your stomach again, all you managed was, “Equals who are going to be late.”
“Shit.” His eyes got wide as saucers at that. He’d given one last stroke, one last squeeze, and had pressed a hasty kiss onto your forehead before saying, “Okay, I think I’m done... Ready when you are.”
You’re unsure if it’s placebo, but you think his scent still clings to you even two hours later, when the party is in full swing and you’re chatting away with one of your guy friends in the kitchen.
Besides said friend, there are only two other people in the room — none of which you can recognize, from the way they’re too busy eating face only a few meters away from you. Kiba, reluctant to leave your side despite your many reassurances, had somehow gotten dragged into a round of beer pong by a group of rowdy jocks.
Every so often, you can hear cheering coming from one of the rooms nearby. You don’t doubt that he’s acquired quite a crowd for himself already. His dream and your worst nightmare.
“So, what’s the deal with you and the dunce?”
Blinking at the sudden question that whisks away your brain fog, you look up from your plastic cup of cranberry juice that others have been using to mix their cheap vodka with. Not feeling like taking the risk of being hungover because of particularly shitty booze the next morning, you’d decided to stay sober tonight, hence the juice.
“Sorry, what?” you ask. “I wasn’t listening.”
Your friend, Shikamaru Nara is his name, looks at you with signature exasperation at having to repeat himself again.
“I was asking about your… friend,” he mutters after a brief pause, using the second chance of you not hearing the initial jab.
“Oh, you mean Kiba?” you say, bringing the cup up to your lips. “Yeah, what about him?”
“Are you hooking up with him?”
The sip of cranberry juice you’d just taken lodges itself into the back of your throat at the question. It hurts like a bitch as you fight to swallow it down, unable to resist squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation, however you manage to avoid sputtering and coughing yourself into embarrassment by the end of it.
Clearing your throat as discreetly as you can, your voice sounds slightly hoarse when you ask, “Why do you ask that?”
Shikamaru, without missing a beat, says, “I dunno, he just looks at you like he’s planning on eating you or something. It’s odd.”
You glance up at the man that’s leaning against the kitchen counter next to you, noticing how the whites of his eyes are red instead of as the name suggests. His pupils are so big and round and hazy that they remind you of a cat looking around in the dark. He seems to be so high that he doesn’t have a problem with saying whatever is on his mind.
Either that, or he simply doesn’t give a shit. Both are valid reasonings whenever it comes to him.
“Kiba’s just… protective,” you manage to say after a brief moment of thought, shoulders shrugging. “He’s been like that ever since I can remember.”
Shikamaru’s eyebrow raises at this piece of information. “Even when you were kids?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nod vehemently. “Back then, it was even more intense than it is now, I think. You should have seen him playing a friendly game of dodgeball when we were in high school.”
‘HEY! AIM THAT BALL AT HER HEAD AGAIN, AND I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL SMASH YOUR FUCKING TEETH IN NEXT, YOU LOUSY FUCK!’
The memory makes the corners of your lips curl upwards. You’re quick to hide the smile behind the rim of the cup.
“Hm.” Shikamaru hums, puffing out a tired sigh that you’ve had the pleasure of hearing countless of times ever since meeting him during your first year of college.
“What is it?” you inquire.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Just thinking.”
“You’re always doing that,” you say. “Thinking.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he answers, giving you a lazy grin that doesn’t seem to reach his dark brown eyes.
You huff a laugh at the tease. “And what is it that you’re thinking about with that brilliant brain of yours, Megamind?”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah.”
You turn to look at him, using the chance to drag your gaze over his side profile. Over his high cheekbones, as well as the sharp outline of his nose. The cigarette that’s tucked behind his ear. The slight wrinkle between his eyebrows that tells you he’s thinking very hard about something.
A couple of loose strands of dark brown hair have escaped his ponytail, framing his face in a way that flatters him greatly. Being so dark, they’re a perfect contrast to his creamy skin that’s so unlike Kiba’s sun-kissed one.
Come to think of it, they’re nothing alike. Shikamaru is lean in build despite being awfully lazy by nature, whereas Kiba packs muscle with hard work. He’s smart, rational, not at all prone to anger, and can sometimes come across as borderline aloof.
Besides a couple of other things, all he seems to care about is putting in the minimal amount of effort when it comes to getting by in school, so that he can achieve mediocre — but passable — grades, and thus has nothing left to worry about by the time the weekend rolls around and the bong comes out to play.
His tendency to be overly laid-back was the exact reason why you had decided to go out of your comfort zone and fool around with him last spring. With no strings attached, you’d fucked while still managing to remain friends afterwards. Besides that, he was such a perfect opposite to the man you’d left behind in your hometown, that it had almost been a, dare you say, refreshing experience.
But Kiba never did go fully away, now did he? Not even after you’d completely ghosted him and finally ceased stalking him on Instagram; trying to rid yourself of the sinking feeling in your chest that appeared whenever he posted a picture with his girlfriend at the time. Not even after you’d deleted the chat logs you shared with him on just about every app you could find, knowing you’d regret it afterwards. Not even when you’d left the pictures and other memories back at home, sealed away in a box underneath your bed.
You’d been sleeping with the deer while silently yearning for the wolf.
It’s why you broke the entire thing off with Shikamaru sometime after the New Year, aiming to rather try and move on solely by your own efforts — fresh start and everything. All whilst not knowing that you’d become a mate to your childhood best friend by the end of summer.
“Shika,” you utter, your gaze as soft as your voice. “I–”
“It’s okay. I think I got the gist of it,” he cuts in, staring at his shoes. “Whatever it is that you two have going on between you; it’s older than what we had. So, it’s more… fleshed out? From being best friends since kindergarten and stuff.”
“Yeah.” You sigh, angling your cup so that you can take the last sip of your drink. “I guess it is, when you say it like that.”
Shikamaru reaches out to wipe away the rogue droplet of cranberry juice that comes sliding down from the corner of your mouth, then. However, before his thumb can even make contact with your bottom lip, you’re quick to do it yourself.
“Am I interrupting somethin’?” a voice calls out from your left.
Kiba’s jaw is set and his eyes are hard when you turn to look at him. He stands in the middle of the doorway that leads into the hall; the light that’s shining behind his back obscuring most of his face from view, however you can still see that he forces his expression to remain fairly neutral as he begins to approach you.
Every step he takes towards you makes you feel like it could make the ground shake. It doesn’t of course, at least not in a physical kind of sense, but his anger is becoming so palpable the closer he gets that it very much could. For some reason, it’s even worse that he’s trying to hide how pissed he is.
After all, Kiba is prone to anger that resembles a wildfire — the kind that spreads quickly and consumes everything in its path. Once it’s started, it’s hard to make it fizzle out before it does too much damage. You just have to let it do its thing and pretend like everything is normal.
Burn, baby, burn!
“No,” you say when he reaches you, pretending like the entire ordeal doesn’t faze you at all, despite the fact that your heart is now pulsating wildly in your chest. “You aren’t.”
You’re well aware that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that doesn’t mean the others are safe.
He stands before you like a wall of muscle, emitting white-hot rage with every exhale. With how tense his shoulders have gotten, as well as the bulging vein in the side of his neck that’s surely there because of how harshly he’s gritting his teeth, he looks like he could crush someone to death.
However, his touch ends up being surprisingly tender when you allow him to grip you by the chin. You repress a relieved chuckle as he angles your head back slightly, making you realize that he’s touching the exact same spot Shikamaru would have if you’d let him. So possessive.
His brow furrows as he inspects you and his voice is rough as gravel as he says, “Why are your lips so red?”
“Cranberry juice,” you explain, pointing to the empty cup you’re still holding in your hand. “How did beer pong go?”
“It sucked ass,” he drawls, tugging on the brim of his hat with impatient fingers. The fireball of anger keeps on sizzling in the pit of his stomach. It makes his blood run hot. “The two dudes I went against were both so shit-faced that they could barely stand, much less score... I regret being sober.”
“Weren’t you drinking before, though?” Shikamaru asks all of a sudden.
Uh-oh. At the sound of the Nara’s voice, you watch as he slowly turns his head to the side in the same uncanny way a robot would have done.
Kiba looks the other man right in the eye, making a quick mental note to keep both of his arms glued to his sides in order to refrain himself from swinging just because he even had the balls to speak up while he was talking to you.
Jesus fucking Christ, since when did his temper get this short? He needs to work on it in the future or else it’s going to become a problem.
“Beer doesn’t do much for a guy like me,” he grits out after a brief moment of recollecting himself.
His tone is completely flat. Icy.
You stare at the muscle that keeps on fluttering in his cheek even if he’s trying his hardest to tame it. At how yellow his eyes have gotten, nearly glowing in the dimly-lit kitchen, threatening to ruin the ruse of being contacts. At the way his chest heaves; rising up and down in such a manner that it makes you fear he’s seconds away from pouncing.
Shikamaru, being the intelligent man that he is, must have come to the same conclusion, because now he pushes from the counter with an awkward bounce in his step as he says, “Well, I guess it’s time for my smoke break… If you’ll excuse me.”
Either that, or the more primal part of his brain is telling him to get the fuck out before it’s too late. It’s so bad that even the make out enthusiasts proceed to follow his example.
“Bye, Shika,” you utter quickly, giving your fellow classmate a small wave when he passes by. Meanwhile, Kiba only stares, probably drilling warning holes into the poor guy’s back all the way to the very end of the hall.
Alone in the kitchen at long last, your best friend allows himself to sigh as a means to relieve some tension. The muscles in his arms relax as he rests them on either side of you, successfully trapping you against the counter.
You don’t feel caged, though. That’s the important part.
Led by that comforting feeling, you place the cup onto the counter before reaching out to carefully stroke him over the chest. “You okay?”
“No,” he grumbles, trying not to preen right in front of you at the touch.
Your eyebrows draw together. “What’s wrong?”
His do, too. “You know damn well what’s wrong.”
“Enlighten me, please.”
“Not that it’s a you problem or anything…” He sighs again and this time the sound is way longer than earlier. “But I can’t leave ya alone for two seconds without someone immediately trying to sneak their way into your pants.”
“What?” The laugh you let out is a slightly incredulous one. “I know that you’re forced to see me in some kind of holy light because of the mating bond, but you’re seriously flattering me way too much with this one, Kiba.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” he says, his lips thinning into a firm line. “What do you think that the douchebag with the cig and the big-ass forehead was tryin’ to do just now? Ask you to join his debate club?”
You push aside the insult for now, making a note to prohibit him from saying it aloud whenever you’re in the company of others. “His name is Shikamaru.”
“I don’t care what his name is,” Kiba says, bristling. “All I know is that I could smell how hard his dick was getting around you from a mile away, and it made me-”
“Jealous?” you cut in.
He frowns. “I was gonna say grossed out, but sure.”
You giggle before biting your lip to stop the sound. “Come to think of it, that does sound pretty gross, you’re right.”
“Whatever.” He huffs, lowering his gaze. It’s not long before there’s an even deeper frown gracing his mouth.
“What is it now?” you ask.
“Nothing. Well… I just- Ugh.” He groans in frustration, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know I said that I’d always respect your decision when it came down to choosin’ between me or someone else, but I didn’t think it’d be this… hard.”
“What are you going on about?” You pry his hand away so that you can look him in the eyes. His pupils are nothing but slits. “I haven't made any kind of decision yet. Nothing happened.”
“Okay, but still… Seeing someone else trying to touch you like that, scenting it…” he says. “I thought I could handle it for your sake, but clearly that ain’t the case. I should’ve cooled off before trying to start shit, and yet I actively chose to behave like a dick instead.”
“Actually, I thought you did a pretty decent job at controlling your awfully jealous self. Give or take,” you console, giving him a playful wink. It only causes his brow to furrow further.
“That’s not the point. Jealousy might be all fun and games to regular people, but it’s different with me. I felt like I was seconds away from skinning the dude alive… And maybe eating him afterwards, I dunno,” he says, his expression turning even more troubled than before. “Bet he’d taste like shit, though.”
“Well… What matters is that you didn’t do that.” You pat his shoulders as a form of encouragement and quickly decide on not telling him about your history with Shikamaru just yet since you’re not particularly fond of the idea of having a body on your hands. “One step at a time, yeah?”
“I guess,” he mutters. Disappointment still continues to bubble in Kiba’s stomach. It brings forth a slightly bitter taste on his tongue.
You stare at him, raking your gaze over the great expanse of his shoulders, down to his forearms, which he’s got revealed due to the sleeves being rolled up to his elbows. Now that the initial anger has diminished from his face, he just looks plain miserable. Like a puppy that’s been soaked to the bone, despite that he’s far bigger than that.
“You wanna go home and cuddle it out?” you blurt out all of a sudden, tracing the tattoos on his left forearm with your index finger.
He peers up at you from underneath his lashes. Not wanting to come across as even more clingy or suffocating, all he utters is, “If that’s what you want.”
“I’m asking you.”
He looks down again, bright yellow eyes zeroing in on his shoes. If it weren’t so dark in this godforsaken kitchen, perhaps you would’ve noticed the subtle blush tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“I mean… If you really don’t wanna stay here,” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “Then, yeah. I suppose we could go back to yours and cuddle a little.”
You grin. “Look at you getting all mushy on me.”
Kiba gives you an eye roll. “Oh, shut up before I change my mind and just catch the first flight home.”
———
Despite initially not wanting to seem clingy, Kiba becomes exactly that after you both rinse off and clamber into bed that night.
In the dark, surrounded fully by your scent that lingers everywhere in your room, he feels safe enough to let his guard down; allowing himself to really dote on you properly — like he’s wanted to do for the last two months.
As a result, his arm is protectively slung over your waist, and his legs are entangled with yours as he spoons you. His hand is beneath your shirt, tracing soft, lazy circles over your stomach. There are no claws in sight.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he grumbles at some point, sighing with contentment and squeezing you even closer to him.
“Me too,” you admit, enjoying the close proximity. “Especially our dumb late night convos.”
You’ve been talking about everything and nothing in particular for the last hour or so; giggling and snickering like children and continuing on catching up, simply enjoying each other’s company. Just like old times.
Kiba clicks his tongue against his teeth in disagreement. “What d’you mean? They’re always dumb.”
“Well yeah, but that’s because they include you,” you tease, suppressing a tiny squeal when he pokes you in the side.
“As far as I know, it takes two to hold a conversation,” he fires back, squeezing your hip. “Unless you’re a nutcase, that is.”
“Hey, now… I talk to myself sometimes,” you say, turning your head to the side just enough to face him. “When I’m, like, thinking out loud and stuff.”
He quirks a brow at this. “Weirdo.”
“Pfsh.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “If anyone’s the weirdo here, then it’d be you, Mr. On all levels except physical, I am a wolf.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense because I am a wolf on a physical level.” He drums his fingers against your skin playfully, hinting that he’ll maybe poke you in the side again. “Therefore, your joke sucks.”
“It’s still funny, though,” you protest. “And look at you, using your big boy words. Therefore. What’s gonna be next? Begging for a shilling?”
You watch as he smiles that wretched grin that shows off his dimple. His laugh is quiet, but it kindles a flame of affection inside your heart.
“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, still laughing.
“So I’ve been told, yeah,” you reply with a beaming smile of your own. His mood is contagious. “Multiple times.”
“Mm. I like it, though. This more confident, outgoing version of you.” After a brief moment of silence, he adds, “It makes me less worried.”
You ask, “Less worried about what?”
“If you’ll be able to stick up for yourself in case I’m not around,” he explains, not offering much more.
You blink as slight confusion begins to settle in. “And why wouldn’t you be around?”
“Well, you know,” he says, shrugging as a means to appear indifferent, but failing. “If you decide on being with someone other than me, then I guess there’d be no reason for me to stay in your life.”
“What do you mean there’d be no reason?” you say, frowning deeply now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re aware that the thing you say next is selfish, but you just can’t help it, “You’d still be my best friend… Wouldn’t that be enough?”
He smiles again, but this time it’s a little less beaming and a little more painful. “Bunny, of course it’d be enough. I’d spend my whole life trying to give ya the love that I think you deserve, even as just a friend. But let’s be real here… If I did that, it’d just cause… problems.”
“Problems?” you repeat, your voice hurt. “What kind of problems?”
“You’ve seen for yourself what happened tonight,” he says.
“Nothing happened tonight.” Quick frustration makes you groan. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that already, so why are we going over the same conversation again?”
“Exactly, nothing happened, but look at the way I still reacted to it,” he says, sighing out of exasperation instead of contentment this time around. “I was ready to go batshit crazy over nothing… How do you think I’m gonna react if we meet up and you’ve got your boyfriend’s scent all over ya? Who says I’m not gonna go and try to bite the guy’s head off?”
You stare at each other. The knot in your belly tightens at the way he looks at you; his eyes still burning with that striking yellow shade, despite the inner conflict that subdues it ever so slightly now.
“Do you think we were destined to be together?” you ask out of the blue.
Kiba gives you a look that tells you he’s starting to worry if you’ve gone a bit nuts. “What?”
“I mean, like, do you think that we had no say in this entire thing,” you attempt to explain lamely. “Or, well… that you had no say in it?”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” he says finally.
“Well, what would you call this thing between us, then?” you mumble. “I mean, isn’t a mating bond supposed to be just some kind of a wolfy version of it?”
“I- No, I don’t think so,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “I already told you that I approached you because of the bond at first, yeah… But over the years, I’m pretty sure that I’ve come to love you on purpose. Like, on my own terms.”
Your heart skips a beat. The world feels like it’s spinning all of a sudden.
“How can you tell the difference, though?” you croak out. “Between genuine love and the forced one that the bond is pushing on you?”
“Um… Because I’m willing to spend the rest of my life alone, fighting against the red string of fate or whatever the fuck you want to call it, if it means that you’ll be happy, I guess,” he whispers quietly, his expression suddenly thoughtful. “Come to think of it, it’d be like my own personal fuck you towards destiny, hah.”
There’s no one else beside you and him in the house right now — your roommates are still out partying and doing god knows what — but he says it like it’s a secret that he’s been keeping for years.
And you, well, you feel like crying. Like curling yourself into a little ball underneath the covers that you’re sharing with him at the moment, and simply sobbing your heart out until it’s leaking out of your chest.
But instead of that, you look at him. You reel the tears in as you really look at him, and you say, “All right.”
You’ve always been so cautious. So hesitant and unsure — nothing like him. Ever since he’d revealed the truth during that godforsaken camping trip, Kiba speaks of the love that he feels for you so openly.
Goddammit, he loves you. He actually loves you. Not because of the bond, not because you’re his perfect biological match, not because his instinct is telling him to do so.
No, he loves you because of the memories that you’ve made together. Because of the laughter that you’ve shared. Because of all the good and the bad and everything else that’s in-between.
He loves you because he wants to, not because he needs to.
“All right?” he repeats, studying your face. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”
“It means that I’m done taking it slow. I think,” you say, trying to stop your upper lip from twitching. Your body feels tense all over once again; you feel like you’ll start bursting at the seams because of the storm of emotions that’s brewing inside you. “For once in my life, I think that I’m choosing to go all in.”
Kiba’s heart begins to pound so hard that he can hear it ringing in his ears.
“You… You mean…?” he trails off, not even daring to finish the sentence.
“Yes,” you say as your breathing slightly quickens. “We can give this thing a try; properly this time. I-I mean, fuck it, right? We haven’t been just friends for a long while now, so what’s there to lose anyway?”
He smiles at that, and for a second it’s like you can see him again — your childhood best friend. Short and scrawny, but equipped with that brazen assurance that used to get him into all sorts of trouble.
“Yeah,” he says. His smile nearly grows from ear to ear. He feels like he could touch the sky at that very moment; unbridled joy is beginning to overcome him completely. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I, umm… I guess it’s time to admit that I’ve been crushing on you for years, then. Well, I think! I’m pretty sure I was always head over heels for you, even back in high school, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it too much because of… well, you know,” you trail off, still riding that high of confidence that allows every bit of truth to spill out of you now.
“So when we almost kissed before I left for college, I… I got scared. You were with Tamaki at the time, and I was leaving, and I thought you’d end up regretting it from the way it would surely mess up your whole relationship and our friendship.” You look at him, eyes apologetic. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like I did, but god… The entire thing was so messy, just chaos waiting to happen, and I was too big of a coward to deal with all that, especially after moving across the country and turning a new chapter in my life. And I’m well aware that it’s no excuse for what I did, but I just wanted you to know… the real reason behind it. And that I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have regretted it, though,” he says, his gaze softening. “If you’d kissed me back at mine that night, I would never have regretted it. My relationship with Tam was a fuckin’ bust either way.”
“I know that now, you dumbass!” You huff, eyebrows cinching with frustration and stress. “But what’s the use if I didn’t know it back then.”
“Bunny,” he coos, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Breathe.”
“Oh, shut up,” you fuss, pushing him in the chest. “I’m over here, pouring my heart out to you, and you’re basically telling me to calm down. Idiot.”
He snickers at your anger, thinking it’s so cute that it’s to die for. “Well, what do you want me to do, then?”
“I want-” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, chewing on it as shyness manages to creep up on you at long last. You don’t feel as confident as before when it comes to admitting to your desires out loud, so the only time you stop your incisor from digging deeper, is when you mumble, “I want you to kiss me.”
If Kiba’s gaze had been soft before, now it’s gone utterly sweet and gooey. It makes his lids drop very, very, very low on his eyes.
“Yeah?” is all he says.
“Yeah. But not like you did back at home,” you say, remembering the urgency and the forceful clash of teeth that he’d given you because of the rut that had been cooking his brain into mush at the time. “I want it done properly this time.”
“I can do that,” he says, chuckling quietly. “But don’t act like you didn’t enjoy our first kiss. I could smell how excited you got over it, remember?”
“Whatever,” you hiss, bunching up the front of his T-shirt into your fists. “Either you behave and kiss me like a gentleman, or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Hah, all right, all right! No need to threaten me, jeez,” he says. He’s still laughing as he caresses your cheek with one hand and angles your head so that he can do what you’re asking him for. “C’mere, you grouch… Let’s get smoochin’.”
“I hate you.”
“I thought you said you loved me.”
“I said I liked you, not-”
The rest of your sentence is broken off by a kiss.
Unlike the first time, it’s gentle. Perhaps you could even call it romantic. He cups your cheek instead of gripping it, and doesn’t become pushy; rather allowing you to take charge of the pace. There’s no tongue, only lip brushing against lip. Your breaths intermingle, to the point that you both start quietly panting in-between the short little pauses that you use for air.
Your stomach is doing backflips by the time he slowly pulls back to look at you. His eyes are not only yellow, they’re also ravenous, and they get even more intense when you reach out to comb your fingers through his hair.
The sudden yearning that swoops down upon him makes Kiba’s throat feel so dry that it’s like it’s burning from the inside out. It’s not quite the same as it was back during his rut, but he’s getting there. Oh, he’s getting there, all right.
“More?” he asks after the longest time of silence. His voice has turned completely hoarse.
“Mhmm, yeah,” you hum your approval, turning around to lay on your back. He instantly uses the chance to prop himself up with one elbow and drapes his upper half over you.
With his face only a couple of centimeters away from your own now, you end up nearly nose to nose. His golden chain dangles from his neck, the sleek metal occasionally cooling your skin in places that it comes in contact with. It causes you to giggle. He smiles when he leans in to kiss you again.
“Wait. I’ve got a question,” you mumble against his lips.
“Mhmm, spill,” he replies in-between kisses.
“I was thinking… Would it be… too much, if I maybe bought a golden initial of my name for you to wear?” you ask, gliding your finger along the piece of jewelry. “Like, as a not-so-secret birthday present for you next year?”
“Nah, I’d wear it,” he says simply. “Only if you wear mine, too, though.”
“Sure.” Your smile grows, little by little. “I’m in need of a new necklace anyway… Just nothing too flashy, okay?”
He snickers. “We’ll get you one of those big-ass golden dollar signs with the diamonds on top, all right?”
“Okay, yeah, that way I can always resell it.”
“Meanie.”
Your hands run through his hair for a second time as you proceed to explore each other’s mouths after months of nothing. They tug at the roots once or twice, making him grunt, before travelling down the nape of his neck and settling on his strong back. Nails grazing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, you nearly start to claw at it when his tongue touches your bottom lip.
Eventually, the kissing gets needier. More desperate. You part your lips for him and he takes his time dragging his tongue across the roof of your mouth, the flat of your teeth, tasting you fully and savouring the minty flavour of the toothpaste that you used earlier. So much saliva gets exchanged.
Besides that, there’s also phantom electricity sizzling across your skin when he carefully sinks one fang into your bottom lip and tugs on it. His caution is endearing and hot to die for, but it also feels like he’s edging you kind of. It takes you all the effort you can muster to not let a moan slip out.
What you do end up doing, however, is taking his hand and pushing it between your legs. Just like that, all by yourself.
And it’s warm there, between your legs — perhaps even a bit too much, Kiba thinks. He stiffens at your actions, hesitating only for a second before he cups your pussy right over the comfortable shorts that you wear to bed. Watches with semi-focused vision as your hips buck without any sort of doubt that would otherwise be common for you, searching for more friction despite the seam that is now pressing against your clit.
As you continue to rub yourself against the heel of his palm, more and more sweat begins to ooze out of your pores. You’re getting hot, so your hands work seemingly on their own to try and subdue the sudden rise in temperature as you curl your fingers around the hem of your T-shirt and hike it up — all until it’s touching the collar.
With your front now almost fully exposed, Kiba curses under his breath when the sweet, musky aroma of your arousal steadily begins to fill the room that you’re in. The door is closed and the windows are shut, so it hits him like a truck. His mind is getting foggier by the millisecond because of it.
“Something the matter?” you utter sweetly, honey dripping from every word. At this point, your chest has begun to heave with some untamed form of anticipation. You sound nothing like yourself.
“No, everything’s fine,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. Once again, he’s beginning to borderline drool, this time at the sight of your tits. It makes it hard to talk. “Just enjoyin’ the view.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that so?” You fondle your breasts, running your thumbs across the sensitive nipples, making a show for him just to rile him up further. Who knew you had it in you? “Wanna tell me just how much you’re enjoying it?”
Spit threatens to drip down the corner of his mouth. He sucks it back in the last second. “Bunny… What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me? Well, not yet at least… But come on, tell me.” You continue your ministrations, testing his patience. “You love to talk, don’t you?”
“I love to show off more,” he says before he moves his hand from its spot between your legs just so that he can grab you by the wrist and make you touch him below his waistline. “Here... This is all ‘cause of you. Happy?”
You blink as he curls your fingers around the bulge that’s pressing against his boxers, wanting out. Let out a breathless, almost patronizing kind of laugh. “Fuck, you’re so hard… I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt.”
“It does hurt,” he says, voice incredibly strained now. His lips quiver slightly when you give him a stroke all on your own, without him having to ask or beg for it. It makes his mind shift to other things than whatever it is that’s making you behave this way. “I want you so bad; like, so fucking bad… You’re drivin’ me completely nuts.”
You smile at how honest he is. “Touch me and we’ll get there, okay?”
And he smirks, even if his teeth are getting bigger again from the way he’s slowly losing control, gradually affecting his speech. “Don’t hafta tell me twice.”
He kisses you again, but this time it’s harder than before and done in a way that mashes your lips against your teeth. When you open your mouth wider to ease the pressure, all he does is fill it with his tongue. He gets so pushy that you have to resort to tugging on his hair to make him relent.
“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, rather moving his hot mouth to your jawline and neck.
“It’s fine,” is all you manage to say before the grazing of sharp canines immediately shuts you up.
He moves fast after that, almost urgently, from how exhilarated he is to have you like this underneath him; only taking the time to get your T-shirt out of the way so that he can lick your collarbone next. You don’t even get a proper chance to react to it before he’s already dipping even lower to suck on your nipple instead.
“Ha-ah.” Your breathing stutters as you watch his nose smush against the fat of your breast. He’s swirling his tongue around the nipple, nipping it ever so gently from time to time and tugging on it with his lips.
Meanwhile, his hand has slid between your legs again. He’s running his knuckle up and down your slit the same exact way he’d done back at his place during the summer, making the seam of your pyjama shorts rub against your clit. The sensation makes your legs want to close up from the sensitivity that’s sparking there, but he makes sure you’re spread wide open for him at all times.
Eventually, he pops his mouth off your nipple only to begin paving a path of kisses down your stomach. And they’re audible, the kisses. He’s leaving little remnants of glimmering saliva on your skin as he goes, making your middle covered in it.
It’s almost fascinating how smoothly he moves for such a big guy. Before you know it, your shorts are tossed onto the floor right along with your panties, and your legs are propped on his shoulders, the heels of your feet digging into his back.
“Fuck, your pussy smells so good,” he rasps when there’s no barrier separating him from you anymore. He swallows hard at the scent of arousal that’s as strong as ever now, Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “It’s makin’ me drool… I can’t stop it, m’sorry. I know it’s gross.”
You want to hide your face into the pillow because of how timid his words are making you somewhere deep down inside, but instead all you do is arch your back when he noses his way between your thighs and presses a sloppy kiss there.
His tongue follows suit immediately afterwards and he wastes no time with licking your slit, nudging between your folds, groaning with satisfaction at the taste. Your hands dig into his hair in an instant, grabbing fistfuls when he suckles on your clit.
It’s all happening so fast but at the same time it doesn’t seem fast enough. Heat intensifies inside the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout your thighs, your legs, right to the very tips of your toes. You dig your heels deeper into his back, pull him closer by the hair so that you can receive more.
“Shit, fuck, oh, fuuuck,” you half-moan, half-whisper, borderline gasping for air when you feel his tongue push inside you. It’s longer than a normal human’s, slightly coarser too. It makes you wiggle your hips as you try to fuck yourself against his goddamn face in response.
You have no clue if there’s some secret chemical component in his saliva that’s making you act this feral, but you simply can’t stop writhing and moaning like a slut. What’s even worse is that he tongue-fucks you like his life depends on it. In and out, in and out, the occasional swipe up and down. It’s getting messier and messier, so sloppy that there’s surely a puddle forming on the bed sheet that you’re lying on currently.
And just when you thought you had it all, his tongue gets replaced by his fingers. You tense up, an alarming thought about his claws rushing through your dazed mind, however you’re quickly relieved to find out that they’re nowhere in sight.
They’re just normal, human fingernails on normal, human fingers. Reaching deep inside you. Fuck, reaching so deep inside you. Making you see stars behind closed eyelids. Stretching you and filling you at the same time, making you nearly jump out of your skin when they curl upwards and touch that especially tender spot.
The heat that’s swirling in your tummy worsens as a result — if that is even humanly possible. You feel it rising, feel your face scrunching up, feel your teeth gritting, feel your hips picking up pace, feel your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair again, tugging way more harshly than you otherwise would as your climax starts to approach fast.
“Gonna- I’m gonna-...!”
“Nuh-uh,” he says all of a sudden, turning his pace to something painfully laggard, to something that isn’t nearly as quick and fulfilling enough to make you cum. “You’re not gonna… Not yet, at least.”
It hurts, it physically hurts; that unsatisfied feeling that resides in the place where your pleasure should be by now. Especially when he purses his lips and allows a glob of spit to land directly onto your pussy, turning you practically slippery between your legs.
He pushes the spit in with the help of his fingers.
“Wha-?” Your eyes grow big as saucers, stinging with upcoming tears at his denial. He’s gotten you so worked up that you just can’t help but behave like a spoiled pillow princess now. Like a proper crybaby.
“What, hm? You gonna cry?” He sneers — surprisingly meanly — at the lost look that appears on your face now. Wiping his mouth against your thigh, he kisses it before he says, “Relax, you’re gonna cum… I just want your bunny cunt squeezin’ around my dick, not my fingers.”
“Then lemme sit on it…! C’mon, lemme ride you or something,” you cry out, voice cracking with urgency and desperation that even you, yourself, don’t recognize.
You push up from the bed with the help of your elbows so that you can clamber on top of him and ride him like the best cowgirl to ever live under the fucking sun, but all he does is press his hand into the middle of your chest and shoves you right back down onto the mattress.
For fuck’s sake, was this how he felt back when he’d begged you to help him find relief during his rut? Your body feels like it’ll drop dead any second now if you don’t get dicked down soon.
“No, you’ll hurt yourself if you do that ‘cause you ain’t stretched out enough yet. Besides, I’ve got a different idea anyway,” he says, reaching for the back of his T-shirt’s collar so that he can tug it off. “Turn onto your side.”
You stare at the rippling muscle, as well as at all the tattoos that run up his left arm to his shoulder. His hair is messy and his eyes almost glow in the dark. He’s buff, hairy, with sharp teeth and equally as keen-edged facial features.
In that exact moment, he looks like the embodiment of animalistic hunger. Either that, or it’s just straight up carnage if it were a person.
“Are you going to mount me?” you ask, guts squeezing with anticipation at the mere thought of it. “Like you did back in the woods? ‘Cause I really… enjoyed that last time.”
His brows rise, short-lived surprise crossing his face before he chuckles. “Hah… Later, okay? Gonna fuck you sideways first and stretch you out a lil’ so my cock can fit.”
While Kiba tugs down his underwear, you busy yourself with doing as you’re told. You lie onto your side, clenching and rubbing your thighs together with lewd suspense and bated breath. By the time he spoons you, finally completely naked himself, you’re already bending your legs at the knee, pushing your ass out for him.
“Somebody needs it bad, huh?” he taunts as he pulls you closer to his chest.
You’re in the same exact position as you were before all of this had started, the only difference is that you’re both naked now.
And, well, you’ve also got his cock sliding up and down your sticky pussy now. Got it smearing pre-cum and arousal and spit together, making you both groan out quiet noises of pleasure whenever the fat cockhead catches against your entrance, which feels like it’s fucking throbbing at this point.
He did something to you, didn’t he? He stuck his tongue fully inside your cunt for the first time instead of only licking and prodding it, and all of a sudden you’re forced to behave like a cat in heat.
“Kiba,” you whisper, breathing so fast that it’s almost frantic. You’re clawing at the sheets and rubbing your cheek against the pillow as you say, “Put it in... Fuck… Mmph, for the love of god, just put it in already…! I need your dick inside me.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying,” he mumbles, frustration making him bite the inside of his cheek. “But I gotta go slowly first so that I don’t rip ya to shreds, bunny... And you beggin’ me for it is not helping ‘cause it’s only making me want to do just that.”
“I don’t care about any of that, just… just put the tip in at least,” you mewl out between words, wiggling your hips, curling your toes. Turning your head to the side to look at him, you instead kiss him with the same forceful shove forward the second your eyes land on him. “Just the tip, yeah? Okay? Like we did it back in the tent.”
He stares at you, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together from how intensely he’s trying to keep himself in-check while also having to do the same exact thing for you as well now. He can smell your need, the sweat that coats your skin, the arousal. Can hear the heavy beating of your heart.
You’re both going to devour each other if one of you doesn’t have some self-control. So Kiba tries to be the one to have it, taking another long moment to grind against you before he finally lets his gaze slip from your nearly bewildered expression, and rather focuses it on guiding his cock straight into your cunt.
You arch against him when his cockhead spreads your folds apart and slowly makes its way inside. Jaw relaxing at the sensation of finally having something to ease all that painful throbbing that’s going on, you gasp for air almost in relief despite the pesky feeling of your pussy squeezing around the girth of his dick.
It’s already demanding more.
“Fuck, bunny,” he grunts, thrusting slowly, easing himself in. “What’s wrong with you…? You’re suckin’ me right in… Shit… Makin’ it real hard f’me to not push in all the way.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, just-... j-just keep going,” you whimper out, face turning hot when you feel slick dribbling down his length. He’s so big, perhaps even too big, but your cunt just keeps on taking more and more. It never seems to be enough.
Minutes pass and you’re gradually losing your sense of self right along with them. All you care about is having him inside you. So you fuck the tip first, then half of his cock, and afterwards — fucking finally — you start taking the whole thing.
And it feels good, relieving almost. He’s got his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling and drooling over the spot where your scent is the strongest as he holds your leg up for you and just slowly pounds away. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Meanwhile, you’re drooling all over the pillow as well, blindly reaching behind you to stroke his hair with twitching fingertips as your hips help him in meeting yours over and over again. Every time his fingers dig into the soft spot that’s underneath your knee, it makes you tighten up.
His cock twitches inside you when he buries it in to the hilt, really allowing himself to sink balls deep and making you do that cute little wince that wants to make him go batshit crazy. But instead of doing that, he steadies himself. Reels it back in. Tries to listen to your quick-paced heartbeat and even quicker breaths, despite that he’s paying attention to other things.
Because even if the sounds of skin slapping against skin aren’t that loud from how slowly he’s pushing into you, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t present. He can still hear them all. As well as the occasional gushy little noises that your pussy makes.
They make his balls tighten.
You don’t know how long you do this entire thing, but you orgasm three, three fucking times during it. To some it may be like a dream come true, however to you it’s exhausting. The overstimulation is wiping you out, and yet you keep pushing, keep asking for more, keep turning around to kiss him and whine out little pleas of ‘don’t stop, please don’t stop’.
The stretch stings, as does the spot on your neck where he sank his fangs earlier, but you welcome the overwhelming sensations with open arms. In fact, you’re so feral that you feel like you won’t survive the night if he doesn’t fuck and bite and squeeze this craving for pleasure out of you.
He does a pretty good job with it, though. With how wet you are, it’s fairly easy for Kiba to turn rougher; to turn more bestial and wild and relentless with every push and shove of his hips that he drills into yours. He even uses the vibe he’s had to listen to you pleasure yourself with over the phone these last couple of weeks, in order to help you with your little problem.
But you’re not just wet, you’re also insatiable — yes, that’s what you are! Constantly making noise and clawing at him like a little slut, looking at him with tearful eyes as the fever keeps on kicking you into the goddamn ground. So it’s only when he mounts you, aiming to fuck you like an animal, that you start feeling any sort of satisfaction that actually manages to stick.
He uses his weight to roll you onto your tummy, and pins you down by placing you in a headlock that has you gasping for air, but also has you cumming on the spot again. You’re pretty sure that it’s the sheer, utter strength and the size difference between your head and his arm that has you behaving this way now instead of the daze, but who knows?
“Already? Christ,” he pants out, his hot exhales tickling your naked shoulder. His entire body is slick with sweat — you’re pretty sure you saw it dripping down his temples earlier. It’s no wonder that the last couple of kisses you’ve exchanged tasted salty. “Who would’ve thought that a good girl like you likes to be fucked this nasty, huh?”
Your lips try to part so that you can answer his jab with one of your own, however your face is squished against his tattooed bicep, rendering that task nearly impossible. Besides that, he’s growling into your ear, crushing you with his weight, getting bigger and bigger, until he’s throbbing inside your cunt, making your voice useless either way.
“My lil’ mate,” he continues, seemingly in a daze himself. He’s whipped at this point, completely pussy drunk. “You are, right? Mine?”
You still can’t say anything other than choked up gibberish from how firmly he’s holding you, however you do make an effort to nod.
But it’s not like he waits for you to actually answer. No, all he does is start picking up speed; starts pounding away for real, eventually making you feel like he’s in your fucking guts each time he draws back and slams right back in.
“Nngh… I’m close, real fuckin’ close... Gimme one more and then I’m… I’m knotting ya, okay, sweetheart? Yeah?” he rasps between quick breaths, voice so hoarse and hot that it ignites a fire straight up inside your soul. “Jus’ one more and then we’re makin’ pups, ‘kay?”
That last sentence alone is enough to get you reaching your finish real fucking fast. Your eyes roll back, your ass pushes up so that he can reach even deeper inside you. His balls slap against your clit with every harsh, unforgiving thrust, and it’s like you’ve gone to heaven.
Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s got you trapped in a headlock. Besides it being the hottest thing that a guy has ever done to you in bed so far, it also ensures that you stay nice and quiet.
So it only takes you a minute or two to become undone underneath him because of all that’s happening. And the second you tighten around him — the strongest you’ve ever squeezed him tonight — his thrusting turns irregular and almost kind of jerky, picking up in speed more and more until he eventually reaches his climax and comes to a full stop.
Kiba grits his too-big teeth when he cums, spilling every last drop of his warm release inside you and closing his eyes during it. Every muscle in his body hurts from how overly tense he’d forced them to be whilst trying not to go too far since you’re so fragile. But as he wills himself to finally loosen up a little bit, he realizes that that hurts even more. The groan he lets out as a result can barely be registered as human.
But it’s not over just yet. You feel the now familiar, but equally as strange, sensation as his knot begins to swell inside you. The stretch builds up while it fills more and more space, pressing against your tender walls and causing your pussy to protest as it tries to accommodate all of him.
You’re stuck together once again, panting, sweating, trying to piece yourselves back into what you once were while also feeling completely, utterly fucked out.
His breathing is still heavy as he releases the headlock to ask, “What the fuck happened just now?”
“Oh, gosh.” You let out a small, muffled groan underneath him, fussing into the pillow, “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You acted like you were in heat,” he continues, concern shining in his yellow eyes. “Went all feral on me and shit.”
“I feel like I still am,” you say, whining when you feel his knot throbbing inside you in answer. “We’re probably gonna have to go for round two.”
“Fine by me.” He muses before a breathless snicker escapes him. “I’ll fuck you until sunrise if that’s what you want, baby.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t almost die from a heart attack just now.”
He grins from ear to ear. “Pussy so good it kills.”
You roll your eyes. “I wish it did.”
“All right, that’s it. You’re getting squished as punishment.”
“No, wait-”
Ignoring your protests, Kiba succumbs to the tiredness and drops his weight upon you exactly like he’d done the first time when he’d mounted you during the summer. However, before he can kiss you and shower you in praise for doing so well yet again, a small, sudden growl resonates from deep within his chest.
His sensitive wolf hearing picks up on the sound of keys jingling from the other side of the front door, as well as the drunken giggles and wheezing.
Your roommates are back. Great timing.
Looks like you’ll have to play it quiet.
———
Dating a werewolf is easier than expected, when said werewolf is also your best friend.
But even after being in a relationship with him for almost five years now — the last two of those spent living in an adorable little apartment together — you still can’t help but be fazed by how rough he ends up looking after every transformation.
Kiba’s shirt is torn in some places when he comes home the morning after he’d ventured out into the woods to cross off yet another full moon off his calendar. Besides the shirt, you also notice that his shoes are muddy and that his jeans are covered in dirt. Oh, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a twig poking out of his hair.
All in all, he looks absolutely dead-beat; so exhausted that he can’t even give you a proper smile as he kicks his sneakers off and drags his feet across the kitchen floor. When he finally plops down onto the chair he favours, it’s accompanied by a sigh.
You stand up from your own seat so that you can walk over and give him a kiss on the forehead. When you do, you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells earthy; like rich soil and wet moss. Like a rainy forest.
“Hungry?” you mumble against his tan skin, combing your fingers through his hair to get rid of the twig that’s definitely stuck in there. After a bit of effort, you succeed in pulling it out and make sure to toss it in the trash as you head for the fridge.
“Starvin’,” he answers behind you, his voice completely worn out. “My stomach hurts like a motherfucker from how empty it is.”
“Well, that’s your own fault, now isn’t it? If you’d transformed here like you did last time, I would’ve made sure you were fed throughout the night,” you chide, rummaging through the fridge to pick up the carton of eggs you’d bought the day before. “I even took a day off work because of it, and yet you still decided to go out there into the woods.”
“I gotta keep that dawg in me somehow, don’t I?” he says, laughing like a kid.
“You can keep that dawg in you while you’re lying on a warm couch instead of the cold, wet ground,” you reply, grabbing the eggs. “Bacon?”
“Yes, please,” he says, propping his cheek against one hand.
With his eyes back to their normal brown, Kiba watches you move across the kitchen that you’d built together over the course of an entire week after moving in. He’d boasted that he was entirely capable of doing it himself and had cancelled on the assembly guys without even as much as offering you the chance to argue back.
Nowadays, whenever he gets another similarly dumb idea, you use the kitchen as a firm example of the consequences that it may bring.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that you were trying to domesticate me,” he muses, feeling his stomach clench at the smell of food that’s beginning to sizzle on the pan now. “Or you just want to sit on my face when I’m in my monster form again. That’s also an option.”
God, he’s so hungry that it hurts.
“You’re lucky I don’t put you up for adoption just for saying that,” you say, tossing the egg shells away. With how fast embarrassment swoops in, twisting your expression into a flustered one, you’re happy that you’ve got your back turned towards him.
“What? You gonna tell me you didn't enjoy the stuff we did last month?” he asks, smirking at the memory. “‘Cause I seem to recall someone whining like a lil’ bitch in heat from only a couple flicks of tongue.”
He’s not wrong. Ever since he’d finally allowed you to see him in his other form a couple years ago, you’d been excited to experiment a little after the initial shock had worn off. So far, there’s been a lot of licking, plenty of dry humping and zero penetration whatsoever; if you exclude that one time when you tried to take him into your mouth but had ended up slobbering all over his dick instead.
He’s simply too big, and you’ve learned to accept it by now. Rubbing your pussy over the enormous length of his werewolf cock is all you can do, but it’s still satisfying either way. Especially when he cums because of how turned you are at the sight of him even when he’s fucking huge and equipped with sharp claws and teeth that could kill just as easily as they could protect. During those times, his release ends up covering your entire tummy and makes a mess out of his fur.
Nevertheless, Kiba feels so lucky that you’re willing to accept all of him. Feels like the luckiest man — or should he rather say wolf — to ever walk the face of the planet. It’s easier when he’s got a partner to lean on.
“Hey. Language,” you say, your voice stern.
“Sorry.” He lets out a soft little hum in apology that’s meant to appease you further. “I’ll stay home next month, okay? I promise.”
“You don’t have to,” you say, definitely wishing he did.
“I want to,” he says back.
When you go to place the plate before him, he pulls you down so that you can sit on his lap instead. After a little bit of squirming and whining about how he’s going to get your pyjama shorts dirty, you eventually settle down when he places his hand on your thigh and pats it affectionately.
“You sure you want to stay here next month?” you mumble. Watching your bare feet dangle freely in the air now, you stroke him over the back of his head with an absent-minded look in your eyes. “I don’t want you to feel cooped up just because of me.”
“Yes, because I can’t take another month of seeing you be so worried about me,” he says sweetly, grabbing the fork that you’d placed on the table earlier.
Your expression turns blank. “Who said I was worried about you?”
He gives you a look that spells bullshit.
“…Oh fine, maybe I did worry just the tiniest bit,” you huff, pursing your lips. “But can you blame me? I mean, look at the shape you’re in whenever you come back!”
“Yeah, I look cool as fuck,” he mumbles before swallowing, already munching on the eggs. You just know he’ll wolf them down the second you get off his lap. “Like Bear Grylls.”
You blink, slowly. “Bear Grylls drank his own piss on live television.”
“I mean, if I-”
“No,” you cut in, sighing. “Whatever you were about to say just now, the answer is no.”
“Meh,” he says, taking another bite. “You’re no fun.”
You stare at his side profile, at the way his jaw works as he chews, at how the sun filters through the window that’s across the room and paints his tan skin golden. It’s not long before your hand is reaching out towards him, cupping his cheek so that you can press a warm kiss on his temple.
“Sucks to be you then, I guess,” you say, smiling cheekily. “Since you’re stuck with a lame mate and all that.”
“Nah, you’re cool as a mate,” he says, angling his head more into your touch on pure instinct. “You’re just a lame best friend. Still love ya, though!”
But despite the teasing remark that he’s just thrown your way, the truth is that Kiba loves you as his best friend just as much as he loves you as his mate.
And judging by the little box that he’s hidden in the back of his closet recently, it seems like he’s going to love you as his wife very soon, too.
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love at first glance
pairing: tara carpenter x bass guitarist!fem reader
word count: 5.5k+
summary: in which tara admires your bass skills, then admires you even more.
author's note: please bear with me, i don't know what i'm doing but i'm just hoping these scrambled words just go well. tv girl mentioned!
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based off request!
tara carpenter x masc! fem reader and reader is in a band, maybe like lead guitarist or bass? but like tara goes to a concert with all of the core 4 (+anika cuz i miss her) and like is mesmerized by reader. maybe they make eye contact during a song or sum? they leave the concert and tara is still thinking about reader and reader is still thinking about tara. cut to like later maybe at a party or a bar and they bump into each other and chop it up, but reader is like awkward-ish?
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You’ve always had a love for anything that was related to music. Your parents made you take singing lessons ever since you were little.
At first, you hated it. Singing Mary Had a Little Lamb in different keys was not entertaining. But as you grew older and probably didn’t need to sing that song every practice, you began to use your house’s grand piano that was left untouched for years. And then, being able to sing and knowing your keys inside and out wasn’t so bad after all.
You spent countless times in the living room, the echo of your voice lingering against your house as you learned your favorite songs.
You wrote songs and composed as you experimented with your voice and the keys. It was almost never surprising when your parents caught you up late at night under your pillow, pencil scratching notes across lined pieces of paper. In every single talent show, audition, or musical, your name would be signed. Everyone in your family knew that one day, you’d grow to be a musician.
People would even begin to see you whenever they were at warehouses and you’d be playing a piano. At every gathering, your relatives would ask, “Where is that little Y/N?” And your parents would look at each other with a knowing glance, both saying confidently, “Probably in the living room with that damn piano.”
You loved listening to music, making music, playing music, feeling your emotions in music, god, every time you’d go out, your earphones would be in your pockets.
So when you were gifted an acoustic guitar for your 12th birthday, to say the least, you were fucking thrilled. Instead of playing the piano 7 days a week, you’d play guitar for half those days. Gosh, was it hard learning a string instrument after playing piano for half your life? Maybe. But you loved it.
You’d practice and practice, gradually getting better, then you’d play the electric and bass. And was the bass guitar a hell of a sound, you loved it.
Then, the best thing ever happened to you. You had grouped up with your friends and quickly became a band with all your talents combined. Slowly but surely, did you begin to realize how far you had gone. Because in a blink of an eye, you were at concerts, fingers pressing down on your strings as it electrified through stadiums and arenas while people cheered.
Cheered for you. That’s something you’ll never regret in your entire life.
-
You turn your bass’s machine head, plucking each string as you tune them before your concert. Nights like this never get old, you’d always be left with the adrenaline from every concert, like your body was refreshed when you slept under your hotel room’s covers.
As your hair and makeup stylist’s makeup brush dabs across your cheeks, you trace the outline of your bass guitar and look at yourself in the mirror. Layered hair, a black tank top over your toned arms, hidden beneath a red leather jacket. Your favorite part would probably be your nails painted red to compliment your hands. You had to keep them short though.
What would this night bring you? Everytime you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the faint echo of your bass vibrating through, lights swaying into the crowd, a smile forming on your face.
Every night had something different, there were different people, a different crowd, it makes you feel different every time. Yet you still feel the thrill and pride swell against your chest.
Junia, one of your closest friends that plays the drums, pops her head in. “You look hot,” she grins, “Jess said she’d come to pick us up at 40. You’re going to kill it, Bass.”
Bass. What an original nickname, you lean your chin into your palm as you raise your eyebrows, “You know it, June.”
7:45.
-
Tara looks at herself in the mirror, Mindy and Chad screaming at each other while playing Jenga in the background. She pushes a stubborn strand of hair away from her eyelashes while she curls them.
“CHEATER!-” Mindy yells, making the brunette flinch and breathe in frustration. She was not going to get her eyelashes pulled out.
After Tara was done with a cropped graphic tee, a jean skirt, and a cute little white bow in her hair, she walked through the hallway and into the living room, still adjusting her gold hoops.
There, Anika and her sister seemed the sanest out of them all. On the other hand, the twins were fighting over the remote.
“Babies,” Sam mutters, pushing her dark brown hair back.
Anika pulls the remote out of both of their hands easily while Chad mutters ‘what the fuck’ under his breath.
It was like being in a daycare. Tara ate a cookie while watching Anika throw the remote onto the sofa, wearing a lace tank top with jeans, “Mindss, why don’t we just leave the remote and find something else. Your hair is getting all poofy.”
“And a little dingussy,” Chad adds.
Mindy smacks him, “Don’t ever use ‘dingussy’ to describe something. It sounds sexual.”
Before they could say furthermore, Tara jumps in, mentally begging them to shut up for a moment, “You have the keys, Sam?”
Sam pulls them out of the pocket in her jeans.
Tara gives a small nod, looking a little over Sam, “Anika, tickets?”
“Yep, 5 of them,” she says, pulling out each ticket one by one with one hand and smoothing out Mindy’s hair with the other. When it was 5:30PM, they were all off, crawling into Sam’s car. Tara immediately sat in the passenger seat.
I’m not sacrificing my hair by sitting in the middle seat, she thinks as she looks back at Anika, who was basically separating the two twins that were probably yelling in her ear at this point.
“You guys will love them. Jess has always been one of the most talented people I know in music. I have no doubt her band will be the best on stage.”
When Anika had first mentioned when she won a giveaway for a concert. It was for a barricade, but it was stated that they were allowed to be in the front row, the tickets she won had granted her that. Tara wasn’t very interested. Music just wasn’t something she always listened to on a daily basis. But there were 5, and no way would she miss out.
So she listened to a song, played it on Spotify while walking to class.
The scene shifts to a local coffee shop in Woodsboro.
“Let me tell you, the bass was fucking amazing! Brilliant!” Tara yaps excitedly to the four people in front of her. She loved how well the drums, electric, lyrics, and bass sounded. The bass blessed her ears. She had immediately added it to her favorites.
“Bass, huh?” Anika smiles while drinking her coffee. “I think that’s one of the leads, Y/N. Jess always talks about how good she sounds, she usually comes up with all the riffs and lines.”
Y/N. It was unique, Tara made a note to remember it. Yet, she forgot about that conversation no less than 2 days after.
-
They all stepped out once they could see people lining up and buying the light up sticks that were controlled throughout the concert. Tara found it cool that the sticks had stars on them, in fact, the lights were one of the parts that made a concert a concert.
Mindy was yelling happily and doing a little dance once their tickets got scanned and they all ran to the front row.
Anika gave a cocky grin, “Maybe they’ll notice us because we’re in the front!”
It was thirty minutes until the background music came to a stop and the lights slowly started to dim. People were screaming, Tara’s heart was pounding against her chest. It was dead silent, whispers and occasional excited screams echoed.
“Oh my god, it’s happening,” Mindy whispers loudly, holding onto Anika as they look at the curtains.
They wait a moment, then two, and by the third one, drums begin to echo. ‘Tsst’ being echoed, before it follows with a loud 16th beat of drums. Then, the curtains open as Tara’s eyes widen.
Are you sick of me?
Would you like to be?
I'm trying to tell you something,
Something that I already said
The drums softly fill Tara’s ears, as she watches them play, she finally notices you. Perfect layered hair, messy in all the right ways. The bass girl. Something about the way the warmth of the light danced across your face in all the right ways captivated her. The way your deep red leather jacket hung over your shoulder, exposing your defined collar bones and toned arms while you pressed on strings.
Oh god, it felt as if a new story line with different love interests began to change for Tara. She could see the veins against your slim hands as they traveled across your guitar with ease. You mouthed the lyrics, enjoying yourself as you close your eyes and sway softly to the beat.
You like a pretty boy,
With a pretty voice
Who is trying to sell you something,
Something that you already have
The drums left Tara’s thoughts, now hearing you and the way that your bass adds on to the magic of it all. You’re just standing there, your bangs swiping across your features as you tuck it to your sides, smiling to yourself as you scan the crowd for a moment then look back down to your strings.
Maybe it was the way you looked like you were the right person for this part–to be on stage like you were meant for it. Or maybe it was the way your gaze flickered to the front row and landed on Tara’s wide ones. She could see the way you tilted your head and gave her a curious, wondering look, before giving her a small smile.
Oh my god, your smile was so cute. If she could describe it, it’s like the kind of smile that made her all giggly and was so contagious that she felt herself slowly smile.
The lights shine over your face, making everything about you glow. You pluck at the strings as you mouth the chorus to Tara. Her eyes searched all over your face. You don’t break eye contact with her.
But if you're too drunk to drive,
And the music is right
She might let you stay,
But just for the night
“And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along,” Tara mouths back in time with the song.
One of your eyebrows raise as the light shines onto you once again, god, she can almost hear your soft, breathy voice teasingly singing, “She might want a kiss before the end of this song..”
Anika screams, jumping up and down and hyping everyone up, waving her heart stick in beat with the song.
Because love can burn like a cigarette…
-
By the end of the concert, Tara was love struck. Very very love struck. It was late when her and the four of her friends walked out, the stars shining just a little brighter. She couldn’t get you out of her head. She might have grown gray hairs. How could you be more than any other celebrity crush?
She prayed to the universe that it would align you both together. Just like each star was in the night sky.
It’s bad, Loving Machine is playing and she can only think about you strumming your guitar.
Here she comes walking down the street,
Maddie Klein and her fabulous loving machine-
“Earth to Tara, hello?” Anika pauses the music, waving her hand into the girl’s face. It was almost like a record scratch moment as Tara blinked and looked around. “Oh, sorry, what?”
“Did you like the concert?” She asks, holding onto her star light up as the red light makes the glitter under her eyes sparkle. Anika was now in the middle, the car a little quieter since Chad was now in the passenger seat.
“Oh yeah, I loved it.” Tara answers, half of her attention slipping away. She starts to see you from a camera, lighting cast against your tan skin, a TV effect on you, making your movements jerky.
The rest of the people are fading away, their voices, so loud and eager. Blah blah blah blah… Y/N.. Bassist. Love of her life.
Dreamy sigh.
Blah.. Blah.. “Yeah the bassist was hot.” Mindy’s voice suddenly being processed.
“What?” Tara immediately turns away from the window and looks at Mindy on the opposite side. Oh god, now she was going to have to fight for you? "No! Go find someone else to admire!” She grumbles, before immediately looking away.
The whole car shakes as they all laugh, playfully hitting Tara. “See? She was literally summoned, baby!” Anika giggles, talking to Mindy. “She wasn’t giving any shits when we were talking, and as soon as we talked about Senorita Y/N, she was like poof!”
Sam looks from the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised, “Already? One concert that lasted two hours and she’s already wrapped you around her little finger?”
Little fingers, those veiny hands that played so smoothly across the-
Chad turns around excitedly, like a child peeking at surprise presents, “She was literally captivated the whole damn concert! You should’ve seen her, a love sick puppy!”
Her sister cackles, the car moving as she keeps snorting, “Gotta admit though, she’s fine wine.”
“Sam!” Tara rubs her cheeks, she seriously hoped she wasn’t going to have to battle till death for you.
“Chill!” Sam coaxes, putting one hand up in the air, “I would totally go for her if you weren’t interested. Didn’t think you had a thing for ‘Sam accepted’ girls.”
The freckled cheek girl couldn’t help but sigh, the thought of you still lingering in her mind. Like a twinkling little Melody who’s lyrics couldn’t get out of her mind, even when she slept.
-
It had been a week. Tara says that she doesn’t think of you too often, but every single time she hears your band’s song, you end up in her mind for the whole day. Every time she steps into a coffee shop, she wonders if you’d be the person to give a free concert.
She wonders if you’re as sweet as your name sounds. She wonders if you’d hold doors for others or walk old ladies down the street. She wonders if your hand would fit hers. She wonders if you had even thought of her after the curtains closed.
She wonders if you smell good, if you’d smell like a musky, sweet, fruity vanilla-y scent with leather undertones. She sure hoped so.
To say the least, you’ve thought about the brunette just as much. You were having fun, strumming your guitar and feeling the beat radiate off your skin. Until you lay eyes on her. She had wide, brown doe eyes that made your knees buckle.
She was heaven-sent. You could even make out her tan freckled cheeks. And you were almost in denial when she was looking at you. It was always who was singing that people looked at, heck, you did too. But you were looking at her. And she was looking at you.
Plenty of people might have looked at you, but she was different. Like she was mesmerized by how you played. Like she was a moth to your flame.
In fact, you don’t know if anyone has ever looked at you with that much admiration.
The girl was so beautifully written, you wished you knew who she was. Instead, she was one out of 8 billion people out there, in a blink of an eye, a close of a curtain, she was off.
-
Tara looked at herself in the mirror, standing there like.. She didn’t even know, her serious eyes trailing down to what she was wearing, before turning to Anika slowly.
“Anika, I look like a hot dog.” She cries, looking at the way the costume swallowed her whole in the fitting room.
“That’s because you’re wearing a hot dog costume, Tar. But you look like a steaming hot hot dog!” Anika shakes her head, her head only visible since she was basically a whole mustard bottle.
Mindy waddles through the living room, a red ketchup bottle, a red dangling earring complimenting her poofy hair. “Has anyone seen my earring? I can’t find it! It was in my purse and I thought if it looked good, I’d totally buy this.”
Chad walks in the girl’s fitting room, slightly peeking as Sam walks out of her dressing room, a serious expression on their face, a cookie and milk costume.
Tara wants to laugh, but no way in hell was she going to wear this at a costume party, at least not at a serious one.
-
After actually taking it seriously, Tara decides on a pirate outfit, tying up her bandana.
She can almost hear the music blasting from her apartment, which is filled with laughter and chatting from her ‘family.’
Her eyes skim over her board, looking for her calendar that was usually meant for school, roaming around the small photos of you and a heart drawn over your face. She traces over it, before getting ready to leave, not even looking at the calendar.
Maybe the calendar was just an excuse.
After 5 songs and a half of your band’s music, the core five, including sweet Anika, open the door. A heavy scent of booze fills their senses, sweat, and a mix of perfumes all lingered. Not to mention, it was stuffy.
“Ugh, do they ever think about AC?” Sam grumbles, clearly not a party person as she gets whacked across the face from a toilet plumber that belonged to a person who was wearing a damn toilet costume. Mindy cackled, before tripping and almost crashing into them, luckily her girlfriend tugged her back.
They pushed against cowboy hats and random inflatable dinosaurs, across the dance floor, and to the drinks station.
Tara did not leave empty handed, her mouth gulping down the bubbly bitterness of alcohol.
She was buzzed, a few drinks here and she was flushed and giggling, so she made sure to think about her intake. As she parted from the other four to find a trash can, scanning the groups of people. Sometimes she found people she knew at school, cute boys, just people she’s seen.
Tara took a different route back to her friends, the music growing louder in her ears when she got near the dance floor, slivering through bodies. It was almost inevitable that her nose would scrunch, too strong of a perfume, or just sweat.. It made her nauseous.
Where was she going? She didn’t know, she stood on her tippy toes, her ruffled blouse crinkling as she searched for her friends.
Her face smacked right into someone, her hand automatically being placed on their chest. She opened her mouth, about to apologize and prepare for a scolding until her nose twitched. A fruity and sweet vanilla-y smell, and a light leathery contrast.. No?..
“Shoot,” you look down, your drink almost spilling on yourself as you look at the shorter person as you smooth out their hair. Did you ruin it? “I’m sorry, are you okay?”
Tara looks at her outfit, perfectly fine, no stains. Hearing your soft, breathy voice, it was unrecognizable to her at first.
“No, it’s totally fine, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Tara says, immediately looking up and seeing your big curious eyes.
Oh my god.
Your eyes search hers, like you’re scanning her. Like you feel you’ve seen her before. No, you know you have. But where? The trace of her nose, doe eyes, oh! Tara almost puts a hand over her mouth because she can almost see the swirling sense of recognition in your eyes.
You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to ask about the concert, but you closed it. You don’t even know if she noticed you, maybe she was spacing out and was not acknowledging you during your concert a few weeks ago.
When it came to people, especially ones you crushed on, you were all stuttering words and pink cheeks.
The shorter girl sees the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and she registers what you’re wearing as her eyes trail down. And fuck, you looked angellic. Seriously.
A halo over your head and wings enveloping your sides. A black corset and ruffled skirt that showed a little of your legs, which were covered with tights. God, she thinks she can see the muscles as you cross one leg over the other.
It immediately makes you think she’s judging you. This costume was not your cup of tea, but your friends invited you to match with them, all angels in different colors.
The little pirate instead gives you a genuine look, “I like your costume,” she says, focusing a little too much on your toned arms and slightly flushed cheeks.
“I um.. Thank you..?” You bite your tongue, not knowing her name. In what chance do you get to meet the girl that made you think soulmates were real once again? At least a 1 in 300 chance.
“Tara,” she answers for you, pretending she didn’t already have your name embedded in the back of her head.
“I’m Y/N,” you bite a smile, she probably didn’t recognize you. You take a small sip from your drink, nose scrunching at the taste.
“You’re good at the bass,” she says nonchalantly, and you almost choke on your drink.
You didn’t think she’d recognize you, but now knowing that, you tilt your head. “Thank you. It comes from years of practice. What did you think?” You were genuinely curious.
“I think you’re just so good at the bass..” She mumbles, again, trailing off, before clearing her throat. “I mean, the bass always makes the songs so much better! You know? It’s like realizing how amazing something really is when you notice it-”
“I appreciate it,” you say, now aware of your surroundings because instead of where you two just bumped into each other, you were sitting at a table. You turn your head, looking at where you were, probably near the back.
Tara took the opportunity to notice your damn jawline, so perfect and sleek and defined-
“I like your freckles,” you admit, voice breathy. You turn back to look at her while batting your eyelashes, Tara’s eyes trained on how your hands.. Veiny hands lifted the cup to your lips.
The compliment almost catches her off guard, because with all the compliments she might get, freckles were usually not on the list. It used to make her insecure, but the way you said it and looked said otherwise. The alcohol was definitely taking a toll on you, because you were staring at her with no shame whatsoever.
Wide, searching eyes, it looked as if you were trying to memorize every detail.
The flutters in Tara’s stomach would’ve lasted longer. Except her eyes teared away from yours as she could see a very familiar ketchup and mustard costume and two other people behind them.
“Oh my god!” She groans quietly, covering her face as she scoots deeper into the booth.
She completely forgot that she slithered away from them, getting side tracked.
The brunette could die from embarrassment. You on the other hand.. Just prettily sitting there with a curious look on your face, the small warmth of the lamp casting a glow onto your face.
You bite your lip, trying to fight back a small giggle as you peek at the costumes that you can almost kind of guess who they are to Tara.
-
“SHE’S LOOKING THIS WAY!” Mindy hollers, tugging the mustard bottle next to her as Chad scribbles something on a piece of paper.
“Tara’s literally hiding from us.”
“Hold it up!”
-
They’re screaming at each other. You can’t hear it from all the music and party chatter, but you can definitely figure it out from their expressions. For a moment, they turn away from you, so you can’t see them.
You slip on a leather jacket that was in your bag.
A hiding Tara is in the corner of the booth, you raise your eyebrows at her.
It doesn’t take long before the four people across the room slowly turn to you in synchronization.
“Um, I don’t-” You start, feeling a little awkward.
They hold up a paper, and you can’t even see what the words are saying. It’s at least the size of a penny. And from here, you can’t even make out the words.
-
“Dingus,” Mindy shouts to her twin, noticing the confused expression on your face as you try to understand what the paper is saying. She finally turns the paper around after holding it up. “It’s too small, that’s why!”
-
One of the four holds up a finger, signaling you to give them a moment as they adjust, before turning around.
‘Give her your numbar’ The sign says, you still don’t get it. Oh, number. You grab a tissue from the booth, and take out a sharpie from your pocket. Sharpies were always needed whenever you went out. To write down something on your hand, to sign autographs..
You slip the paper to Tara, giving her a small smile. She was definitely embarrassed. She didn’t even notice you slipping it to her, because after 5 seconds of you sliding it to her again, she still was clueless! The girl, instead, turned around to look out, immediately still seeing her stupid friends.
You sigh, putting the paper into your pocket. You feel a little bad for her.
Party lights fill the empty crevices of the room while you scoot out of the booth and stand up, pretending you didn’t notice the four people who were staring into the back of your skull.
“I think my friends are playing some Uno, you wanna come?” You offer, guiding her out of the booth as you look down at her.
“Sure.”
-
As the game went on, the last two players in the center still battling it out, Tara could see you were all fuzzy and flushed.
You were definitely drunk. Too drunk to drive.
Your knees were nudged against hers, a little closer than expected, cuddled into her, but she didn’t mind. God no she definitely didn’t.
She was talking a lot, and you were always open ears and one of the best listeners. And then you would ramble and Tara would listen. It made you both feel heard and understood.
After a moment, you remember something.
“Can I borrow your phone real quick? Uh, my phone is dead right now and I have to text a friend where I’m at.” You lie, your words slightly mushed together.
“Sure,” Tara says, unlocking her phone and handing it to you, a little drunk. You try to ignore the fact that the wallpaper is you from the concert she attended weeks ago.
You slip into the contacts, adding your contact and changing the name to; y/n, the bass guitarist ♡.
She didn’t even notice for the rest of the night.
As the sun slept at night, Tara stared at the ceiling, her vinyl spinning while a crackled “Say Yes to Heaven” reverberated around her bedroom.
She wished she could’ve stayed so much longer, but her friends had to leave, and there was no way she was taking an Uber or driving when tipsy.
Tara wanted to ask for your number, but because you never asked, maybe you didn’t because this didn’t mean as much as it did to her.
Curiosity was getting the best of her as she checked the messages on her phone, wondering how you typed like to your friends. But to her surprise, there were no messages to a number she didn’t recognize. The last number was just to Sam.
Her nose wrinkled, swiping to check the apps recently opened as she clicked the recent one.
Dimples creased against her cheeks as she saw your name with a little heart. She immediately clicked to message you. But to her surprise, you had already done so.
y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: whatcha doing? i hope ur not asleep yet>:(
tara ☆🧭: thankfully not yet, i’m in bed. u know, i was going to be a little sad than i’d like to admit if i didn’t get your number.
y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: i did hand you a paper, but you were hiding in the corner of the booth and i thought it would be easier this way
It took her a moment to think of what to say, before she thought of something she never thought she’d do late at night.
tara ☆🧭: do u wanna call? maybe just talk to each other till one of us falls asleep.
You usually weren't the person to connect over facetimes and calls, sometimes you didn't know what to say in the moment. You don't know..
She doesn’t get a response for a minute, before her phone vibrates in her hand and she swipes to answer.
Your hair was let down loose, in an oversized tee that even then she could still see your collarbones. You give a sleepy smile.
“Tara,” you say softly, and something in Tara thumps because you look so happy to see her. She grins back, shifting so she could see you better.
“I’ve never really done one of these,” your quiet voice says, a warmer tone casting over your face. “Do you want to say hi to Cinnamon? He’s my puppy.” You say, pushing your hair back.
The brunette nods, “Puppies are so cute, my sister isn’t very fond though. They sometimes make her sneeze.”
“Oh, allergies you could get a poodle breed or something, Cinnamon doesn’t shed much,” you agree, your camera slightly shaking as she can slightly hear you call your dog's name in a cute voice. “Come here, boy!”
Seconds later, you bring out your puppy, which lolls outs his tongue as you press a kiss to his head. Tara can see your red nails as you mess up his hair.
“Tell me about yourself,” Tara says, looking at you through the screen with pure curiosity.
“I-” You pause, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “I think you should tell me about yourself first. It’s late and I want to listen to you. As much as I’d try to stay up, I’d fall asleep if you went second.” You murmur, cuddling with Cinnamon.
What you said made Tara feel something she doesn’t feel often. Appreciated? Well, she always wants to listen to others when calling, then she might go second, but when you brought up her going first? That made her feel fireworks.
“Okay, what do you want to know first?”
“What’s your favorite memory and why?”
-
As an hour, then two passes, you begin to tell Tara about yourself. She’s never felt so heard before. Both your lamps are off, now the only light from each others screens.
She can tell you’re beginning to doze off. The way you’re pausing and blinking sleepily before murmuring a little too softly.
“What is something that you hate?”
You don’t say anything for a moment, your light breaths heard on the other end as you shift slightly and prop up your phone.
“Peppercorns..” You yawn, keeping your eyes half open. “They’re fine for seasoning, but when I bite into them, god.. It tastes so bad..”
You pause again, eyes heavy as you blink. “When you feel like you have to change for other people to like you. When you have to be someone you’re not because of people that don’t make you feel like you can be yourself.”
Tara nods, rubbing her eyes as she admires your defined features, even from the darkness. She could see the softness too. If she looked enough.
“I think those people make me feel the worst. Not wanting to be the one laughed at so you change to the one that’s laughing. Or when people talk down on the things you love. It hurts. And that’s something that I hope no one goes through.”
Wow, something about that makes her get to know the kind of person you are by a landslide.
“That’s a good response. What about your favorite fruit?”
“Mmm.. Watermelon. The sweet ones.. It’s so refreshing and…” You trail off, your eyes closing as your breathing evens out. Your lips were slightly parted, your puppy making a small whimper as he snuggles into you.
It’s silent, except for the faint white noise from Tara’s ceiling fan. You looked like a dream. Everything you talked about made Tara see nothing but good. And knowing that makes her feel like she should start seeing things the way you do.
A car passes by, the softest lyrics playing, it lulls Tara to bed.
We were listening to lovers rock
In her bedroom
You both fall asleep on call, maybe people were meant for each other.
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