#i will find the big boy and i will beat him until he's a fucking stain on my shoe

[d0geggz]

logged into twitter for the first time in like six months to complain to a fast food company bc they changed my comfort food that i've eaten almost every day for the past months from normal ass chicken to this weird spicy burnt shit covered in pickles, no announcement, no menu change, nothing

and it's not that they gave us the wrong item that's literally apparently what we ordered

this is fucking bullshit

[tired-biscuit]

okay but imagine werewolf best friend kiba who has wanted and loved you for years. who has pined and craved and fucked a pair of your underwear and chased off so many 'rivals' behind your back.

imagine going away for college and reconnecting. maybe you go camping. maybe you trigger his rut earlier because he's wanted you for so fucking long that it can't be contained. him at the entrance, unzipping it, crawling over you, waking you up with his head between your legs and begging for you to 'help him out'. for 'just the tip'

but it ends up with him knotting and breeding you and you wake up with his mark on your shoulder and he's already pawing at you again

Finding peace in the spontaneous wild (that is you)

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

premise: when an accidental encounter with your former childhood best friend leads you to agree to a one-night camping trip consisting of just you two, you discover that there’s more to your friendship than initially meets the eye.

cw: monsterfucking (he's mostly in his human form, though), knotting, creampie, implied breeding, mounting, size difference, omegaverse themes.

college/modern AU. friends to lovers, one bed trope (kind of, they’re sharing sleeping bags in the same tent), unestablished mating bond, mutual pining, lots of bickering and misunderstandings; they get into one big fight (kiba and reader are polar opposites personality-wise and tend to agree to disagree), usage of sweetheart and bunny as pet names for reader. i think that's everything?

wc: 26.2k

find part two here!

———

You run into Kiba at the grocery store, around two weeks after returning home from college.

It’s completely coincidental; neither of you expects it to happen. You catch him standing next to the fruit section, picking the best-looking oranges out of the bunch with slightly pinched eyebrows and narrowed eyes, and before you can even ready yourself to approach him, he already beats you to it.

He blinds you with his grin despite the distance between you as you raise your hand to wave him over. A single dimple that you were already expecting appears in his right cheek. His smile is toothy and friendly; nostalgic. It throws you back to a much simpler time.

After all, you’ve known each other for years — you and Kiba go way back. Back to when your only concern had been what cartoons to watch, and the urgency to come back home well before it got dark outside was a rule set in stone. 

Back then, the world seemed to be splashed with brighter, more vibrant colours than it is now. A sugar rush was the best thing to ever happen to you before you came crashing down twice as hard, and your mother had called you downstairs for breakfast every single morning before ruffling your hair and rushing off to work. 

Now, you’re happy if you get the chance to FaceTime with her once or twice a week while you’re away at college. Your hair certainly doesn’t get ruffled anymore and you make breakfast yourself.

Even the trees in your neighborhood have changed, no longer appearing as tall as they used to be because, well, back then you were the smaller one. The sidewalk on your street was sizzling hot with summer heat, but now it's getting worse each year, and your feet aren’t bare anymore as you walk on it; no longer trekking the familiar route that would lead you to the house of the very boy, who now stands before you in the middle of the grocery store instead of leaning against the open doorway of his childhood home, impatiently waiting to pull you inside.

You used to spend nearly every single day with him. Going on adventures with your bikes — you with your helmet on, him without — until your legs were aching from pedaling so much had become a daily thing of sorts. Constantly coming up with new ways to entertain your never-satisfied, highly imaginative kid brains was a favoured pastime. Wearing scrapes of all shapes and sizes on your knees and palms like they were badges of honor was a thing to be expected. 

But that’s all gone now.

Because now, you’re both adults. Juggling jobs and degrees — well, at least one of you is, not that you’re surprised in any way that Kiba hasn’t chosen to try his hand at college — and all that other crap that consists of time-consuming responsibilities that can be quite pesky and bothersome, but make your lives easier to live nonetheless. 

It feels like an aeon has passed as a result. Like your childhood had been whisked away from you by neither of you ever realizing it until it was far too late. So, you’ve drifted apart. It tends to happen. 

Come to think of it, when was the last time you’d seen your trusted partner in crime? Three years ago? Or has it been four already? You’re unsure.

All you know is that it’s been long. Too long. College feels like it’s been nothing but a rather confusing blur, to say the least.

But so does Kiba.

And so do you.

You’ve both become utterly indecipherable in each other’s eyes. Like foggy glass on a rainy morning.

So you use a couple of moments to merely look at each other because of it; to wipe the condensation off the glass with the sleeves of your phantom sweaters. Him, with those goddamn oranges that he’s still holding in his too-big hands, and you, with your shopping cart that you forgot back at the end of aisle 7 twice already. 

You stare and stare and stare, all until your burning curiosity finally gets the best of you, and you can’t help but invite him to approach you with a not at all subtle aim to appease it. 

Kiba visibly perks up when you wave him over. He shoves the oranges into a reusable bag that his mom had always nagged him about using, and walks over with that confident stride you’d always envied him for having. 

And then all of a sudden he’s right there, in the flesh. Looking the same as he’d always looked, but also not at all.

It’s weird. His smile is the same but the face that surrounds it has changed. Finding yourself in his presence again after a period that you’d describe nothing short of a small eternity, you realize that even if the grin of your childhood best friend is an exact replica of his old one, everything else has either faded away or been replaced by something new.

And new means foreign.

Because as you tip your head slightly upwards to initiate proper eye contact this time, you realize that Kiba has gotten taller. Way taller. Even with his posture relaxed, he towers above you with no effort; something he didn’t get to do back when you’d been nothing but a pair of runts, practically conjoined at the hip.

And that’s not all there is to it. Besides his impressive height, Kiba has also become broader in the shoulders and longer in the legs since you’ve last seen him. He has a sleeve of insanely intricate tattoos covering nearly the entirety of his left arm; it reaches up to the short sleeve of his light-grey tee and probably up to his shoulder. He’s also lost most of his baby fat, and thus now owns a face more defined than you ever recall it being. 

His mop of hair is mostly hidden by the faded baseball cap that he must have put on to fight the summer heat that’s raging outside, however there are still a couple of rogue curls peeking out at the sides and at the nape of his neck. The brim has softened from how old the cap is, not as bent downwards at the corners as it surely used to be ages ago, but at least it still gets the job done. 

He’s always had a habit of being lazy whenever it came to getting haircuts. It seems like some things did manage to stay the same, after all.

You investigate further. As far as differences go, the edge of Kiba’s jawline is sharp instead of round, and his cheeks look smooth to the touch. He’s clean-shaven; the embarrassing peach fuzz days, which you used to tease him about for months on end, have ended. 

He’s a grown man. A pretty darn healthy, vigorous one, it seems.

And speaking of being healthy, you remember a time when he wasn’t.

———

You’re fourteen again and find yourself back in a rather familiar bedroom.

The air inside the room smells warm, like wood and your second home. The sounds of the house are just the way you remember them being. 

There’s someone talking downstairs. Furniture cracks and snaps as it settles in even if it’s old and has had more than enough time to do so already. Dog claws ceaselessly click against the floor. The TV is on. You can hear the weather forecast for tomorrow if you strain your ears hard enough. 

And then there’s the shallow breathing.

Oh, yeah. Right. 

Kiba’s sick. 

Your smile wavers as you keep sitting on the edge of the bed, his bed, that you’d fallen asleep in a rather embarrassing amount of times back when your legs were shorter and it hadn’t been considered awkward or improper just because your best friend belongs to the opposite sex.

The sheets are a tacky design of light blue and white and the mattress is old, but sturdy enough to not cause any worry of having to buy a new one just yet. It supports both his and your own weight fairly well, however it won’t be able to do so for much longer, you think.

You turn your head towards the window. It’s fall and it’s raining outside — the heavy raindrops rattle against the glass every so often whenever the wind catches them, making you stare out at the foggy grayness that sluggishly spirals on the other side.

You’ve left your boots downstairs. In the hallway, where Tsume, Kiba’s mother, had greeted you and ushered you inside the moment you’d come knocking on her front door, looking soaking wet to the bone. Besides your boots, your bright yellow raincoat resides there as well, probably dripping from the hanger onto the floor, making a puddle you’ll have to feverishly apologize for later.

With your train of thought coming to a halt, you eventually grow tired of watching the nearby woods that reside next to the Inuzuka household. So you shift your gaze again. 

This time, you focus on the room itself. There are posters taped to the walls, the majority of them depicting movies and rock bands that you’ve never really fancied yourself all that much. The desk is littered with clutter, most of it school-related but you’re able to spot a couple of comics in there as well. The alarm clock on the nightstand is digital; it shows the time. 

3:27 PM.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, but it’s also the fourth day that Kiba hasn’t come to school. The seat in the classroom that he usually sits in remains empty — you know that because you keep it reserved for him by placing your backpack on it each morning. He’s been absent ever since the pain in his limbs and the unyielding fever had become too much for even him to handle; the boy who just loves to brag about never getting sick. 

All right, you’ve got to cut him some slack because in some way, he isn’t even actually sick? His growth spurt — and his entire puberty experience overall, if you could even call it that — is the thing that has taken such a toll on him, not actual illness.

And in some way, it has taken a toll on you, too. Seeing him ache hurts you just the same, even if your bones aren’t the ones that are currently growing much too fast, much too soon.

So here you are, bringing him copies of the notes that you’ve been religiously taking in class for the fourth day in a row. Keeping him company. Wiping the sweat off his forehead with a rag soaked in water, like a good best friend. Over and over again. Without stop.

His dark brown hair is damp from all the water and sweat, it sticks to his temples. He’s burning up, to the point that his face is flushed pink instead of tan, but he’s still shivering all over underneath the covers. 

Your heart hurts as you watch him endure such profound agony; it makes your chest squeeze tight. He’s clearly fallen ill in some shape or form and is in obvious pain, but no matter what you tell him, he simply refuses to go to the doctor’s office.

Truth be told, you feel rather surprised that his mom hasn’t dragged him there herself yet. Taking into account that she’s usually completely unfazed by his overwhelmingly stubborn nature, you’d expected her to not be taking any shit from her son whatsoever and would be firmly setting her foot down when it came to anything concerning his health. Granted, while he did inherit most of his obstinate qualities from her side of the family, the fact that—

“Stop worryin’ so much.”

You blink in surprise. “Mm?”

“I said stop worryin’.”

The feeble request that Kiba makes sounds firmer this time. It makes you look up from the rag you’ve been subconsciously clutching in your hands with a near death grip for the last five minutes or so. 

The slightly tingly feeling that dances within them now is somewhat hard to ignore. Especially at the tips of your fingers.

So you rest your hands on your lap, rubbing your palms up and down your jeans just to have something to do now that they’re empty. By the time you finally will yourself to turn your head, Kiba is already looking at you from the confines of the cozy prison that is his bed. 

His eyes are nearly half shut, eyelids heavy with lead-weighted exhaustion, but his expression is riddled with an emotion you’re not mature enough yet to fully decipher, much less understand.

Not that you’d ever tell him that, but you'd always considered him as the emotionally smarter one of your little duo; even with his awfully short temper taken into consideration. 

After all, while you excelled in academics, Kiba sought different places to thrive and prosper in. It didn’t take a genius to see that he’s practically been made to communicate with others; that he’s a proper people person. Shaped by people to be loved by people.

And the people do tend to love him. They really do.

Now that you think about it, that may also be the reason as to why he has way more friends than you. Why he can usually turn most situations to his favour, while you normally struggle to avoid the worst of outcomes. Why he knows how to read you like an open book Every. Single. Time, while you just play a never-ending guessing game of what’s happening inside that thick skull of his.

You’re an odd pair together. He’s nothing like you and you’re nothing like him. It’s no wonder that some don’t believe you’re actual friends at first, however Kiba has always been fast to prove them wrong. For some unknown reason, he’s attached you to himself and has been pulling you along for the ride ever since the day he first saw you. It’s been like that ever since.

Meanwhile, you’re just happy that you have someone to spend time with. Being so introverted proves to be quite a nuisance whenever it comes to meeting new people and acquiring friends, so he’s pretty much all you’ve got.

And that makes you care for him even more.

“How on earth am I supposed to ‘not worry’,” you begin to say quietly, making air quotes, “when my best friend has been practically chained to his bed for the last four days?”

Immediately, Kiba brushes you off with a flick of the wrist, gesturing that he thinks you’re overreacting. It pisses you off greatly, especially when he says, “Oh, please… I’m fine. You just worry too much.”

“Are you, though?” you ask. “Fine?”

“Are you?”

You exhale through your nose as you attempt to relax and wiggle your fingers, trying to appease him or convince him otherwise, you don’t know. 

The truth is, you want to tell him that no, you’re not fine. You want to tell him that you are worried sick for him because he is sick and won’t admit it. You want to tell him that you love him, that you care about him. Not in that kind of way, of course — goodness, no! — but in a way a young teenage girl who doesn’t know any better can love her best friend.

But instead, all you do is stay quiet because being considerate of others is your go-to. Besides, his headache is as bad enough as it is already. Who are you to make it worse by troubling him with your nonsense?

Unfortunately for you, Kiba doesn’t buy your rather bad portrayal of calm. All he does is sigh at it.

Continuously.

“What? What are you sighing for so much?” you instantly snap at the sound and aura of exasperation he emits, now. Your tone is razor sharp, much sharper than it needs to be, but you just can’t help yourself. Being so different from you, he can be outright infuriating sometimes.

“Nothin’,” he answers back, and yet he can’t resist giving you that look that definitely means there is something. “It’s nothin’, bunny.”

Your tone falls flat at the nickname he’s given you because of your rather timid personality, “Liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

He grunts, sighing again. “Oh, c’mon—”

“What?” you quip again. “You told me not to worry, so here I am; not worrying! I’m doing just like you’ve said.” 

The small wrinkle that’s etched itself between your brows deepens as the words rush out of you in one great swoop. It’s clear to you both that you don’t really mean them, but it looks like there’s definitely no sign of you admitting them coming any time soon.

“Fine, whatever.” Kiba almost sounds like he’s grumbling as he says, “You’re not worrying. There. Happy?”

You scoff. “No? Yes? I don’t know if I’m happy!”

He manages a weak smile at your indecisiveness, a mere quirk of an upper lip that’s not nearly as lively as it normally would be if he weren’t so sick. Your body tenses as he shuffles closer to the edge of the bed where you reside and nuzzles his face deeper into the pillow, wiping the sweat off his cheek right into the bedding this time around.

His voice comes across as muffled from the way he’s still hiding his face from view when he says, “I can practically see your brain catching on fire from all that worry that you’re apparently ‘not’ feeling, ya know.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling back as far as they’ll go. They just do it completely on their own accord whenever you’re with him, it seems. “And how can you possibly—”

He points at you with one tired hand and winces at how terribly heavy his arm feels with the action. It’s unpleasant and draining, but he wants to prove a point. So he keeps it nice and steady as he says, “Look, there’s smoke comin’ outta your ears already! You better chill out, or that lil’ pea brain of yours is gonna get burnt to a crisp or somethin’.”

He hisses like he’s just burnt himself after he teases you, drawing yet another scoff out of you. 

A pout graces your lips as you glare at him from underneath your lashes; ever the unexpected drama queen. “Well, at least I have a brain to burn, unlike yourself.”

His eyes settle on you again. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, dummy,” you say. “I can bet you five bucks that there’s nothing but hay stored inside that freakishly big head of yours!”

“I—” He bristles at your comment before his eyes open wide and he scowls. “Shut up! My head ain’t big!”

Your expression mirrors his own, now. “No, you shut up!”

“You can’t talk to me like that; I’m sick!”

“So you finally admit that you’re actually sick, huh?”

“No, wait, that’s not what I meant—”

“Nu-uh, you said it so you meant it!”

Everything is quiet as you lean forward to point and dig an accusatory finger into his chest. He tenses but relaxes in a beat of a moment as the remaining pads of your fingers join in and graze the soft cotton of his worn t-shirt. Swipe to the right, then slightly upwards, the flat of your palm rests above the place where his heart lies.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump! 

His heartbeat is fast. Strong. Like a song that makes you want to scream the lyrics to instead of singing them so that you can feel it better inside the marrow of your bones.

But you don’t feel like listening right now.

“Hey, what’re you—”

He squirms and lets out a small noise of surprise when you suddenly jab him in the ribs.

Exchanging a quick look of betrayal with your best friend as he slaps your hand away, you feel your lips start to quiver. It’s not long before you both succumb and break into a fit of quiet laughter. The tension gradually dissipates with every chuckle and snicker, right along with your worries. At least for a little while, that is.

Kiba’s laugh cracks midway. You’re unsure if it’s because of the fact that he’s not feeling well or because his voice is just getting deeper with age, however you’re still giggling by the time he clears his throat and reaches over to place his hand on top of your own.

Your eyes instinctively flit towards the contact. It’s not anything new, you’ve held hands with him before — god knows you’ve gotten fake-married on at least three different occasions throughout your childhood, and with three different flavoured ring pops, at that — but as you now gaze at the blunt crescents of his nails, you can’t for the life of you remember his hand ever being this hot to the touch.

It’s concerning.

“Dude,” you whisper, your voice slowly dropping from playful to wary. “I don’t want to nag you about it anymore since I know you don’t like it, but I seriously think that you should go see a doctor… You’re burning up and it’s probably—”

You twitch as Kiba gives your hand a gentle, albeit unexpected squeeze to make you look up at him again. 

Just like your voice, his expression has switched from his previously boyish one, to a much more somber kind that, truth be told, you’re not used to seeing on his face all that much.

It makes your sentence, well, rambling, gradually fade into silence as you finally indulge him for once by keeping your mouth shut. He used to think you were quiet back when he’d met you. Now he knows that you just have to get comfortable in order to start speaking.

Shadows from the swaying branches outside dance across the side of his face that he hasn’t got buried in the pillow. Looking like he’s contemplating something heavy, Kiba swallows the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth whilst he runs his thumb along your knuckles.

The brief attempt at soothing you manages to bring a smidge of peace to the otherwise growing hurricane of emotions that’s steadily whirling somewhere inside your ribcage, however it’s over much too soon to actually make any difference.

Your look of concern only worsens as a result. Concentrating hard, you manage to repress the sudden urge to start biting your nails and tugging on the sleeves of your cream-coloured sweater that you’ve put on this morning.

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” you admit what he already knows, so quietly that you doubt if he can even hear it. “I just want you to get better.”

“I know,” is all he says. He can smell it on you.

“Then why won’t you—” You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning with irritation. “Gosh, why won’t you just do something about it, then?”

“Because I have to tell you something first,” he trails off somewhat reluctantly, and for once, he sounds like he’s actually being completely serious. “You just… you gotta promise me that you won’t tell anybody.”

Your reply comes quicker than one sequence of his heartbeat, “I promise. Besides, who would I tell anyway?”

“I mean it,” he says. You watch as he shakes his head slowly, sighing for real this time, not just to annoy you. “You seriously can’t tell anybody; not even your mom or Sakura or Ino. Especially Ino, for that matter.”

Offence bubbles within your chest way too fast at the merest hint of distrust. Since when did he start thinking you were one to yap out every little thing he tells you? 

“And I really mean it, too,” you fuss, brow wrinkling. “Jeez, Kiba; if I promise you that I’m not going to tell, then I’m really not going to tell! I’m not that close with Ino and Sakura anyway.”

Kiba blinks, seemingly surprised by how heatedly invested you’ve gotten into learning his secret. But also by how close you’ve managed to squeeze yourself next to him with the upset feelings to overwhelm you, briefly forgetting the lengthy speech about how he should go see a doctor. How you wait, evidently impatient and with bated breath, just so that you’d be able to hear every word he has to say.

He’s been seeing you in a different kind of light as of late. So perhaps it’s time that he shed some of it on himself now.

He’s always been one to love the spotlight, after all.

———

“Well, well, well… do my eyes deceive me, or have you finally gotten taller, wolf boy?”

The short laugh Kiba lets out at your innocent taunt doesn’t crack like it did back when you were fourteen. Instead, it’s deep and hearty; it reverberates deep inside his chest, sounding like a voice a storm would possess if it had the ability to speak the human tongue.

“Still insisting on that ol’ nickname?” he asks as he rests one hand on his hip.

“Of course,” you reply, chuckling. It’s hard to take him seriously when he looks like a nearly perfect replica of his mother in that exact moment; standing so disapprovingly, red shopping basket in hand. “I mean, who would I be if I did not make fun of you every chance I get?”

“Well, I dunno,” he mumbles whilst his eyes flick up towards the ceiling, seemingly searching for something. And then he looks at you again, but this time with that infuriating half-smile that you can’t say you’ve missed as he says, “A decent fuckin’ person for a change? Maybe?”

It’s light-hearted, what he says. Fun and provocative, just like he is. Like he’s always been.

So you bite.

“Oh, Kiba, Kiba, Kiba,” you purr, angling your head to one side playfully whilst clicking your tongue against your teeth. Your hand presses against his chest, the action so familiar it’s become muscle memory by now even after years of not initiating it. “When has being decent ever been fun to someone like you, mm?”

And there it is. The strong heartbeat corresponding to the soft lilt that appears in your voice when his name leaves your lips. Just like it’s always done whenever your only goal was to fluster him for ‘funsies’.

However, the interaction that was once so familiar to you is not quite as recognizable this time around.

Because now, it invites his gaze to settle back onto your face rather than pushing it away into the corner of the room. 

So he stares at you now. Leers. 

You try your best to ignore the way your muscles instinctively stiffen at the sight of the prolonged slits that slowly switch places with his pupils. Try your best to pay no mind to the way your pulse suddenly accelerates, pumping blood and forcing all of your senses to become overwhelmingly acute.

It’s done so fast that it makes you feel sort of dizzy. He stands straighter and every single hair on your body stands to attention in return. Goosebumps cover your skin the same moment as it starts feeling like it’s being pulled taut over your bones. You try to blame the sensation of a chill creeping up the back of your neck on the store’s AC but you know better.

The people who surround you don’t matter anymore. This summer’s hit song that annoyingly keeps on playing on repeat over the speakers above your heads has turned to white noise. 

It’s just him and you and you and him. Past, present, future.

And fuck, his irises are no longer brown. They’re darker; golden, almost unnaturally yellow. The colour gets eaten up fast as the pupils expand and shrink continuously. He zeroes in on you, on your mouth, on the curve of your face, on the bare side of your neck that you’ve got exposed with your ponytail and the tilt of your head. 

It’s been years since he’s last looked at you like that; that one time before you ran off to college, when you took it a step too far with the innocent flirting and you’ve almost come too close for comfort. 

But unlike before, he simply refuses to tear his eyes off of you this time. Refuses to relent. Refuses to blush and turn away in that sheepish way that is so uncharacteristic for an exceptionally, sometimes annoyingly bold person like him and that reminds you more of yourself.

His odd persistence causes him to pin you down with a single look, making you freeze on the spot.

Just like a predator would do to potential prey.

But that’s silly. You’re not prey! You’re his best friend, or well, you used to be once in a time long past. So keeping that in mind, you force yourself to quickly shake the eerie feeling off of your suddenly tense body as if it’s a heavy winter’s coat you’ve foolishly donned on, and ease the sudden tightness that tries so hard to take up residency within your chest, now.

But despite all of the attempts at self-soothing, as well as the countless comforting, reassuring mantras that you keep on playing on a loop inside your head in the same way you do a newly-discovered song on Spotify, you don’t really know what he’s like anymore, now do you? 

You haven’t seen him in years, after all. Haven’t spoken to him in ages. You left him all alone, left him to his own devices after he’d given you the same look he’s giving you now.

What if he’s managed to become more wolf than human with all that alone time?

The question makes your head want to hurt, so it’s no wonder that your voice comes out somewhat small-sounding when you finally gather yourself just enough to murmur, “You’re doing the thing again.”

And his sounds just a smidge on edge, just a smidge too sharp as he takes a step closer and mutters, “Thing? What thing?”

“You’ve got, uh… y’know…” You swallow audibly and try not to pay attention to the way his gaze slides down to your throat because of it; to the way it softly bobs as the sticky spit travels down, down, down. You swear that you can see the corners of his lips kick up at the sight of it. “You’ve got nightmare eyes.”

“Huh?” It takes him a second to realize what you mean. To remember one of the old codes you’ve come up with using whenever you’re in public, amongst people who certainly don’t know what he truly is. 

And then, at long last, the intensity in his expression ceases and brightens up as the realization dawns upon him. It’s like a lightbulb turning on with the flick of a switch. 

“Oh. Shit. Fuck, umm,” he curses like a sailor whenever he’s caught off-guard. It makes you relax just the tiniest bit as he finally musters a genuine, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even… notice.”

You watch as he proceeds to rub his eyes with one hand, all whilst you exhale a long puff of air that you’d almost forgotten you were holding in the first place. 

He looks at you again, genuinely confused and apologetic, and this time with pupils back to their regular circular shape. It causes some primal sort of relief that reaches the very core of your psyche to wash over you.

You’re free to move again. 

“It’s— Hah, it’s fine,” you manage weakly. “Besides a pretty awkward start to a conversation, it’s no biggie, really.”

“Fine? It definitely ain’t fine,” he retorts immediately. “You wouldn’t be lookin’ like you’re scared shitless right now if it were fine.”

“Me? Scared of you? Oh, please!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest even if your limbs feel very wobbly and soft like jelly all of a sudden. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He blinks again, his look a slightly incredulous one. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

The bridge of your nose scrunches up in mild confusion as you ask, “Forgot what?”

Kiba grumbles this time, pointing to his own nose, “Uh, the fact that I can literally smell the fear on ya…?”

Oh. Oh! He’s right, you somehow did manage to forget that; forget his ability to smell how someone is feeling just from the way their hormone levels change the very base of their scent and the sweat they exude as a result. Or whatever the science behind it is.

Jesus fucking Christ. Him and his stupid wolf genes. What’s next, him pinpointing the day when your next period is due?

As if that hasn’t happened before.

“Wha—...? Of course not! Tsch.” You try to play it off with a click of a tongue that doesn’t manage to convince either of you. “What I don’t remember, however, is giving you permission to sniff me like some sleazy creep.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he bristles immediately at the remark. “You know damn well what I meant.”

You nod. “Yes, that you’re a sleazy creep.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he asks. “Stop breathing around your presence?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

He gives you a pointed glare. “It also wouldn’t hurt to try shutting the fuck up every once in a while, and yet here you are.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I’ve also managed to forget what a prick you are.”

“Right back atcha.”

You both share a short laugh at your little faux quarrel, the tension slowly relenting. The entire interaction is familiar. 

His shoulders relax, your heartbeat slows down to something a bit more normal. He doesn’t point it out just for the sake of not starting yet another petty argument.

“But seriously, don’t worry about it.” You pause at some point, stifling another brittle chuckle that bubbles up your throat. “I know you can’t control your weird, spooky eyes, okay? And besides, I’m used to them anyway! Well, kind of… I guess I’m used to them…? Gosh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Is it because you’re nervous?

“Still,” he chides, sighing. “It’s been years and I should’ve learned how to fix it by now. It’s just—” He takes a breath. Ponders as various excuses and half-truths start bouncing off the walls inside his head. “It’s just that I dunno how to control it whenever you’re… umm...”

You give him a second, but when he doesn’t say anything else, you bite the bullet to ask, “Whenever I’m what?”

“Ah, nothin’,” he mumbles whilst scratching his cheek. You narrow your eyes as he fixes the brim of his cap. As he tugs on the collar of his thin t-shirt with its stupidly oversized Nike logo. He’s fidgeting all over the place, especially when he feels the need to add, “It’s nothin’.”

It feels like life is repeating itself all over again.

Your curiosity makes you lean further into his space just like you had a habit of doing back when you were kids. Only this time, he doesn’t take your hand. He doesn’t stroke your knuckles one by one, but rather pushes back, creating more space between your bodies.

Well, that’s new.

“C’mon.” Your tone falls slightly flat because of the sudden disappointment that reaches way deeper than you’d expected it to as you ask, “Whenever I’m what?”

He sounds surprisingly stern as he says, “I told you… it’s nothing.”

A long pause ensues. And then all he gets from you is an, “Okay.”

Awkwardness lingers in the air once again. It makes you both uncomfortable because neither of you is really used to the sudden quiet. You’ve gone through so much, so many experiences together and now it’s come to… this? Walking on eggshells around each other until the end of time just because of that one event in the past and now this one?

Fuck no. As if you’re going to let that happen.

So you plaster a smile onto your face, one that doesn’t really reach your eyes just yet as you say, “Just so you know, you’re acting hella weird right now.”

“Well what did you expect, bunny?” He shrugs and you try to act like you don’t notice the way his t-shirt tightens at all the right places with it. Goodness, he’s changed so much in just a couple of years, you can hardly believe it. “I mean, I bump into you after literal years of no contact whatsoever, and when I finally do, all you do is argue with me and call me a, what was it again, ‘sleazy creep’?”

It’s hard not to giggle at the air quotes he feels the need to show you with the two words. It makes your face lighten up as you say, “Stop calling me that.”

“What, bunny?” He smirks, now. Smirks! “Sure. But only after you stop calling me all of your stupid nicknames.”

You muse like a cat. “Why of course, Jacob.”

His expression turns blank in an instant, the smirk gone as quickly as it came. “Seriously?”

“What? It’s just a name, isn’t it?”

“Just so you know, I still regret the day you made me watch Twilight with you.”

“Oh, shush. You loved it, and besides; it was on theme!”

You feel your grin growing into a genuine one as he scoffs and grunts something under his breath in reply. He’s clearly annoyed with all your bullshit.

“Mm?” You blink, the corners of your lips twitching upward, persisting. “What was that?”

“Nothin’.”

“No, no, none of that again. Out with it; I want to hear what you said.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, the honey that swirls in them as dazzling as ever. So syrupy sweet, his irises are an utter delight even under the unflattering fluorescent lights of the store. “I said that you’re still as insufferable as you used to be back when we were kids.”

The chuckle you let out now is one of pure amusement. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” he says as he pops the P. “A goddamn pain in my ass since day one.”

You quirk a brow. “Am I really, now?”

“Who else but you?”

It’s always been you.

His words spark a sensation of genuine fondness to swell so deep within your ribcage that you’re somewhat unsure of what to do with it. 

Confused, you push it to the side. Sweep it under the rug and allow it to join the already big pile of all the other unrequited feelings you’ve never dared to express. It’s easier to purposefully keep your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

You can’t see when you’re already blind.

“Any-ways,” you sing-song, extending your hand towards him. “It was good seeing you again. We should grab a coffee sometime, if you’re up for it?”

Instead of replying and shaking your hand, Kiba looks down at your polite gesture and nearly starts to frown at the sight of it.

“What?” you ask as the slight wrinkle between his brows continues to deepen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.” He hesitates a bit then, swallowing hard. It makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’ve just missed you, is all. This town fucking sucks ass when my girl’s not in it, ya know? And this whole handshake thing you’re doing is weird.”

Fuck. His honesty, the way he calls you his girl, the too-warm look in his too-warm eyes, fucking everything in that wretched moment makes you start feeling dizzy and causes sweat to gather in a layer so thick right on the flat of your awkwardly twitchy palms, one of which you’re still extending towards him.

What you wouldn’t give for a pair of pockets to stuff them into right now.

Because to be completely honest, you’re outright baffled by the reaction that your body throws at you with full force, now. He’s called you the same two words a million times before, alone or in front of other people — it never really mattered. To him, you were always his girl. It was that simple.

And while that did manage to stir up some emotions within you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge yet even back then, you always managed to play it off like it was no big deal. 

But those feelings have gotten stronger now, despite the distance. They’ve gotten potent. To the point where they’re almost deadly.

And they’re also sneaky, like a shadow grazing your back and breathing right at the spot where your neck connects to your shoulder. They gradually build up with each passing second of silence that hangs between you. They take their time to build up on momentum; like an avalanche or an upcoming tsunami. 

And for a moment, just for the shortest of moments, you swear that Kiba can tell.

But luckily for you, he seems to be oblivious about it, or is at least playing it off like he is. And that’s good! The least he can do after cooking up this mess, is save you the embarrassment that you most certainly don’t wish to live through, thank you very much! 

So you do the next best thing that is currently at your disposal. 

You object to his genuine affection like an idiot. 

“Whaaat? You missing me?” Internally cringing at how high your voice is getting in pitch, you’re almost positive that it must hurt his sensitive wolf hearing. However, much to your dismay, you just can’t fucking stop acting weird for some reason. “Pfsh… Didn’t anyone tell you that lying isn’t nice, Inuzuka?”

For fuck’s sake, you’re acting like he’s holding you at gunpoint.

“Uh… Okay? Hah…?” He gives you a look filled to the brim with doubt, his dark brows faintly scrunching together again. “Well, you wanna know what else ain’t nice?”

All you can do is nod. You’re on the verge of killing yourself right here and now.

“Well, how ‘bout,” he pretends to ponder, rubbing his chin. “Oh! How ‘bout forgetting all about your best friend the moment you start attending some fancy, goody two shoes college halfway across the country. Yeah.”

It’s your turn to offer him your best unimpressed stare this time. Your heart feels like it’s stuck inside your throat, pulse rattling behind your teeth. 

You can’t really tell if he’s joking or not. His tone may be light, sure, but you aren’t able to read him as well as you used to back in the day, and even then it was pretty bad.

He’s gotten… complicated.

Much like your entire friendship has.

You can still remember the almost kiss that never happened back at his place that caused this entire flurry of very, very confusing emotions to start in the first place, or at least present themselves at the surface. Right on the night before you’d packed your bags and ran off to the other side of the country, nearly fully ghosting him on the spot. Your best friend.

“C’mon, man,” you mumble, “don’t be like that.” The guilt is bad enough as it is.

“Like what?” he asks. As is regret.

“Don’t hold a grudge like you always do. I’ve come home loads of times between semesters; during the holidays especially,” you hesitantly retort, frowning. “And besides, it’s not like you weren’t gone all the time either. I saw your posts about all the backpacking and all those roadtrips and whatnot... With Tamaki.” 

The mention of his ex-girlfriend catches him off guard. He blinks, flicking his gaze towards the stacked shelves that suddenly seem to become like the most interesting thing in the world.

Goddammit, you’d almost kissed him while— while—

Still, despite all of that, you wait for him to say something first. Patiently, impatiently; you don’t even know anymore.

“I called,” he lamely offers at long last.

“Well, I texted,” you reply in a heartbeat.

“Barely,” he corrects. “You barely texted.”

Your expression falls somber in an instant. Of course he’d paint you as the bad guy as effortlessly as it is to breathe. It’s what cancers are known for. Especially cancer men.

“Well,” you stumble, shrugging. “What did you want me to do, Kiba? I-I mean, you had a girlfriend.”

“So?” 

He doesn’t even ask how you know that they’ve broken up. But to be fair, when you stop posting couple photos on your stories and feed and suddenly unfollow each other, it’s a pretty obvious tell.

“So? So?” You stare at him, taken aback. “I seriously doubt Tamaki would’ve been happy to see some random chick blowing up your phone constantly.”

“But you’re not some random chick. You were my best friend… you still are,” he says and Jesus on a fucking cross, the way he says the words makes him sound so fucking hurt. 

“I know,” is all you can offer. The weight that suddenly sits on your shoulders makes you want to slump. That, or either curling yourself into a ball.

The feeling only gets worse when he says, “We were supposed to go on those trips together.”

“I know,” you repeat. “I’m sorry.”

He fixes the brim of his cap again. “Are ya, though? Sorry?” 

“Yes! Of course I am!” You scowl so hard that it makes the bridge of your nose scrunch up in annoyance. “If I could do something about it, I would. Trust me.”

He looks at you; really looks at you. Up and down. And then he says, “Then do it.”

“Do what?” you ask dumbly.

“Go on a trip with me,” he explains. “Today.”

“Today?”

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?”

You stare at him. He stares right back, gaze unmoving. 

Fucking hell, he’s actually serious about this.

“But I’m… I’m not really a backpacking kind of girl,” you try meekly. 

Just the mere idea of going somewhere remote with him completely alone is making you feel warm all over. You need to get yourself out of this mess ASAP!

“No worries,” he replies faster than a heartbeat. “We can always go camping.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Camping?”

“Yeah. For one night,” he says. “I know a really good spot that I go to all the time.”

“But I–” You fumble once more, looking down at the pretty nail polish on your toes. “I don’t even have the proper clothes for it. Like those fancy gym clothes.”

“Heh.” You attempt to ignore the way his chuckle makes your heart want to jump. Especially as he leans in slightly to say, “All you need is a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. Oh, or maybe those grey leggings that you always liked to wear and that make your ass look great… Do you still have those?”

He snickers like a child when you punch him in the shoulder.

“And what about the hiking boots, you perv?” you ask, brushing off his lewd comment with heat creeping up your neck. 

“What about ‘em?”

“I don’t have those either.”

“Christ, we’re not going that far, bunny.” He laughs, looking at you in disbelief. “A pair of sneakers will do. You’re talking and planning like I’m gonna take you all the way up to the mountains like I’m some fuckin’ dragon or some shit.”

Your eyes surely must be getting tired from rolling back so much. “Hilarious.”

He waits on your answer with a smile; the one that shows that wretched dimple in his cheek and that makes him look entirely innocent despite the oddly sharp canine teeth. 

Goddammit, you want to kill him because of how cute he is. However, you’re still feeling slightly unsure about the entire thing. 

Evidently reluctant, you ask, “Just one night?”

“Just one night,” he confirms, nodding vehemently.

“And there isn’t going to be a full moon or anything… of that sort?”

He chuckles at the hidden question. “I wouldn’t really be out here shopping for groceries if there was a chance for that to happen, now would I?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” you trail off. You glance up at him, not fully convinced yet. “Do you promise that you’ll take care of everything?”

“‘Course,” he says.

“Say it, then.”

“Say what?”

“That you promise.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!”

He sighs at how persistful you are. As if he’s any better! “Fine. I promise that I’ll take care of everything.” 

Even you.

Seconds pass. One second, two, three. Staring at him with both of your brows tightly knit together, you can literally feel his excitement transferring itself to you through some invisible link between you which you’ve never quite managed to sever. You suppose his emotions are just that contagious.

“Well?” he inquires, all giddy-like. “What d’you say?”

“Well,” you trail off, kissing your teeth. “I suppose… a single night can’t really hurt?”

“Fuck, yes!” he exclaims and before you know it, you’re being pulled into a bear hug you didn’t even realize how much you’ve missed until you’re caught in it all over again.

Your cheek smushes against his chest. Muscle memory kicks in once more; persuading your arms to move on their own accord, letting them wrap around the familiar place a little above his waist that doesn’t feel as familiar anymore. 

He smells good, like amber, the very heart of a forest and all things wild. It’s earthy, rich, inhumanly strong. It fills your nose, titillates your senses and makes lush greenery and spices start to take root inside your lungs. 

Every breath makes you dizzier and it’s hard to keep your composure as a result; especially when there’s a sequence of powerful thump, thump, thumps pounding right against your ear, now.

His heartbeat is so fast. It’s like he has two.

You’re silent as you listen to the quick rhythm of his heart. And for a change, so is he. Feeling unsure how much time is passing, you continue to cling onto your best friend in the middle of the empty aisle, reawakening all the memories, warming your body with his heat even if it’s hot enough outside to fry an egg on the concrete. 

The soles of your colourful flip-flops will surely stick to the sidewalk when you walk back home to gather your things and explain your unexpected trip to your parents.

“Kiba—” The last part of his name melds into a giggle from the way he squeezes you so tight that your spine pleasantly cracks in all the places that have been feeling way too stiff from the all-nighters you had to pull during exam week, and progresses into a quiet squeal for help by the time he swings you from side to side like an excited boy would his favourite toy.

“Ugh, m’sorry!” He laughs as he releases you, letting you plant your feet back onto the white tiles where they belong. “I just had to get that outta my goddamn system. It’s been building up for years.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, punching his shoulder again, this time playfully. “I always knew you were secretly a softy.”

The tips of his ears turn pink at that. The blush is not strong enough to be noticed by you, but he feels the warmth, feels the subtle prickling along the back of his neck.

Why is it so intense?

It makes his voice drop lower as he mutters a flustered, “As if.”

“What, I really did!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever… But all jokes aside, I really am glad that you’re back,” he admits before you can beat him to it. He pulls back just enough to look you directly in the eyes and smiles. “I really did miss you a whole lot, bunny.”

It’s hard to be vulnerable and admit that you’ve missed him too, so you keep quiet as you plaster your best smile onto your lips again and reach up to jokingly flick the tip of his nose.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Perhaps it’ll distract him from the fact that unlike him, you’re as cowardly as they get.

———

“Hey, I meant to ask… How come you didn’t bring Akamaru with you today?”

Some time after bumping into you in the grocery store, Kiba stills for a second at the innocent question you present before him whilst walking the narrow forest path that is supposed to be leading you to your destination.

In the late afternoon hours, the forest feels like it’s alive. There are birds chirping amongst the branches of the trees above your heads and warm sunlight filters through the leaves. A nearby stream keeps busy by smoothing down the rocks inside it. Everything thrives during the summer.

Even the air smells better; like it’s been thoroughly ridden of your town’s signature scent. But despite the fact that you’ve reached the point of summer when dog days are approaching fast, every inhale you take now feels fresh and satisfyingly cool instead of sticky whilst it travels down your airway.

It’s nice to be able to breathe again. 

And as for Kiba, well, he wishes he could say the same.

Following closely behind you, the young werewolf realizes that he is finding it harder and harder to concentrate the further progress you make on your hike. And while there may be plenty of reasons for his lack of focus at the moment, taking the fact that you’ve still got a lot of catching up to do into account, the main one is also the one that concerns him the most.

You just smell so fucking delicious to him, it’s insane.

He wants to devour you.

And how couldn’t he want that? There are phantom strawberries weaved into your hair and clothes from the matching shampoo and body wash set that you must have showered with before leaving your house. Sunscreen sits on your skin, turning the fruity notes even more summery than they already are.

If he walks close enough, he can even smell the sweat that slowly gathers on the back of your neck as you ascend the gradual slope of the hill that he’s planning to set up camp on.

So yeah, it’s hard to stay away, when all your scent does is lure him in. Hard to keep in-check, when you’re practically calling out to him, inviting him to come closer. He’s missed the way you smell so much.

God, if only he could just shove his nose into the crook of your neck and—

“Kiba?”

“Huh?” 

The man in question blinks now, looking up only to find you standing several meters ahead of him; hands glued to your hips and brow quirked. He didn’t even realize that he’d come to a full stop while thinking about certain scenarios he’d rather not say out loud for the sake of your well-being.

“Sorry,” he says before he awkwardly clears his throat and quickens his pace to reach you again. “What did you say? I kinda got sidetracked for a bit there.”

“By what?” You part your lips wider, huffing whilst trying to gather your breath. He looks like he hasn’t even broken a sweat while you’re literally feeling like your lungs are about to collapse any second now. To make matters even worse, he’s also skilfully avoided the pesky tree root that almost made you trip earlier without even as much as glancing at it. 

“You know what, never mind that,” you say, shaking your head. “I just asked why you didn’t bring Akamaru with us today?”

“Oh, umm… Well, ya know; he’s gotten pretty old by now so he can’t really make the trek as effortlessly as he used to,” he starts to explain and you don’t miss the hint of melancholy that overcomes his voice ever so slightly now. “Nowadays I just leave him at my mom’s whenever I go hiking.”

“Oh,” you mutter while wrapping your fingers around the straps of your old backpack which you’ve dug up from the back of your sibling’s closet. Your grip tightens a bit as you add, “I’m sorry about that. I know how much you care about that dog.”

“I mean, it’s not like he’s dead or anything, hah,” he says, his chuckle kind of bitter. “He’s just a senior dog now, doing senior things. Nothing wrong with that, don’tcha think?”

“True,” you mumble, feeling guilty that you’d even asked the question in the first place. I mean, of course his puppy would be old by now. He's had him ever since he was seven, for crying out loud!

“So, anyway,” you say as you turn around to continue your way up the hill you’re practically yearning to reach the top of now, “you just go hiking alone, then? Since Akamaru stays at your mom’s?”

“Mostly, yeah,” he replies as he follows suit. You try not to pay attention to how attentive you are to his presence all of a sudden. “Before, it was usually just me and Tam, but now that—”

You pretend not to notice the way he cuts himself off mid-sentence the moment he accidentally mentions his ex-girlfriend’s name. Pretend that hearing it doesn’t make your chest feel a bit too tight all of a sudden, and not from lack of air or your rather poorly prowess in physical fitness.

“Uh,” he fumbles.

“Don’t you get scared, though?” you continue as if nothing has happened, helping him out. “Hiking all alone?”

If he’s grateful for your assistance, he doesn’t show it, because now he sounds genuinely confused as he says, “What is there to be scared of, exactly?”

His question makes you come to an abrupt stop. You turn your head to the side so that you can look at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘what is there to be scared of’? It’s a forest, Kiba.”

“So?” he replies, sounding even more confused.

“Are you being for real right now?” The blatantly puzzled look that settles onto his face puzzles you just as greatly in return, now. 

Especially when he says, “I’m not entirely sure how you want me to answer that.”

“Well, I don’t know,” you say. “What if there’s, like… a bear, or something?”

He snorts at your idea, making you feel like you’re stupid for even suggesting a thing like that in the first place. 

“What?” you fuss, glaring at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that there aren’t any bears in these woods, dummy,” he answers, the last word kind despite if it’s usually meant as something derogatory.

You scoff, rolling your eyes for the millionth time today. “And how would you know that, oh, wise, all-knowing one?”

Kiba pauses as he smirks, rather resting his gaze onto a spot somewhere amongst the tree line instead of you. You catch the slight flutter of a muscle in his cheek as he grits his teeth and exhales.

His voice is low, but confident as he finally says, “Because around these parts, sweetheart, I’m the biggest predator. And luckily for us, bears tend to keep to themselves instead of picking fights with something that is much, much bigger than them.”

You’re not entirely sure if you want to know how big he can actually get, nor how far he’s actually able to see with those wolf eyes of his as he keeps on looking off into the greenery. His expression is one of the most complacent ones you’ve seen in a long while. 

Still, you manage just enough bravery to swallow the thick saliva that’s now started to gather inside your mouth so that you can ask, “So you’re saying that you can take a bear in a fight? Like an actual living, breathing bear?”

“I mean,” he drawls, shrugging in such a nonchalant way that it only pisses you off further, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your eyes open wide as your heart drops to your fucking ass. “What?! Are you serious?”

“No, I’m joking.”

Dead silence meets him from your side at his bad take on a prank. And Kiba — foolish, brainless Kiba — can’t help but start laughing at the look of pure, unhinged fury that starts to twist your features now. It makes your nostrils outright flare like a bull’s that’s been irked for far too long.

He gets startled when you start stomping towards him, though.

“I’m sorry—” He begins walking backwards to cause more distance between himself and the wrath that is you, laughter still escaping his lips. “I didn’t think that you’d actually—”

You’re too angry at him to notice how good his balance actually is. He doesn’t trip once despite the fact that he’s blindly walking backwards on uneven terrain; much less loses his footing or actually falls over.

His abnormally honed sense of stability only drives you more mad. By the time you finally catch up to him and shove him by pressing both hands against his chest, the startled little yelp he lets out in response is barely satisfying.

“Hey, don’t do that; I’ll fall!”

“Good, because that’s what I was hoping for!”

“Oh, c’mon… Hey!” He comes to a stop, grabbing you by the wrist when you try to strike him for a second time. “I told you I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“Sorry? Sorry? Oh, go fuck yourself, you absolute dick,” you snap at his half-assed apology and are practically gritting your teeth whilst trying not to pay mind to how his touch practically sears your skin. “I hope a bear actually does come into these woods just so it can maul you into a million tiny little pieces!”

“Aha… I’d like to see it try.” His eyes burn like a furnace when he says that. It’s even worse when he yanks on your wrist and pulls you closer, as if to prove a point.

The fire within subdues your own flames in an instant. It makes you lose your edge.

“You— You— Ugh!” The slight upturn of your nose almost comes across as snobbish as you whip your head away from him in one sharp movement and shove him again with your free hand, causing his grip to break free, but not because you want it to. “Go away.”

Watching you with profound amusement, Kiba thinks all your worrying is to die for.

Nothing’s really changed, now has it?

And as a result, the smile in his voice is almost unbearably audible as he hurries after you the moment you start walking again. Your pace has become much faster than it was before, but he has no trouble whatsoever in catching up. 

He’s right behind you as he says, “I was just fucking with you a lil’ bit, can you blame me?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you retort coldly, still not looking at him. “I most definitely can.”

“Christ, don’t be like that, bunny,” he says, nudging you in the shoulder with the help of his palm. 

The touch, mostly platonic and what you’d consider meant to be purely reassuring in nature, nevertheless causes your entire body to end up becoming overly tense instead. This is the second time that goosebumps outright tighten your skin as his fingers slide down and graze your shoulder blade, as well as one of the backpack’s straps before letting go. 

It’s hard to walk the path like a normal person, when every time he touches you feels like he’s leaving you burning in his wake.

“Are we cool now?” he asks when you don’t bother replying. You simply can’t.

“No, we’re not ‘cool’, you moron. Fuck you,” you answer when he nudges you for a second time, still fuming. Better yet, you’re the exact opposite from cool.

“Mm,” he hums, seemingly deep in thought. You think that he’s finally going to leave you alone, however, much to your dismay, not even a minute of quiet passes before he’s opening his mouth again, asking, “Wanna tell me why you’re so mad?”

“Gee, I wonder; maybe because you’ve got me losing my shit in the middle of the goddamn woods?” You scowl at him before pointing your gaze back onto the ground so that you can avoid falling onto your ass at the worst moment. “I mean honestly, how stupid can you get to even ask me that?”

“Well—”

“Don’t answer that!”

“Okay. Okay.” Kiba forces himself to stop the slight, upward curl of his lips at your agitated tone. This is not a laughing matter; or at least that is what he keeps telling himself for your sake. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“I want you to go away,” you repeat, exasperated at how he’s obviously fighting every urge to laugh at your bitter attitude. 

As is expected, he pays you no mind and instead keeps following after you like he’s a dog tied to a leash that your hand holds. You can hear his footsteps trailing closely behind. “And where am I supposed to go, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, frowning. “Just go!”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit that you don’t give a shit.”

“Fine!” You huff, a certain kind of tightness in your expression when you look at him. “Fine. I’ll go, then!”

“And where are you gonna go, huh? There isn’t a single inch of these woods that I don’t know like the back of my hand.” He looks at you, his eyes glimmering with a subtle yellow shade instead of their usual brown. “I’ll just track you down like I always do.”

With the expectant, borderline mischievous look he dares you with now, he reminds you of an overexcited puppy. 

Damn him. You’re not sure if you’re irked or envious by how unpredictable and free-spirited he is.

It only makes you angrier.

“I don’t know, Kiba,” you fuss, looking away and pinching the bridge of your nose to save yourself from getting flustered all over again. “Probably somewhere far away from you, because to be completely honest, you’re annoying the utter, living crap outta me right now, okay?”

He stares at you for a couple of seconds, paying mind to the way your voice cracks midway. You’re clearly upset, frustrated, perhaps even overwhelmed by the way he keeps one-upping you with every sentence.

It prompts him to walk closer to where you stand. To lean into your space, carefully reach out and pry your hands away from your face so that he can give you that same look that he’d given you all those years ago when he’d been sick and you were swinging by his house every single day after school. 

The one that’s completely, utterly riddled with an emotion you cannot bring yourself to understand even to this day.

“God, what do you want now?” you ask, your gaze still persistently avoidant.

“I want to apologize,” he says, this time completely serious. When you look up, he continues, “I know that I can be… a lot to handle at times, and—” 

You purse your lips, mumbling under your breath, “Yeah, well, a lot is an understatement when it comes to you.”

He chuckles, huffing a laugh. “Okay, smartass; shush. I wasn’t done talkin’ yet.”

You glower at the way he shushes you, but otherwise keep silent.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I also know that it drives you up the wall when I’m a lot, so… yeah. I’ll tone it down, but you also gotta stop worrying so damn much, okay? It ain’t good for ya.”

“What do you mean by that?” you ask.

“What I mean is that you’re just always actin’ so goddamn uptight, bunny; I can sense it! So just… try and relax for once, yeah? Allow yourself to enjoy something that’s a lil’ bit spontaneous. Go fuckin’ crazy, go wild; all that good shit, ya know?” he says, and all of a sudden he’s resting both big palms on your shoulders, shaking you gently as if trying to rid you of your nerves. “Deal?”

“I wasn’t… worrying.” Your heartbeat quickens at the doubtful look he gives you next. “But yeah. Yeah, okay. Deal. Going crazy, going wild; woo…”

You’re soap-sliver thin. Transparent. Ever the complicator. That ‘woo’ was pitiful.

But it’s a start.

“Attagirl, there she is,” he says as he ruffles your hair and fixes his backpack back into place. It encourages you to do the same with your own while he slips by you and walks a couple steps ahead, letting you breathe again. “Now let’s go. We’re almost there, but I wanna get the tent ready before the sun gets the chance to set.”

“Tent?” you mumble, following after him. “As in… singular?”

“Yeah?” This time it’s his turn to look at you over his shoulder. “What, did you think that I was gonna carry two of ‘em on my back? We’re sharing; it’s easier.”

Thump, thump, thump!

“Oh. Um.” You swallow hard as you rub the spot where your heart lies with a sweaty hand. “Okay.”

He’s quiet for a second. And then he asks, “Does that make you uncomfortable…? ‘Cause at the end of the day, I can always sleep outside. I just thought it’d be—”

“No, we’re good,” you say, cutting him off. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t slept together before,” you say. And nearly choke on your own words. “Wait! Wait, I-I meant like, you know, like back when we were younger.”

Thump, thump, thump, thump!

God, you’re thankful that he’s walking ahead of you so that he can’t see you experiencing your meltdown.

Kiba seems to ignore your little hiccup, because all he says now is, “Positive?”

You take a deep breath. Exhale. Clear your head just enough to ask, “What’s with all the questions all of a sudden…?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, his posture straight. “I just wanna make sure you’re cool with it.”

“Yeah, well all it’s doing is making me feel nervous again.”

“Oh, shit; okay, okay!” He turns to look at you again, his eyes wide. “We’re relaxing, we’re chilling… Look at the pretty nature, look at the trees! So zen, right? Real ‘live, laugh, love’ type of shit right here, yes, ma’am!”

Eventually, his rambling makes timid laughter echo throughout the forest.

What an idiot.

———

Ever since you’ve set up camp and settled on the small clearing on top of the hill, you’ve learned three things.

One, the stars are a beautiful sight that stretches far and beyond the inky sky when there’s not as much light pollution present to dim them out. 

Two, your best friend is a master when it comes to putting up a tent and starting a campfire.

And three, he can also whip up some really, I mean really mean s’mores.

That last one is why you’re practically humming whilst you sit by the fire that night; dressed in your favourite hoodie and continuously licking droplets of melted chocolate off your fingertips with utmost delight.

With his dark irises adorned with dancing orange flames, Kiba’s eyes can best be described as blazing when he looks up at you.

“Whath?” you mumble, mouth full of marshmallows.

“Easy there, tiger,” he taunts. “Leave some for the rest of us, will ya?”

“Leave me alone,” you answer just as lightheartedly when you swallow. Finally willing yourself to relax, your voice sounds muffled because of how you pop the tip of your thumb out of your overly-sweet mouth, “As if you didn’t eat like six of them already.”

“I ate six ‘cause I’m a big fella with an even bigger appetite,” he counters immediately. “What’s your excuse?”

“Well, if you must know,” you brush him off with a rather sassy flick of the wrist. “I’m ovulating right now and it makes me hungrier than usual.”

Just as you’ve expected, Kiba splutters and nearly drops the bottle he’d just been drinking water out of. A series of coughing and choking noises ensue that make it very hard to hide your satisfaction.

By the time he manages to collect himself, you’re still musing. “You okay there, Inuzuka?”

“Christ,” he says, his voice so hoarse that it forces him to clear his throat for a second time around. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing like always. “It’s just that you don’t have to be so upfront about it.”

“Um, okay…? I was just joking, you know... Didn’t think you’d take it as seriously as you did.” Your upper lip quivers as you let out a quiet, almost self-deprecating laugh at the look of guardedness that crosses his face when you speak the words. 

It’s almost like he’s conflicted about how to act around you all of a sudden. 

And it’s also the reason why you can’t help but ask, “What’s the big deal, though? Does it gross you out or something?”

“No. Gosh, no,” he immediately says and for a second you swear that there’s a blush tinging his already sun-kissed cheeks when he turns to look at the fire instead of you. 

He seems to be struggling with finding the right thing to say as he runs his hands up and down his knees and brings them closer to his chest. “You know I’m not like that. It’s just that… well, I don’t wanna think about it, is all. About you, in that kind of way, I mean.”

He can’t risk it because he can still remember the scent of it from way back when he was seventeen. Can still remember how dangerously good it smelled it to him.

God, you were so alluring to him. You still are.

“Oh.” Ouch. You don’t realize that you take his words the wrong way, so they sting you in the place where your heart supposedly lies. Nevertheless, you still manage to smile like the brave girl you’re trying to be as you say, “Well, luckily for you; you won’t have to, because I haven’t ovulated in like three years or so, hah.”

He perks up as his eyes shift back to you. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”

You shake your head, wishing to move on from the conversation but this time he strangely persists, pestering you to give him an answer even if he’d been the one acting weird about it earlier.

So you finally oblige, “Well, uh, I’m on birth control.”

He tilts his head to the side like a dog. “Why?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

He looks at you like you’re dumb. “Why are you on birth control?”

“Because I don’t want to get pregnant while having sex…?” you trail off. “Isn’t that supposed to be obvious?”

His eyes widen, dark brows shooting up so high that they could touch his hairline. “You’re fucking someone?”

Now is your turn to be taken aback. “I-I mean… I used to, yeah.”

Displeasure turns Kiba’s stomach into a pit of despair. He realizes that he’s not very fond of the idea of someone touching you like that. “When? And who?”

“I’m not telling you that!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to talk to you about my sex life!”

“Why not?” he repeats, still oddly intrigued, almost nosy. “I can tell you all ‘bout mine if you tell me ‘bout yours.”

“Hell no.” You whip your head forward, glaring into the fire whilst grabbing the nearby stick that you used to roast — or should you say burn — your marshmallows with before. Poking the embers with it, the frown that’s on your lips only deepens now as you watch the sparks dance up into the night sky. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass on listening to you talk about all your failed sexual conquests.”

He chuckles with what you think is amusement, but the sound is oddly strained. “What makes you think that they’re failed ones?”

You purse your lips. “Well, you’ve broken up with Tamaki, didn’t you?”

“I broke up with Tam for other reasons,” he mutters, his smile wavering for a slight second. “The sex had nothin’ to do with it.”

You don’t want to tread these waters and besides, it’s better to keep things light. So you sit straighter as you stick your tongue out at him, taunting, “Or maybe it’s just your insanely small dick that’s to blame, did you ever think about that?” 

“Oh, yeah, bet. It’s definitely small, all right.” Kiba huffs a laugh at your jab. And then he leans slightly closer; not too close, but just enough for the proximity to feel slightly more intimate than platonic. 

His pupils are so big that they remind you of two vortexes as he whispers, “Wanna take a look just to make sure?”

Sinful thrill erupts within your gut at the closeness and his rather sly comment. It shakes you to your core even if you don’t want it to. So with your train of thought becoming all fucked up and wacky all of a sudden, you turn away from facing him, feeling the heat from the fire kiss your already much too-warm cheeks.

With your voice merely above a murmur, you sound like you’re almost out of breath as you utter, “You’re so gross.”

“Eh,” he shrugs and crosses his arms behind his head as he pushes further back against the log you’re both leaning against with the provided comfort of your backpacks. “You’re used to it.”

“What I am,” you say, side-eyeing him, “is traumatized.”

“Oh, boohoo.” He pretends to pout, closing his eyes, “Big bad Kiba keeps on bullying me. Poor, poor me.”

You giggle, poking the embers again. “Remember back when Sasuke used to bully you in elementary?”

“Tsch.” You watch as he clicks his tongue, his eyes still closed. “That Uchiha twink definitely did not bully me.”

“He kept on saying how your teeth were too big to properly fit inside your mouth.”

“Mhmmm,” Kiba drawls, crossing one ankle over the other. His eyelids flutter open slightly, the orange glow from the fire further complimenting his tan skin and dark hair. “And then, if memory serves right, I bit him for it.”

“And then you bit him for it, yes,” you echo, stifling another giggle. It makes your shoulders shake as you tug on the sleeves of your oversized hoodie. “Oh my gosh, remember how pissed Mr. Umino got at you for that?”

“I think I got like two weeks of detention for it,” he drawls. “It was worth it though... I never liked Sasuke all that much for some reason.”

“No, I think it was more like three weeks than it was two? Because I remember having to walk back home from school all alone every day and thinking how it was taking ages.”

“Yeah?” He turns slightly so that he can look at you from the corner of his eye. “You actually remember that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask.

“Uh,” he blinks, his expression turning blank. “‘Cause instead of paying attention to the pain and suffering of your best friend, you were probably way too busy actin’ annoyingly obsessed with Sasuke, just like every other girl was doing in our year?”

“What?” Your eyebrows knit together at this newly-acquired information. “I wasn’t obsessed with him!”

Kiba turns to give you a look that outright spells bullshit.

“Come on,” you glance at him, head hanging low. “Don’t gimme that look.”

“What look?” he answers, still giving you that exact look.

“The one that makes me feel like I’m lying.”

The corners of his lips quirk upward. “But you are lying.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Ugh.” You scoff, playing with the strings on your hoodie. “Fine, maybe I did have a little crush on him. You can’t really blame me for it, though! Sasuke was, like… devastatingly pretty, okay?”

“So that’s your type, huh?” he asks, his foot dancing along the rhythm of a silent song you probably don’t know. “Pretty boys? Sorry, devastatingly pretty boys?”

“I don’t have a type,” you counter, ignoring his jab.

“Sure you do.”

“I seriously don’t.”

“Everyone has a type, though.”

“Not me.”

Kiba falls silent for a moment as he stares into the fire. You pass the time by watching the flames dance across his cheekbones; along the dangerously sharp line that is his jaw. His eyelashes are thick and long, and the curve of his nose is delicate and slightly upturned at the end.

He looks like he’s still deep in thought by the time he finally says, “Well, maybe you just haven’t found it yet. Your type, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you reply, unable to stop staring at his side profile. “Maybe.”

Or maybe, just maybe, your type is right in front of your nose.

———

What you also learn after stomping out the campfire and clambering inside the tent that night, is that even though you’ve slept in the same bed countless of times before, the entire ordeal is much different now that your best friend has gotten bigger.

Because instead of laying beside you like he used to do back in the day when you were kids, Kiba somehow ends up fully surrounding you this time.

He’s everywhere all at once, his presence and that warm amber scent filling every last inch of the small tent you’re both currently residing in. Being so close to him, practically wrapped in his embrace and with your back firmly pressed against his chest, feels oddly familiar even if it’s currently being executed for the sole purpose of keeping you warm throughout the night.

But it’s not quite the same, now that you’re adults, now is it? 

It’s almost… inappropriate. In some way at least.

“Should’ve brought warmer clothes with ya, bunny,” he mumbles at some point, his face so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath brushing the back of your neck. “You’re practically shiverin’.”

His drawl — even more prominent now that you think he’s half-asleep — makes your blood want to boil, and not out of anger. He talks to you like he’s trying to get into your panties, but you know that that’s not the case. 

He’s made it pretty fucking clear that he wants nothing to do with you with the whole ‘being too upfront’ situation earlier, after all.

So you take a deep breath to calm yourself — and hopefully whisk the confusing thoughts away that are doing more harm than good — before you murmur, “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He chuckles as he gives your stomach a single stroke, the sound lazy and laid-back just like the movement is. “Mm… I believe it’s mine.”

“No shit.” You sigh as you curl yourself tighter and shift even closer to his chest that is providing you with all this heavenly warmth you simply can’t get enough of. “God, I can’t believe that I’ve let you talk me into going camping in just my leggings and an old hoodie… I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

“Hey, now,” he objects, “you can trust me. I just forgot that regular humans can’t handle the cold as well as I can.”

“If I could trust you, I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off in the middle of the woods right now, Kiba!” You whine, annoyed. “Ugh, you’re always so reckless and never stop to think things through. Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he mutters into the dark, lips a firm line of seriousness. He always finds you so cute whenever you get pissy and say his name like that, but something with your sentence doesn’t sit right with him this time. “But I’m trying to fix it, aren’t I?”

“Well, so far you’re not doing that good of a job,” you pout in answer. “I’m still cold.”

Silence settles between you for a couple of moments. The only sound you can hear, or should you rather say feel, is the strong beating of his heart as it drums against your spine.

It turns a bit erratic by the time he says, “I’ve got an idea.”

You roll over to look at him. “What kind of idea?”

“Hear me out,” he says. “How about you take off your—”

Nearly choking on your own saliva, you try to ignore the way his quickening pulse makes your tummy tighten as you rush to cut him off with a high-pitched, “No!”

“Just hear me out, will ya?” Kiba’s voice fades into nothing as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He’s mumbling as he says, “If you get undressed, it’ll be easier to—”

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope,” you squeak out, quickly shaking your head, making him pull back slightly. “Absolutely not.”

“But you didn’t even let me finish!”

“And I don’t need to, because I know exactly where this is going,” you chide, brow furrowing so prominently that there’s a small v etching itself into your forehead, now. “I am not getting naked with you under the pretense of sharing body heat.”

No way in hell are you about to fall for one of his jokes again. They just leave you hanging in the end, looking desperate.

“Oh, c’mon; why not?” he says, voice so genuinely curious that it almost makes him sound innocent and free from any intent to scheme whatsoever. His fingers dig deeper into your hoodie as he adds, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t already seen all your bits and pieces before.”

You push away from him so that you can face him instead, supporting yourself with the help of your palms. The inside of the tent is dark, so dark that you can barely see the outline of him, but you just know that he’s smiling; the little shit.

“Those bits and pieces, as you’ve so kindly called them, have changed a lot since we’ve last shared a kiddie pool, Ki,” you mumble, feeling heat growing up your neck and down your middle. It takes all the effort in the world to not let it slip to that tingly place between your legs, especially because there’s a calm rumble of a laugh thundering inside his chest, now.

“It’ll warm you up faster,” he pushes. “That’s all I want, I swear.”

“No thanks,” you refuse, fighting the urge to not shrivel up and simply die from embarrassment. “I’m perfectly content with waiting for your wolfy heat to reach me through the many, many layers of our clothes.”

“You sure?” he asks. “‘Cause it’s gonna be a long night.”

“Yep.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes!” You squeeze his arm, digging your nails into his dark green hoodie as if in warning before you turn your back towards him again and shuffle closer. “Now shut up and go to sleep already.”

“‘Kay,” he relents at long last, sighing. “Suit yourself.”

“I sure plan to, thank you very much!”

“Aha.”

He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he settles back into the folds of your unzipped sleeping bags that you’ve overlapped just so that you can be conjoined together into a mess of limbs. And as a result, the silence to follow is so heavy. It succeeds in making you jittery as hell, as if the chill didn’t help with that already.

“Stop moving around so much, I’m tryin’ to sleep,” he fusses by the time it’s your third time switching positions and pushing further up against him. Unlike before, he sounds like he’s actually agitated now.

“I can’t help it if I’m cold,” you whine, rubbing your feet against his calves. 

The feeling of your socks gaining friction against his sweatpants is nice for you from the way it steadily creates warmth, however for Kiba it’s an annoyance that seemingly has no end.

It’s the reason as to why his tone comes across as an irked hiss when he says, “Yeah, well, that’s not my problem, now is it?” 

“But it is,” you reply, still running the soles of your feet up and down his legs. “You were the one who kept on saying that a hoodie would be just fine to wear.”

“No, I– Can you stop doing that already?!” He grunts, poking you in the side and causing you to jump. “You know damn well how much the whole feet thing pisses me off.”

“Well, wanna know what pisses me off?”

“What?”

“Being so cold that my teeth are practically chattering.”

“All right, that’s it.”

Your breathing staggers in the back of your throat as you watch him sit up so that he can start taking his hoodie off. He reaches for the back of it, strong back flexing as he pulls it over his head and throws it into one corner that’s to your left.

The white t-shirt he wears underneath gets tugged along, riding up his spine slightly. And goddammit, it’s hard not to ogle at him; hard not to leer at all the tight, defined lines of muscle paired with the contrasting smoothness of tan skin, at how his dark hair tickles the nape of his neck now that it’s all ruffled. 

But maybe if you’re sneaky with it, he won’t be able to tell? And besides, it’s pretty dark anyway and—

“Stop staring,” he says like he’s reading your mind. “There’s drool drippin’ at the corner of your mouth already.”

You gulp in response to being caught by his exceptional night vision. The sound is loud and embarrassing as it travels down your throat, at least that’s what you’re thinking. 

“I wasn’t— God, you’re so pretentious,” you manage to let out. “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing, you prick.”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting undressed,” he replies casually as he repeats the same set of movements and takes his T-shirt off as well. “And judging by how much you’re complaining about the cold, I suggest you do the same before you freeze to death.”

You bite into the inside of your cheek to stop your upper lip from trembling with stress. “I already told you that I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Something changes inside him at your denial. It makes him sound more tense as he says, “Can you please stop making a fuss for once and just do it?”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“No, Kiba.”

“Fine, then freeze,” he quips, suddenly snappier than usual. His blood feels like it’s simmering. Wait, has it always been this hot in here?

Upset, cold and sticky, flashes throughout your chest at his seemingly careless words. “Okay, maybe I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

You glare at each other, fire and ice present in a single look.

“For fuck’s sake,” he says, trying to tame the persistent flutter of a muscle in his cheek that just won’t go away now. “Why do you gotta be so stubborn all the time? It’s like you’re actively searching for reasons to fight with me every chance you get.”

“That’s not true. You just don’t like it when I don’t comply with what you want,” you spit back, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the stubborn one.”

Another beat of silence passes between you and he uses it to inhale a deep breath and exhale it out just as slowly. It looks like he’s trying to calm himself, fighting every urge not to snap at you again.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he counters finally, his features unbearably tight. “I want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

“Oh, please.” You force out a laugh that doesn’t come from the heart. “As if you know what’s best for me.”

“And you do?” He looks at you, brows raised in challenge. “‘Cause how the hell is getting sick just because you’re too big of a pussy to take your shirt off the thing that’s best for you?”

Your toes start to curl with irritation under the layer of the sleeping bag you’re still tucked into. “I’d rather be a pussy any day, than an obsessively controlling alpha asshole who can’t take a no for an answer.” 

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from the control freak herself,” he says, nearly copying the same bitter laugh you’ve let out earlier. “You’re talking as if you don’t start acting batshit crazy whenever a single thing doesn’t go the way you imagined it to go.”

How on earth did this turn into an actual argument so out of the blue? Is he actually that irritated that you refuse to undress? Or is there something else to blame for all of this?

Either way, things are escalating fast.

Your face feels hot from all the mixed emotions you’re experiencing as you draw your blade and stick it into the place where you know it hurts him the most because he’s done the same to you, “I might be a control freak… You’re just a freak.” 

“You wanna talk to me about being a freak?” He laughs again, quieter this time but the sound is cold and sharp as ice. “‘Cause how can you call me that, if back when I met you, no one could even stand the sight of you!” 

He sucks in one breath, two, three before he continues, unable to stop, “No one could even talk to you. Do you remember that? Not until I stepped in, at least. So call me a freak all you want if it makes you feel any better, princess, but at the end of the day, I was still the one who put you out there while all you did was feel sorry for yourself.”

“You didn’t do shit!” The anger that drops upon your unsuspecting mind is like a thick, red fog. It makes your voice rise higher as you say, “All you’ve been doing for all these years, is breathing down my neck!”

“It’s not like I fucking chose to do that, goddammit!” Kiba snaps, voice suddenly gruff, heart pounding. His pulse feels like it’s racketing behind his teeth as he grits them so hard it makes his jaw hurt. “I mean, do you actually think that I want to spend the rest of my life wondering where the fuck you are and what you’re doing, when you can’t even put in the effort to text me back? Do you think that I want to keep being your friend, when you don’t even—”

“I didn’t ask you to!” You push forward, getting all up into his face as hurt sears the inside of your chest, making it heavy. “I didn’t ask you to be my friend, I didn’t ask you to keep trying to stay in touch, I didn’t ask you to keep monitoring me like some fucking psycho! I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”

“You not asking for it is not the fucking issue, all right!” His face contorts into a look of prominent displeasure, the bridge of his nose scrunching. It’s clear how much you’re pissing him off; it’s making him say things he otherwise wouldn’t.

“Then tell me what the issue is!” You inhale, your own breathing quick and unfulfilling from how emotional you’re getting. It feels like you can’t suck enough air into your lungs no matter how hard you try. “Enlighten me, Kiba, please! Because quite frankly, I have no freaking clue what you’re going on about right now.”

“The issue,” he finally says, eyes bleary with fury and disdain, “is that I’m stuck with you. And guess what, you get to leave. I can’t. You get to fuck off to the other side of the goddamn country completely unfazed after every summer, and I can’t despite trying, because I’m feeling every mile of distance that separates me from you and it makes me fucking sick!” 

The words are like a waterfall to spill from his mouth, he can’t stop them. “You get to meet new people, you get to befriend them and sleep with them and love them, all while every. Single. One of my relationships falls apart because I’m stuck thinking about you, and only you. I mean Jesus fucking Christ, I’m thinking about you whenever I go to sleep, when I go to the gym, when I go to work… I was even thinking about you every time I fucked my girlfriend, who is now my ex, thanks to you!”

He ceases, breathing hard through his nose now, opening his mouth to say something, then thinking better of it.

Meanwhile, every single muscle in your body goes weak, almost numb. His stare is feverish and remains glued to your face; it makes you feel like you’ll drop dead any second now despite the fact that your stomach is doing cartwheels and high-pitched white noise progressively fills your ears. 

If there wasn’t a humongous lump jammed inside your throat, you’d perhaps be able to tell how dry your mouth has turned all of a sudden. 

But you don’t. So it’s no wonder why your voice cracks as you at long last look at your childhood best friend, the person you’ve always trusted the most, and ask, “So, you’re in love with me? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Hah,” he snorts, the sound completely unenthusiastic. “I wish it was that simple.” 

“Then what else is there?”

“I’m bonded to ya, sweetheart.” His stare hardens. “You’re my mate. Always have been, always will be. Congrats.”

Thump, thump, thump!

“Mate?” Your heart nearly breaks your ribcage in half from how intensely it starts to pound at the word. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means… It means that I’ve longed for you ever since the first day I saw you, okay? God.” He groans, running his hand down his cheek, then the side of his neck. His skin has become so slick with sweat that it causes his fingers to glide. “And it means that I’ll still long for you no matter what you do, or how far away you go, or who you end up with... You’re a part of me. And I can’t do shit about it.”

His words make your head swim. It’s hard to concentrate because of it, the rising nausea only making things worse, but you still manage enough willpower to ask, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t—...” He inhales a long breath again, only one this time. And pulls a face you can’t read. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured by it… Like you were obligated to be with me or something, just ‘cause I was having a bad time.”

“So instead you decided to be my friend for all these years? So that I could have my chance at freedom and you’d still have a reason to be near me?” Disappointment flashes throughout your brain like lightning. You feel played. “Does that mean that our entire friendship was, like… just some ploy to help you get closer to me or whatever?”

“Fuck no.” His shoulders slump as he practically succumbs to the weight of his own body. The world feels like it’s spinning all of a sudden. “The bond had nothing to do with that; well, maybe at the start, but definitely not afterwards. I was your friend because you were actually cool to hang out with, despite being kind of a dork. Even if you were my mate, you were still smart, and nice, and… and…”

And it’s only then, when you close the gap between yourself and him to catch him, that you realize how high his body temperature has gotten. How his skin feels like it’s blazing underneath the tips of your fingers when you press your hand to his chest on pure instinct. How the blush that tints his cheeks is stark red; intense enough to even reach the tips of his ears and the base of his neck.

His blood has always run hot, you know that. But never like this.

Never like this.

It’s even worse than back when he was ‘sick’.

“Shit… Are you feeling okay? You’re burning up all of a sudden. Like, even more than usual.” Your voice trembles on the words as you speak, low and worried. It’s like the entire argument is forgotten in a blink of an eye just because you’re sensing that something isn’t right with him.

“No.” Much to your surprise, Kiba gives you a hard smile when you look up into his face. It’s covered with a thick coat of sweat again even if he had wiped it away just minutes before. “I’m not okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think…” He pauses, letting out a pained sound that’s almost like a mix between a grunt and a whimper when you cup his face with your hands. “I think that I’m slipping into rut.”

“Rut?” You blink when he takes your hands into his own and hurriedly pries them away from his face, your eyelashes batting against your cheeks. The sudden rush of adrenaline that courses your veins when he starts to let you go makes you feel like you’re hollow inside.

So you cling onto his hands. If anything, they’re keeping you warm.

He breathes in again, every breath strained. “You need to stop touching me. It’s making it worse.”

Your brain feels like it’s turned to mush all of a sudden. All you can do is do as he says and whisper, “Oh. Y-yes, okay. Okay.”

“Fuck.” He scrubs his hand over his face for what must be the third time now, continuously wiping the liquid salt that just won’t stop oozing out of his pores. “Fuck. This is so fucked.”

Your eyes feel like they’re bulging from how concerned you are. His constant swearing isn’t helping the situation. “What is?”

“This whole night. Everything.” He looks away, clearly ashamed. Parts his lips so that he can breathe through his mouth instead of his nose, but it just makes him taste you on the flat of his tongue instead. Drool seeps as a result. “I wasn’t even supposed to go into rut for the next couple of weeks at least, maybe even a month from now... I think your scent might have triggered it.” 

After all, you’re sweet as summer honey. Honey made just for him.

And being this sweet, it’s no wonder that he’d subconsciously lured you out into the forest and away from other people under the pretense of catching up. No wonder that he had pinned you down with a single look in the middle of a grocery store as soon as you showed even the slightest hint of requited feelings. That he’d been getting impatient, had been getting jealous at the mention of other partners, had even nearly tried manipulating you into getting naked with him — something he’d never thought he’d sink so low to, for fuck’s sake.

All while the rut just stacked one symptom on top of the other.

This entire trip, every single one of his actions, every word, every look had been mere preying. Mere circling whilst getting ready to go in for the kill. After all, you’ve been gone for years, leaving him stranded. Catching a mere whiff of your scent — of his mate’s scent — after such a long time had been like an awakening for the beast within; a push for it to take over.

And that beast is ready to come out now. It’ll claw a way out of him if need be. He didn’t even realize it until now. 

Utterly blinded by instinct, he’d been played for a fool by his own psyche.

“Kiba?” you whisper his name cautiously, pupils still big as saucers as you repeat, “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He exhales shakily, ignoring your question. “I-I need to get away from you before I—”

“What? You can’t leave me here! What the fuck,” you stammer out, eyes opening even wider in the dark. Ignoring his warnings, you clutch onto him again because he’s simply your only pillar right now. Rut or no rut. Whatever that means.

“Well, I can’t stay here,” he snaps in answer and now you can hear the mumble appearing between each word. His already humanly-questionable incisors are growing elongated now, turning into fangs and changing his pattern of speech. “You have no fucking idea how aggressive I get if I don’t get what I want during a rut; what you saw earlier wasn’t even the half of it. And I can’t... I won’t let you see me like that. I don’t want you to think—”

“I won’t think anything of you, I promise! Just… just please don’t leave me here. Please,” you quickly blabber out even if you’re not sure who the words are meant for; you or him. “Just tell me what you need.”

“No way.” He’s practically panting, every breath still continuing to be laboured as he says, “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Just say it.”

“It’s so fucking embarrassing, though.”

“Goddammit, spit it out already!”

“I—” He falters, huffing, only stressing you out further until he finally says, “I need to cum.”

The white noise that had just eased a bit inside your ears immediately gets replaced by the deafening ringing of your pulse. Did you just hear that right? 

“H-Huh?” is all you can let out as a result.

“I need to cum to make the rut ease up,” he explains impatiently, voice breathless, hoarse. He looks at you, the vein in his neck bulging as his jaw clicks into place again. “Fucking hell… M’sorry, I’m so sorry… for everything. You don’t gotta do anything if you don’t wanna, I’d never force you but— fuck, it’s so fucking hot in here. I can’t breathe.”

The moment you see him start losing his composure again is the moment that you spring into action.

“Here, let’s just… take it easy for a bit.” You blink profusely, trying to gain control of the situation as you ease him onto the pile of sleeping bags. “Breathe in nice and slow, yeah?”

“No,” he grunts out, tensing again in an instant. “That makes it worse.”

“Oh, right. Right. Sorry.” 

Moments pass, all of them feeling like ages even if it’s only a second or two, perhaps three. You spend them all by watching him like a shark in water, not sounding quite like yourself as you force yourself to step out of your comfort zone for once and utter, “Let me help you.”

“What?”

“Let me help you with the whole… uh.” Your rare, spontaneous decision makes your head want to hurt from all the anxiety it’s causing. “Cumming part, I mean.”

“No.” His cheeks glow red as he swallows hard. “You seriously don’t gotta. Like I said, I’d never—”

“I know,” you cut in, giving him a look of what you hope looks like determination instead of pure anxiety. “I know you wouldn’t. Besides, there’s no need for that because I want to, okay?”

Kiba frowns, looking the most exasperated you’ve ever seen him be. It makes his voice unusually quiet and small as he whispers, “Why would you?”

“Want that?”

“Yes.”

“I want to because you’re my friend,” you say and it’s the truth. “And I don’t care what it is that we gotta do to make you feel all right again, I’ll always help you out because of that, okay?”

“But I’m a shitty friend. I don’t deserve you helping me out; I don’t deserve you,” he counters. “I mean, for fuck’s sake… Look at the shitshow that I dragged you into just now.”

“You made it sound like you didn’t know this would happen, though,” you argue back, growing more backbone with your tone. “Did I understand that right?”

His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek, instantly drawing blood from how sharper they are than they used to be. He hisses, licking the now aching spot, tasting iron. “Yes.”

“Okay, then let me help you,” you try again, unrecognized greed and the bond you can’t feel not as nearly as deep as him pushing you forward hand in hand. “Yeah?”

Kiba looks at you for a long while. His eyes have gotten so dark that they look like they could absorb you whole when he finally opens his mouth to say, “Yeah.” His eyelids flutter shut for a brief second as he shakes his head, as if chasing the doubt away. “Yeah, all right.”

With his approval acquired, the couple of seconds to follow are like a blur. You don’t know where the sudden burst of confidence comes from as you coax him to lay on his back, but you’re happy it’s there because it keeps your hands somewhat from shaking.

“Come to think of it, maybe we shouldn’t—” He stiffens, the words catching in his throat from the way his cock automatically starts to twitch in his sweats because of the way your unsure touch travels down his stomach, now.

His dark happy trail tickles the tips of your fingers, caramel skin still so hot that you’re surprised he’s still conscious and capable of forming thoughts. 

“It’s okay, shh,” you soothe him even if your heart feels like it’s climbed up your throat again when he immediately pushes himself up with the help of his elbows so that he can look at you. You’re both trying so hard to not stare at the obvious tent in his pants. “I’ll, um… I-I’ll take care of it, okay?”

Your best friend’s chest heaves with every fast breath. All he can do is nod, the discomfort obvious as he says, “Okay.”

God, he sounds so uncomfortable but desperate for it at the same time. You force yourself not to look at him as you kneel beside him, feeling sweat gathering on the nape of your neck. Just a little while ago you were cold. Now, you’re burning up from how quickly he’s warming up the small space.

“Will, like, a handjob be enough…?” This entire thing is insane. Surreal.

You’ve gone from zero to a hundred just because he’ll go off the rails otherwise.

“I, uh, I think so?” His fingers curl, fisting the smooth material of the sleeping bag. He clutches it so tightly that it makes his knuckles turn white as he adds, “I mean, that’s what I do when I’m alone.”

“You jerk off during a rut?” The image of him stroking himself makes your stomach tighten and your throat turn scratchy.

“So many times. Ugh.” Heat spreads throughout your body at the groan he lets out, but it also warms his face into an even deeper shade of red. Talking about these things might be embarrassing right now, but it eases the tension. So he continues, “Sometimes I even have to take a couple days off work just so I can keep fuckin’ my fist, hah.”

The look on your face makes him inhale a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

“Too much?” he asks, that same look of dread overtaking his features once more.

“No, no,” you reply hurriedly, running two now-trembling fingers along the waistband of his sweatpants. The way his toned stomach trembles in response turns your mouth painfully dry all over again. “I just… I thought you’d rather venture out to find somebody to sleep with during a time like that. So that you can, you know… make it pass quicker or something.”

“Oh. Well, I did try to do that. But it didn’t go so well,” he answers, staring at every movement your hand makes with heavy eyelids. “Here, lemme… help you out ‘cause we gotta speed things up a bit. I’m so sorry… God.”

Your breath hitches when his too-warm hand cups your smaller one and wraps it around the prominent bulge in his sweatpants without any sort of hesitance, but with palpable urgency instead. 

He curls your fingers around the ridge of his clothed cock until you can feel out the shape of it. And then he stills completely, giving you time to pull back if you change your mind about the entire thing despite that every cell of him wants to roar.

But you never do. 

No, instead all you do is succumb to the moment and start to stroke him the way he’s shown you — slowly at first.

“Fuck, okay… That’s it,” he whispers, broad shoulders tensing at the touch. His fingers twitch, tightening their grip on the sleeping bag.

The praise is like a flame and it licks your skin. Feeling how big he is getting under the cotton now, how fucking huge he’s growing, makes your saliva thick and your voice wobbly as you whisper, “Like that?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He sighs before yet another curse spills past his parted lips. There’s drool gathering on the surface of his sharp fangs by the time he urges you on. When he swallows it, it’s audible. 

Somehow, it succeeds in making you feel better, more relaxed. The fact that he’s just as nervous as you are helps. 

So you let your lips quirk upwards briefly as you say, “Now you’re the one that’s got drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, huh?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” He huffs a laugh. “This whole thing is pretty new to me. Makes my body act all sorts of weird.”

You blink. “A handjob is new to you?”

He shakes his head, looking down at his lap with a blush so prominent that it makes his entire face tingle. “No, I meant like a mate’s touch.”

“Oh.” You offer him a nervous smile, readjusting yourself on your legs. “Well, um… enjoy it while it lasts, hah?”

Kiba doesn’t say anything in answer. Neither do you. Maybe he’s afraid of what this will mean for your friendship afterwards. Maybe you both are. But with each passing minute, you slowly ease yourself into your sinful ministrations. Your strokes turn less rigid, the hesitance replaced with cautious intent, but intent nevertheless.

The waistband of his sweatpants gradually slips lower and lower down his hips as you keep going. A glob of your saliva gets involved; transferring from your pursed lips, to your palm, to his cock that has finally been freed from the too-tight confines of his clothes and is now being spoiled by skin on skin contact.

Even if Kiba remains in his — mostly — human form, you soon learn that werewolf cock is vastly different from a human one. In the dark, you can’t see it quite well, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t feel the difference. 

It’s bigger, harder, hotter to the touch than any you’ve previously had. It throbs and practically leaks pre-cum, nearly making you think that you didn’t even have to spit into your palm in the first place. In fact, it’s so lubed up that there are wet, almost squishy noises by the time his hips start to buck upwards and he starts fucking your fist.

You’re hovering over him, your face merely inches away from his own from how close you’ve gotten during the entire ordeal. If you thought he was panting before, now he’s nearly hyperventilating as he rasps, “F-fuck, mm… faster. Go faster, bunny. It feels s’good.”

His voice has turned into a growl of some kind; it’s the lewdest you’ve ever heard him speak. Because even with all the dirty jokes, and the questionable looks, and the sometimes too-long hugs which you’ve exchanged throughout the years, Kiba has always, always been respectful of your boundaries and limits.

But he really pushes that limit, really steps on that already thin line when he suddenly rests his forehead against your own and asks, “Are you gonna let me kiss you?”

Your thoughts turn fuzzy in an instant at the request, as well as at the nearly non-existent proximity. This isn’t about helping him out anymore, this is about feelings. Feelings that you’re very much still trying to understand. 

And feelings are dangerous, when you know that being friends is best for you. After all, you’re so different from each other — polar opposites. But you feel the invisible link that connects you to him now a bit better than you did before, feel it tugging you towards him; closer and closer, even if you’re merely human. Every touch makes it stronger and alters your brain chemistry, alters the way you see him.

It feels like you’re gradually starting to share every breath, like your heartbeats are aligning and will keep on aligning all until they’ll start to beat as one. Like you’re fusing together; he’s becoming you at the same time you’re becoming him.

You have no clue how he’s managed to endure all of this for such a long time, surely feeling it at least ten times stronger than you do. And in a way, it’s scary. All these emotions are making you feel overwhelmed and the worst part is that they’re not nearly as deep yet as his are.

You stare at him. He stares right back with dark eyes full of what you think is good intention. 

Your lips quiver as you whisper, “Do you think kissing is a good idea?”

“It’s just a couple of kisses, bunny,” he answers way too fast, quietly whimpering when your thumb swipes over his sensitive cockhead, turning tacky because of the bead of pre-cum there. He’s so needy that he feels like it’s going to kill him. The rut has outright cooked his brain by now, and that makes him pushy — he’s warned you about it. “It’s not like it’s gonna change anything between us.”

You look at him again, still sceptic. Your grip around his cock tightens as you think. “I dunno...”

“C’mon. Please, please, please,” he urges, feeling even more hot and bothered and desperate at how godly it feels when you stroke his cock. Up and down, up and down, up and down — he’s going to go batshit crazy. “Didn’t you tell me that you were gonna be a bit more spontaneous tonight? Hmm?”

You stare at him from underneath your lashes, feeling just a little less doubtful from how he pleads for it. Despite being perplexed about the entire situation, his uncharacteristic rambling and babbling and the constant need to challenge you proves to be like a push forward that you need in order to press your lips against his own.

So you gather your courage and lean in. And of course, he meets you halfway in an instant — even faster than that. 

The kiss itself is messy when you connect. It’s more so a clash of teeth and swapping of runny saliva, than it is a loving peck. He craves for you so bad that before you can even take a breath in, he’s nudging your bottom lip with his tongue, trying to make you part your lips a fraction wider; to part just enough for him to slip his tongue inside.

You let out a little ‘mmph!’ sound at how intense he is with it and how he cups one side of your face with his hand, literally forcing you to open up for him by pressing his thumb underneath your jaw.

“Hey—”

And it’s the opening he’s been looking for. He pushes his tongue inside, gliding it over your front teeth, tasting the roof of your mouth, exploring it like he’ll never get another chance to do so again — perhaps he won’t, who knows? 

So he hits you like a tidal wave and kisses you like he’s planning to eat you — it’s riveting as much as it is intimidating. Spit gets swapped with each sloppy kiss that gets shared between you now, some of it bridging the small gap between your mouths whenever you push him back just enough to come back for air. His large canine teeth bump against your own normal-sized ones. The occasional click! is enough to make your blood run hot.

And surprisingly, in the midst of all this chaos, you realize that kissing him feels right. It’s by no means romantic or a profession of love, but it is natural and synchronized in its own peculiar way. Somehow, it even makes sense. Like parts are connecting, like the image is getting clearer, like puzzle pieces are falling into place.

All those feelings that you’ve shoved down and blinded yourself from for literal years are rushing to the surface now. You feel like you’re going to burst.

In a way, Kiba feels the same.

“I, ah… I think m’gonna cum soon... Kissing you feels so hot.” He groans when he feels you falter, body tensing at how low his voice has gotten. His cock is nearly pulsating in your palm by now and he has to remind you to continue by helping you out with his own hand. “Fuck, keep goin’, keep goin’. Don’t stop now; I didn’t tell ya to stop, did I?”

Flustered and incredibly overwhelmed by everything that is happening, you do as he says because following orders — even frantic, growly ones — is familiar and comforting as a result. 

You let him sloppily fuck your fist as you tighten the hold of your fingers and loosen your wrist so that he can get what he needs to bring himself to his finish. All while he’s practically shoving his tongue down your throat, kissing you with such a burning passion that it feels like you’ll be engulfed in flames and turned into ashes any second now.

Heat steadily builds up within Kiba’s stomach. Sweat pours out of every pore all over again, making his hair stick to his forehead. His toes curl, his balls tighten. His throat gets all scratchy and dry. His brow furrows so deeply that it gives him a headache as he squeezes his eyes shut and just feels.

“Yeah… Just a lil’— fuck, yes, yes…!”

You go faster. And when he finally does tip over the edge and cums, it’s insane. 

His movements spasm, broad shoulders tense up to the point of pain. And then he’s literally growling into your mouth; making your lips and the inside of your throat vibrate as he becomes undone.

Your heart stutters at the sound. And when you feel his warm, sticky seed steadily fill your hand, it begins to dance inside your chest.

After all, there’s a literal fuckload of it, perhaps even more. His release dribbles past your knuckles and soils his sweatpants. It gushes out of him, ropes of it, all tacky and cloudy white and potent. You’ve never seen a man produce so much cum, especially not because of you. 

The sight, no, the feel of it makes you rub your thighs together as you squeeze every last droplet out of him. Before you know it, there’s a tingly sensation growing in intensity between your legs. A certain kind of heat pooling at the apex of your thighs, a certain kind of stickiness that causes your underwear to cling to your most private part.

Unsure of the reason as to why his pleasure affects you so strongly, the presence of your sudden arousal takes you by surprise and thus only makes you even more nervous as your core temperature scales higher, higher, higher.

You flinch when he kisses the corner of your swollen, kiss-bruised lips. Your cheek. Your neck. And it’s in that spot, where the curve of your shoulder starts, that he finally rests his sweat-riddled forehead and croaks out a very exhausted and very grateful, “Thank you.”

Kiba sags before you can reply, resting a great part of his weight against you and nearly making you stumble backwards because of it. Despite all of the confusion that riddles your mind at that moment, you can’t help but simply hold your best friend upright, repeatedly weaving your clean fingers through his now-damp hair in meek attempt of soothing him.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, trying to ignore the way your stomach feels like it’s doing flips. Who knew you had such an effect on him? Or he on you? “You’re okay. I-I mean, you’re messy, but you’re okay.”

Long moments pass. It’s hard to tell in the dark how much time has passed exactly when your phone is nowhere to be seen, but judging by how your fingers are still tacky with his now mostly dried up release, it must have been a couple of minutes at least.

“God, I didn’t think there'd be so much cum, heh... My bad,” he grunts at some point, pulling you out of your thoughts with the way he rubs the sweat on his forehead into your hoodie. Before you can scold him for it, he’s already back to burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and trying to tame his breaths. 

His exhales are warm and ticklish. They make you snicker as you try to push away from him, hiding the sensitive spot with the help of your chin. “What’re you doing?”

“Sniffin’ you,” he answers with a matter-of-fact tone, as if it’s the most normal thing for a person to do.

“Well, stop it! I already told you that it’s weird back at the store.”

“Ahh, but you smell so good.”

Another smile kicks the corners of your lips upward. You’ve always liked the little compliments he gives you. This time it’s no different. “Do I, now?”

“Mhmm,” he nearly purrs, nuzzling his nose even further into your neck until he’s got it practically smushed against your pulse point, causing it to wrinkle slightly at the bridge. “It’s sweeter than usual though, your scent. How are you feelin’?”

Ba-dum.

“Oh, you know,” you mumble, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Can he tell what you’re experiencing? “A bit overwhelmed by everything that’s happened just now, but I’m fine otherwise... I think.”

A little moment of silence ensues. You’re just about to tease him and ask if he’s done interrogating you when he rasps, “You’re sure? ‘Cause I can definitely smell something other than ‘fine’ and ‘overwhelmed’.”

He sounds different again. More gruff. More tense. More demanding of an answer. 

It makes you feel cornered all of a sudden.

Before you can move, he pulls back just enough to press the side of his face against your own as he waits for your answer; perhaps giving you the comfort of avoiding eye contact, perhaps just to feel more physical touch — you don’t know. 

So, you’re cheek to cheek, now. Chest to chest. Muscle to muscle. The distance between you is nearly non-existent as you each stare at opposite corners of the tent. 

His stubble scrapes your face. Wasn’t he clean-shaven just this morning? 

Your breath warms his shoulder as he utters, “Well?”

“Yeah,” you answer as the slight prickle in your cheek yanks you back from the haze that is your thought process. Your voice is once again as wobbly as your legs are getting. It’s hard to concentrate when he’s so close. “I’m sure.”

“‘Kay,” he trails off, still not convinced. “How ‘bout…” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kiba leans down to press his lips to your neck again and leaves another tender kiss there, sending shivers down your spine. “Now?”

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum!

You’re quiet, but your fingers tangle into his dark hair as you latch onto him for support in a mere instant, even you’re surprised by it. The way you can feel his sharp canines grazing your throat is exhilarating. Brain working purely on autopilot, you tug at the roots at the back of his head the same moment as your eyelids flutter shut. You simply can’t help yourself.

Perhaps this bond that he’s been telling you about isn’t something only he can experience, after all.

“And now…?” he utters so softly that you can barely hear him over the sound of your quickening pulse. His hand glides from between your shoulder blades, down to the small of your back and goddammit, his palm is so broad; it’s almost comical how big of a portion of you it manages to cover. “How do you feel now?” 

“Good. I feel… good,” is all you can answer with this time. Your voice sounds so small as his touch travels over the curve of your ass and rounds the corner by landing on the front of your thigh instead. 

You don’t fail to notice the way his calloused fingertips start to glide upwards now that they’re on your leg. The claws, that must have replaced his nails at some point when you weren’t paying that much attention, drag against the stretchy material of your leggings; playful, taunting. 

It’s all so slow. Deliberate.

The sudden burst of adrenaline that rushes through your veins and nestles deep inside your belly makes you fidgety, but he keeps you nice and steady by holding the side of your head with his other hand. 

Those claws are at your inner thigh now, only inching higher.

Higher, higher, higher.

And his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers a what you could only call an exceptionally needy, “Yeah?”

“Yea-ah!” A little gasp that’s more of a moan than anything else slips out from the way he unexpectedly cups your clothed pussy into the palm of his hand.

“Scent doesn’t lie, bunny,” he says, chuckling darkly. “You should keep that in mind when you’re around someone like me, y’know.”

Shit. You’re in for it now, aren’t you? His touch is scorching hot again even through the two layers of clothes that separates you from him.

It only spurs you into action, almost making you start to grind against him as you arch your back and press yourself closer.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! 

Your heart feels like it’s on the verge of giving out.

“We should stop, K-Ki—” You don’t succeed in saying his name fully when he applies more pressure to make you reconsider. 

The heel of his palm presses right against your clit this time. Breathless and unsure if it’s done on purpose or merely by some lucky accident, you jolt, trying to squeeze your thighs together.

He catches you when you sag against him, much like you’ve previously done when he had been the one struggling to stay upright. And surprise, surprise — he’s hard all over again. Ready to go for round two, his cock starts poking your thigh whenever you move, leaving little splotches of sticky pre-cum there. 

It causes a second heatwave to hit you as filthy thoughts begin flooding your mind. Pussy dripping at the mere idea of him attempting to push that fat, monstrous cock inside you, you let out a little sound of panic when he presses his finger right on the spot where your tight little hole is hiding under the leggings.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” You can’t see it, but he smirks into the dark; fangs glinting with the wolfish grin that’s gotten so conceited that it hurts. “Look at that… Lil’ bunny is getting all worked up from a bit of heavy petting.”

“Am not!” you stammer with feverish need, licking your lips as your nails dig into his scalp and you grab yet another fistful of his chestnut-coloured hair. “Stop teasing me… I-I’m just— Ugh…”

“I’ll stop if you let me take your clothes off already so that I can lick you and fuck you like you obviously wanna be fucked,” he says, rubbing tight little circles right into that little button that makes you feel like there is electricity running through your veins, not blood. “How does that sound? Or are you just gonna keep grindin’ that little pussy of yours into my hand for the rest of the night?”

Before you can answer, he slides up and down your slit, making your cunt eat up your underwear and leggings, shaping it out. Your knees buckle as you rest all of your weight against him, trusting him that he’ll hold you upright.

But the problem is that he doesn’t. Instead, Kiba uses the hand that he’s holding the side of your head with to help lay you down. 

Until you’re right underneath him.

And just like that, he’s on top of you, breathing in your scent with almost a sense of urgency whilst his hand still keeps on rubbing that overwhelmingly sensitive spot between your legs. Keeps on provoking it and keeps on making you so horny that you’re barely any better than a cat in heat.

With every stroke, he’s making you hot and bothered all over again. Making you buck your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Making you sweat and whine and borderline sniffle as the upcoming tears of pent-up sexual frustration sting your waterline.

You’re about to go batshit crazy if he doesn’t do something other than pet you.

So it’s no wonder that you whimper and allow him to undress you one piece of clothing at a time, until you’ve got nothing else on but your colourful socks and your plain cotton panties are dangling from one ankle. That you let him kiss you down your neck and chest, until he’s nosing his way between your legs and licking you with that inhumanly coarse tongue to his heart’s content.

That you let him feast upon you like a man starved even if he is more monster than man; until your legs are trembling around his head and you’re seeing stars behind closed eyelids. That you let him devour your sweetness and inhale such deep, long breaths of its scent, despite that you’re feeling slightly embarrassed about it after telling him that you’re all ‘sweaty and gross’ down there after the hike, and he’s assured you at least a million times that he likes it even better that way.

And it’s no wonder that you let him spit onto your pussy as he kisses up your thigh and hovers above you, then, before he bends your legs so far back that your knees are nearly touching your ears. That you let him fold you into a mating press and align his cock with your sticky cunt at long last, his fat cockhead prodding at your tight hole that just won’t stop fluttering at even the slightest intrusion.

“Imma pound you s’good. Gonna make you cream on my cock, gonna do all of that nasty shit that I wanted to do to ya for s’long,” he babbles, his stare so ardent that it pierces right through your heart even if he’s not focused at all. The second wave of his rut has already contaminated all his thoughts and consumed him entirely. All he can think about is slamming you to your breaking point.

“Kiba, wa—…. wait,” you mewl, eyes wide open as you stare up at him. With his back hunched and his biceps flexing, every muscle and cord strained to withhold his weight, he’s gotten so big that he can barely fit inside the tent anymore. 

How in the hell is he gonna fit inside you?

“Please, I need it. Need it so, so, so bad, fuck,” he drawls almost like he isn’t completely present, his expression all dazed and stupid from how he keeps on staring between your legs. He nudges you again as he says the words, his cockhead catching against your sticky entrance once more, making you squirm. “Your cunt smells so fuckin’ sweet; it’s driving me nuts... I gotta push inside you, bunny, okay? Imma push in.”

You tremble in response, hips wiggling, legs opening a fraction wider to give him even more space because of how persistent he’s getting. When you look up at him through hooded eyelids, all you can see is how his slits for pupils dilate at the sight of the silvery string of arousal that clings to his cock now, connecting him to your cunt.

Your pussy is so wet — it’s practically drooling.

Consequently, it makes him drool, too. Saliva nearly drips down Kiba’s canines all over again.

“Just the tip, okay?” you whisper, trying to calm your heavy-pounding heart.

“Jus’ the tip, yeah,” he murmurs back with that fang-induced mumble, still so pussy drunk that he’s nearly brain-dead. His irises have turned yellow; they glow in the dark as he looks at you and says, “Jus’ the tip and nothin’ else.”

You stare at him with big, watery eyes. “You promise?”

Kiba huffs a laugh despite the fact that he looks like he’s barely keeping himself together. “‘Course I do, sweetheart.” 

Hearing him promise, you nod, and thus give him the approval that he’s been practically dying to get. “All right… But go slowly, okay? ‘Cause I’m scared.” 

“Slow, gotcha. Gonna go so slow that it won’t hurt one bit.” 

With a heartbeat that’s damn well working overtime by now, Kiba softly grunts when he finally presses into you, causing you to instantly flinch and wiggle your hips for a second time to try and accommodate him better.

“Keep still, will ya?” he chides, his patience leaving him for a quick second. “You’re twitchin’ all over the place like you’re an actual rabbit.”

“I’m trying! And shut it.” He keeps on pushing at your fussing, turning your voice higher in pitch as you say, “Shit, shit, shit… I said slowly!”

He grits his teeth, eyebrows drawing together in concentration that he doesn’t have. “This is slow.”

“Well, I-I think that you’re going way too fast.”

“Stop naggin’ me already and relax.”

“Excuse me?!”

Your mouth opens, but before you can even begin unleashing the storm that is your newly-formed fury, he leans down to press his lips against your own like the little shit he is.

Moments pass, he keeps kissing you as a means to distract you from the fact that he’s slowly filling you with his cock. And eventually, with some sweet-talking and plenty of combined effort, your pussy gives in when he adds just a little bit of force to the push, letting him break past that tight ring of muscle that your nerves must be causing.

You’re so tight that it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand to attention when he finally slips inside, but you’re also so sloppy and dripping wet at the same time that he isn’t worried about it too much.

After all, from the way you push your head back now, pointing your chin upwards and exposing more of your neck that he feels the need to wrap his hand around and stroke it with the help of his thumb, you seem to be enjoying yourself just fine.

Nevertheless, concern — that he feels for you at all times — crosses his tight features. He’s barely holding it together, and here he is; looking out for you as he asks, “You doin’ okay?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you utter, tensing when his touch moves from your neck down to your tits. 

He quirks a brow as he squeezes the fat of your breast and runs his thumb across your nipple this time, making you shudder. “But?”

You give him a pointed look. How can he always tell that there’s something hiding behind the reassurance? “But, you’re just so… big. Concerningly so. I’m worried about how I’m gonna take it all.”

He muses as he mocks the sound of your voice and says, “What happened to ‘just the tip, okay’?”

You huff, pouting. “Don’t make me keep it that way, you prick.”

“Okay, okay, m’sorry,” he says hurriedly, pressing what must be the hundredth kiss onto your lips. “I’ll be good, just don’t make me pull out, please.”

“What about you? Are you doing okay?” you ask, caressing his cheek with your palm. The way he instantly leans further into your touch makes your heart not only dance, but also sing. “I know this must be especially hard for you.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles lamely, convincing neither of you. And then he sighs at the way you roll your eyes at him in answer. “I just… I want—”

“More?” you suggest.

A prominent blush sears his cheeks. Since when did he blush so much? He’s also sweating like crazy all over again as he says, “Yeah.”

“All right.” Carefully, you nod your head yes once more as you remind him, “I’ll give you more. But slowly, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. How he doesn’t puncture the rosy skin with the action, you don’t understand. “I’ll go nice n’ easy on ya. Cross my heart.”

Well, he’ll try at least.

And Kiba does try to go nice and easy, he really does. But it’s hard for him to keep his cool when the beast keeps on howling in his veins and the bond that chains him to you screams at him to brand every last inch of your skin and soul alike.

He’s nearly trembling all over by the time he sinks balls deep into you and his dark pubic hair kisses your clit.

But at long last, you’ve become one.

“Fuck.”

“That feels so—”

“Good. That feels so fuckin’ good, goddamn.”

“I-I’m so… full.”

“You’re welcome.”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

“What d’you think?” 

“I think—”

“Woah, look, I’m even makin’ your belly bulge a bit.”

“Ew, ew, ew! That’s so gross.”

“What? No, it ain’t. I actually think it’s kind of cool-lookin’.”

“Stop poking it!”

“Nu-uh.”

Your ankles cross at the middle of his back when he presses his hand to your tummy, colourful socks scraping tan skin. The way you clench around him when he digs his fingers into the bulge makes Kiba wish he had the ability to purr.

“Move,” you squeak out, breath hitching at how the tip of his cock has managed to snuggle right next to your goddamn cervix. “Need you to… move. It’s too much! Kiba, please.”

He tries not to show how happy he is to do as you tell him, but fails with the way his entire face literally lights up as he says, “Like this?”

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, savoring every last bit of friction he gives you now. The rhythm he’s chosen is surprisingly laggard, even if he looks like he’s just about to start bursting at the seams. “Y-yeah, like that.”

Kiba likes the way you sound when you’ve got something fucking into you at a steady pace, but it’s even better that that something is him. Now that he thinks about it, the tone is pretty similar to the one you used to have after every gym class back in high school.

God, did he like seeing those tight shorts on you every Wednesday. Good memories.

A proper moan — the first amongst many — suddenly leaves your mouth, coaxing him away from his trip down memory lane and urging him to make you keep talking, talking, talking as he asks, “You need me just as much as I need you, don’tcha?”

“Pfsh. I never said… that,” you drawl with a click of a tongue as your breathing picks up. Every time he draws his hips back and pushes them back into you feels like he’s reshaping your entire goddamn cunt. Not an unpleasant sensation necessarily, but it definitely takes some time getting used to. 

“‘Kay, but listen to all this noise you’re making now that I’ve stuffed your lil’ bunny cunt full,” he says, his eyes glowing with mischief and that sublime yellow colour. “Bet no other man could make you sound like that, huh?”

They’re lazy but deep, the thrusts. Filled with intent. With arrogance and urgency that hides just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce. They reach parts of you that you’ve never even thought could be touched. They make slick dribble down his balls, until it’s all dripping right onto the sleeping bags you’re fucking on top of.

It’s all so audible and loud. Messy. The occasional sound of skin slapping against skin. The wet squelching noises between you. The constant whimpering and his growling grunts, steadily growing in volume.

And you’re going slow.

“Yeah, well that’s ‘cause you’re no man, you dummy,” you bite back when you’re more familiar and comfortable with each other and the connection, trying to be witty even if it’s hard to keep your mind from breaking into shambles.

“Is that so?” He’s breathing hard, picking up his pace, going harder. “Then what am I?”

A dazed smile curls your lips. “You’re a dirty, dirty dog.”

Kiba could agree with that statement to some degree, perhaps. Even if he dislikes the particular term you’ve used.

After all, you have no idea how he’s gotten himself off with a pair of panties that he’d swiped from your drawer and wrapped around his fist back in senior year. Or how he’d turned embarrassingly hard after almost every hug and had to play it cool even if he was sweating bullets from trying to hide the raging boner in his pants. Or how he’s fantasized and fantasized and fantasized; only watching porn with actresses that shared similarities with you because nothing else seemed to work.

You don’t have a clue about any of that.

And he hopes it stays that way.

“Hah.” An almost mean snicker leaves his lips as he unexpectedly slams into you, making you squeal out a particularly nasty curse and causing your pussy to outright gush at the intrusion. “Careful, sweetheart. If you keep on saying things like that, I’ll be more than happy to treat ya like the dirty dog you say I am.”

“Will you, though?” you challenge playfully, stroking down his back with the heel of your foot.

He sneers as he answers, “I will if you keep on testin’ me.”

“But I thought you said that you’re bonded to me?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean that you can’t hurt me?”

He blinks, surprised. “Who said anything ‘bout hurting you…? I’d just mount you.”

Your expression copies his own. “Mount… me?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, temperature suddenly flaring up at the thought. “You know… the same way animals fuck.”

Heat creeps up your neck at the crude way he explains it. “Oh.”

Kiba’s lips quirk upwards when he catches a whiff of the subtle change in your scent. You’re flustered at the idea, smelling even sweeter now that there are no clothes to buffer the prominent notes of arousal. “I take it that you wanna try it?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. A wave of sweat washes over you, toes curling. “What— No!”

“Oh, c’mon,” he pushes gently, helping you out. “Scent doesn’t lie, remember? You’ll like it, I promise.” 

“And if I don’t?” you ask.

He nudges your chin with the tip of his nose. “If you don’t, we’ll stop. Simple as that.”

“Okay, but can you stop?” You angle your head so that he can press a kiss to your cheek. “When you’re like this… under the influence of a rut. Can you stop?”

Silence hangs in the air as he pulls away to look at you, his expression suddenly somber despite the glaze of unbridled lust that still coats his unnatural eyes. 

“I’d never hurt you,” he finally says. “I’d rather die than hurt my mate, that’s why I was ready to leave before.”

Kiba’s voice is stone cold serious. The intensity he chooses to speak with so that he can get his point across causes butterflies to spring free inside your belly.

You can still feel them fluttering around by the time his clawed hands manhandle you into the position he wants. Laying on your stomach now, you let out a little noise of surprise when his weight presses you further down into the silky nylon of the sleeping bags the moment he tops you.

He’s heavy, taking the profound size difference into account, but you’re pleased to find out that it’s the kind of weight that comforts you instead of suffocating you. You feel warm. Safe.

“Can I…?” he trails off.

His exhale tickles the back of your neck, making the hairs there rise to attention as you shiver and say, “Well, that’s what I’m here for, aren’t I?”

“Oh, sorry, my bad,” he says. “I thought you were here for the s’mores.”

“Not funny— oh.”

Your back arches and your anger dissipates into nothing as soon as he begins to push inside you again, careful not to stuff you full too fast. After all, while it might be easier to fit him inside you this time thanks to your earlier endeavours, it still remains to be no small task.

He’s as careful and considerate as he’s able to be in the state that he’s in. He pushes gently, but pushes nonetheless. By the time he sinks into you to the hilt and pauses to give you a minute, you’re both panting like you’ve just ran a marathon.

“You doin’ okay, bunny?” he rasps, voice so low and growly that it really does make you think you’re getting fucked by an animal. Or a beast, if you’d have to specify it.

“Yep, mhmm…!” You squeak out, your voice so high-pitched that it must surely hurt or at least agitate his ultra-sensitive hearing. You’re happy that he can’t see the fucked out expression that sits on your face right now. “Doing a-okay.”

“Don’t try to run away, now,” he teases when you wiggle your hips, trying to readjust yourself. “Or else the hunting instinct is gonna kick in.”

“Not to worry,” you practically chirp, feeling your body slipping into a fever at the way his big, calloused palm presses into the small of your back. “I’m staying put.”

He chuckles at how submissive he’s made you sound, at how there’s a prominent sheen of sweat gathering on your spine. Gliding his finger down your dewy skin, Kiba catches himself wishing to lick you clean of salt, but at the same time he just knows that you’d cause a fuss about it if he’d even mention the mere idea of it.

So for the following minutes, he doesn’t speak.

And neither do you.

You can’t speak from how deep he’s pushed himself inside you, anyway. No, all you can do is moan and whimper uselessly as he then proceeds to fuck you, to make love to you, to break you apart just to reassemble you until you’re whole again; all in the position he likes best.

He makes you sweat. Makes you cry out to him as you allow yourself to get lost in deeply-rooted carnal pleasure and you need his help to bring you back to morality. At some point, his arm even ends up reaching underneath you and wrapping around your stomach just so he can hold your hips up when you try to crawl away despite telling him that you’re going to stay put earlier.

Judging by the way you’re reacting to him, Kiba guesses that he’ll have to carry you down the hill when morning comes. 

Meanwhile, you’re unsure if it’s the bond that’s making you feel this wild or the simple fact that he’s not entirely human. However, when you at long last feel yourself clenching around him, and when that tight, almost unbearable heat that’s inside your tummy finally spills free and spreads throughout your whole body, you realize that you don’t really care what the reason behind your sudden recklessness might be.

“Fuck. M’not gonna last long, sweetheart… No fuckin’ way that I’m gonna last when your cunt’s milkin’ me dry like that,” Kiba grunts out as he feels you gush and start creaming on his cock. There’s a ring of milky slick gathering at his base already — the sight and sound of it turns his thrusts jerky and irregular. 

“Don’t get scared of the knot now, okay?” His upper lip trembles as he swallows hard. “It’ll be there just for a minute, I swear.”

“Knot…? What’s a—Oh, my gosh, Kiba; I am going to fucking murder you!”

The sudden swelling you feel inside your pussy practically bullies its way up to your cervix as he hunches his back and gives you one last, final push. 

Your toes curl as the ‘knot’ — or whatever he calls it — plugs you, and also succeeds in making you entirely rigid in return. Every last inch of your body feels tingly from the foreign sensation as he lets out one final groan, that sounds more like a pained whimper than anything else, and simply fills you up to the brim with warm, thick, endless ropes of cum that paint your abused walls entirely white and simply refuse to spill out of you.

You stare off into the darkness, listening to his ragged breathing whilst trying to tame your own. Eventually, his cock softens enough for your cunt to not feel like it’s going to fucking explode from the fullness. And as soon as that happens, he drops down upon poor, unsuspecting you; feeling completely, utterly exhausted.

Your werewolf best friend is squishing you flat like a pancake and is spoiling you with messy kisses after fucking you like an animal in the middle of the woods. And you’re just… fine with that?

The realization makes you smile.

Maybe living your life on the edge for once and being a little bit spontaneous isn’t as bad as you think.

———

“I really hope that your pills can withstand all that werewolf cum I’ve just pumped into ya, ya know. ‘Cause otherwise we’re gonna be having an entire litter of pups.”

“For the love of god, can you please use your lowly developed frontal lobe for like a second of your miserable life, and just keep watch like I told you to?”

“This is pointless. There’s literally no one here besides us and a couple of deer.”

“Shush! I’m trying to pee and I can’t do that when you keep on running your big-ass mouth!”

“Words, words, words; I am saying so many words just so that you won’t be able to piss.”

“Shut up already!”

With his back turned towards you and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants, Kiba fights back a laugh as he listens to you relieve yourself in the nearby tall grass. 

After fucking you close to stupidity nearly three times in a row now — and mounting you twice during those three times — the young werewolf feels somewhat content with himself at long last. 

He’s fucked most of the rut out of his system by now. Besides that, you’ve also talked a lot, apologized to each other, and cleared up some misunderstandings. He’s even managed to place a hickey on that spot on your neck where your scent is the strongest and where, he hopes, you’ll let him place an actual bite mark someday.

But for now, you’re taking it slow. On Saturday, he’s taking you out to dinner at that little restaurant by the lake that you’ve always liked visiting with your parents. 

And who knows, maybe after you share dessert together, you might even go for a swim so that he has an excuse to take his shirt off in front of you and you get to make fun of him for it, or whatever.

So lost in his thoughts and all the planning he has yet to start pondering through, Kiba barely hears the rustle of your footsteps when you approach him from behind. 

He tenses, whipping his head in your direction only a millisecond before you manage to put away your travel sized packet of baby wipes that he teases you for constantly carrying around with you, and you place your hand on his shoulder.

Your eyebrows rise up towards your hairline in response to his visible startlement. “Did I just manage to sneak up on the so-called ‘apex predator’?”

“You wish,” he says as he absent-mindedly brushes you off. “I could smell ya from a mile away.”

You frown. “That’s so mean!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he drawls, sighing. “It’s just that you smell like me, now… It stands out.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” You stick your tongue at him, looking up at him with your hands on your hips. In the moonlight, he’s even handsomer than usual in that weirdly rugged way that only he can pull off. “Can we go back inside the tent now? I’m exhausted after the entire...”

“Fuckfest?” he offers with a tricksy grin.

“Shut it!” you chide before you shove your phone’s flashlight right into his face as punishment.

Back inside the tent, you don’t have any sort of trouble with undressing yourself in front of your best friend this time. Your hoodie and t-shirt are tossed off, leggings following soon after — until you’re curling up against his strong chest in nothing else but your socks and underwear.

His body temperature isn’t nearly as hot as it was before, but the skin on skin contact provides you with enough warmth to be comfortable as you turn around to face him.

Kiba’s hair is mussed and his eyelids are already hooded with upcoming sleep when he lifts them just barely enough to look at you. The rut really has taken a toll on him; on the both of you alike.

“What is it now?” he mumbles lazily.

“Do you think,” you start, swallowing hard. “Do you think that we’re going to be okay?”

He smiles, the quirk of his lips faint. “I know we will.”

“And our friendship?” you ask, pressing your palm against his chest. “Do you think all of this is going to ruin it?”

“Nah, I think it’s goin’ to make it even better,” he says, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he settles back. He yawns, rubbing his eye as he mutters, “Besides, we’re gonna take it slow. Just like you’ve said.”

“And you’re fine with that?” you ask.

“‘Course I am,” he replies sleepily.

“Why?”

“Because you’re important to me,” he says. “So if you want to go slow, we’ll go as slow as goddamn snails if we have to.”

You let out a little laugh that sounds like wind chimes to him. “You’re so lame.”

Kiba grins, his heart fluttering at the sight of your smile. “Not as lame as you.”

And maybe, just maybe, going steady and experiencing peace for a change isn’t so bad either.

tags: @his-sweet-minx @rookie98writes @qichun @redskyvenus @simply-chillin-here @shanjisan

[servicpop]

NOW STARRING : deliquent (almost) bf (Adrien) x good student reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤAdrien gets a bit lonely and pulls reader under the staircase during break!

✙ warnings — semi-public sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, reader isn't 100% submissive, dirty talk / like 2 sentences of degradation and praise / not actually dating / slight internalised homophobia / mentions of bisexual Adrien

notes ,, first smut, hope I did well -> part 1 | not proofread!

"Fuck— keep quiet alright?"

When Adrien left a cryptic text message saying to meet underneath the staircase, you at first thought you had done something wrong and he was going to beat you up for whatever you did. But, turns out — it was a really silly reason — that Adrien saw this couple making out underneath the tree they had and he wanted to experience something like that with you. Obviously because friends help friends right?

Underneath the staircase was quite dim and almost eerie. It wasn't as romantic as kissing underneath a cherry blossom tree but when have you two ever been the cheesy romantic type? When you arrived, he pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around you like he had been reunited with his long lost lover — which wasn't too far off since he truly believed that you two dated in a previous life. When he hugged you, you tried to act nonchalant, you tried to ignore the warmth that his chest gave off or how safe you felt in his stupdily built arms. Friends aren't supposed to feel like this to eachother, especially if both parties are men!

"Did you call me over just to hug?" You chuckled softly, fighting every bone in your body to not hug him back. You gotta be strong, you can't fall for a deliquent bad boy, it's too cliché.

"I called you over to fuck."

"Wait, what?"

You felt Adrien's hand grip the back of your head, pulling your hair hard enough to tilt your chin up but not hard enough to hurt (he can't be hurting his precious boy). His chapped lips met yours, it was obvious that he didn't take very good care of his lips but that didn't matter, you'd help him out later. The kiss was rough and almost experimental as if Adrien had never kissed another in his life — which was wrong seeing how he's had multiple girlfriends in the past — he seemed almost hesitant, unsure.

Fuck it. Just this once you'd give in to Adrien, but that doesn't mean you were dating him!

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you prod your tongue against his lips, you figured you would demonstrate how to kiss properly to him, he was a hands on learner after all. His eyes widened slightly and his hands dropped to your waist, supporting your balance as he hesitantly opened his mouth, letting your tongue explore. It was weird because usually he'd be the one always taking control but your occasional leading was a breath of fresh air.

After awhile he pulled away with a smirk, "I got it," he replied before picking you up and forcing you to rely on him for stability. A small squeak left your throat as you were hoisted up in the air and pressed against the wall, your legs instinctively wrapped around Adrien's waist. He kissed you again except this time he took dominance, roughly exploring your mouth, poking and prodding at anything he could find. He was so rough that you hadn't noticed his belt come off until the metal clinked on the ground, then you realised what was poking at your ass.

Shit, he was big. Not necessarily in length but girth and thickness, it was practically the perfect all-rounder.

"Wait— Adrien, condom?" You stuttered, the fear finally settling in now. Its not like you were a virgin, just that you've never had someone like... Adrien. His eyes met yours in slight disappointment but he didn't want to go too far on his first time with you, plus, he wasn't even dating you so why would he go so far? Shaking off his thoughts he nodded, rummaging in his pocket for one while keeping you pressed against the cold wall.

"Jerk me off first? The latex gets uncomfortable to put on," He put on a fake pout, letting you stand as he held his throbbing cock out for you to see. You huffed, he was definitely lying but you'd humour him. Just for today.

You reached down, your warm palm engulfing his tip and he let out a low grown in response. Your thumb rubbed against his slit and a smile cracked onto your face when you saw the pre-cum leaking out already. His forearms caged you in as his head hung low, you could see his eyebrows furrowing and the way his face contorted in pleasure. Adrien's hips grinded up into your fist, matching your rhythm as you stroked his cock, gripping tighter at the base before swirling your thumb on his tip. It was almost like you were massaging his climax out.

"S-shit how are you so good with your hands," He sucked in air between his teeth as he hissed, groans and low moans slipped out of his mouth like water. Eager hips bucked up into your fist, chasing his release. "Close, fuck—" He cursed under his breath, his hips almost slamming into your hand, his body trembed as he was so close. His eyes flew open as he looked down to see your thumb covering his urethral opening, denying him of an orgasm, "Wh–?"

"That's enough isn't it? It should slip on easily now," You grinned, taking the condom from his hand and ripping it open with your fingers, rolling the rubber over his now overly sensitive dick. He stared in disbelief, you just... denied him? Him? Oh you were getting it now.

"You little pervert," Adrien chuckled darkly as he whipped you around, pressing your chest against the wall and holding your arms behind your back. It wasn't the most comfortable position ever but your uncomfort was interrupted when he pulled your pants down with your boxers. It was embarassing to say the least, showing off your ass like this to another guy, you were glad you had to face the wall, otherwise you might’ve crumbled from embarrassment if you saw how hungry Adrien looked.

He was teasing you. Edging you. Slipping his cock along your entrance but never actually pushing in. You were dying of anticipation because from your position, it was hard to see anything other than the walls. A surprised and embarrassingly loud moan slipped out and you'd cover your mouth if it wasn't for Adrien's hand binding your wrists together. Adrien had slammed his hips into you, his cock buried deep inside you. No warning no nothing, he was truly cruel. One hand was gripping your hip while the other hand let go of your wrists, you were finally able to stabilise yourself against the wall but long fingers thrusted their way into your mouth. Well this was new.

You gagged slightly around his fingers as you tried to say something about it but your words were blocked by Adrien's middle and ring finger. His hips also began to pick up speed, pulling out almost fully before slamming back in. You were kind of thankful for his thick fingers blocking and muffling your moans or else people were sure to catch you two fucking like bunnies underneath the staircase.

He leaned down so that his chest was flush against your back and the hand that was gripping your hip turned into his arm linking around your waist as he held you close. Adrien's breath fanned your ear before he spoke, "You know those– puppy bandages you gave me yesterday?" His question was broken from panting and groans as he kept thrusting. "Where did you buy them? I– fuck– want them," Adrien chuckled.

You would answer if you didn't have two fingers stuffed in your throat. "You know... good boys don't gatekeep, you don't wanna be good for me?" Fuck. You were never the one for praise but that? That made you cum on the spot. Your knees gave out as your poor cock spurted out white but Adrien was already keeping you up right. He laughed, his gravelly laugh travelled straight through your ears and to your cock. He smiled against your shoulder, almost like he was hugging you from behind, he quickly came after you. Shame that it wasn't inside you but it would do for now.

You both panted, and he took this opportunity of vulnerability from you to sink his teeth into your skin, eliciting a small gasp from you, "What the fuck Adrien?" The bell rung, indicating that break was over and you whined, fixing your uniform before pulling your boxers and your pants up, wincing from the weird sticky feeling from not cleaning up. Adrien was already dressed and he waved you off, quickly running off to a spot where he could skip the next few classes with his friends. You'd have to fix yourself up in the bathroom later.

BONUS

"Did you seriously cum from my praise?

"No, it's just a normal reaction."

"Who's a good boy?"

"Fuck you..."

"Nope! Never letting you top."

"I didn't mean it like that!"

♡

notes ,, the smut wasn't as detailed as I wanted it to be but I get fics done in like a day so I didn't want it to be so long, anyways! That's adrien, I'll be working on a fic for my next oc "

[m-ayo-o]

　✦　˚ pink skirt . no underwear ★⋆. ࿐࿔

𐙚 afab reader x shy alt bf Choso Kamo

*　✦　.　　nsfw cw: fingering  ˚　.   * ✦　˚　. 　　

Choso is starting to think you're doing it on purpose.

He's losing his mind.

If he sees you bend over like that one more time, he swears he's gonna have to--

"Fuck-"

He mutters and looks away.

His fantasies of pushing the skimpy material up to feel your creamy pussy in his hand riddles his mind until he goes pink in the cheeks. He has to play with the ring hooked through his bottom lip to distract himself. But he knows that you'll find out what he's thinking eventually. You always do.

He sighs and feels his boner strapped tight in his jeans that's rubbing with every movement of his body. If he so much as breathes he can feel the heavy pulse of his cock. It's beating hard for you and he can't stop it.

"Baby, you okay?"

He tries to adjust himself under your gaze and he props himself up, attempting to hide the massive bulge.

"Mm," he nods stiffly, but you can see he's suffering.

Your eyes drift over his body in those black jeans, his black tank, admiring the tattoos adorned on his rippling muscles. His silvery studded necklace gets your attention, then his lip and ear piercings and the faded, violet shadows around his deep eyes.

He stares back at you; your tits nearly spilling from your tiny white vest, the pleated pastel mini skirt that just hides your ass, and the way you look at him with such wide eyed adoration.

Fuck, how did a guy like him end up with someone like you.

"Come here, please."

Choso has got a bit better about telling you when he needs you.

"Here, yeah," he nods and watches you mount his lap. Your skirt fans over his thighs and he can't stop imagining your pussy underneath.

"What is it, baby?" You coo and twist his spiky locks in your fingers, that are flicking down over his neck.

You never thought someone who looked like him could be so... clueless.

He seemed quite inexperienced when you met him, yet he insisted he'd had a few sexual partners before. It's not as if he's innocent. Oh no, far from it. You know, with the way he stares at you, there are all sorts of perverted thoughts in his head. He's just a little shy.

"I, uh..." the way he stumbles over his words makes your heart race. He's so endearing.

You lower yourself onto him, sitting on his lap and feeling the bulge of his cock through his hard jeans.

"Baby, tell me," your delicate fingers trace the ink up his neck to where it stops at his jaw, "tell me what you need."

"W-want-" he stutters and sighs.

You smile sweetly, encouraging him.

"I- I want to touch you."

"Oh, baby, good boy," you place a chaste kiss on his cheekbone.

"Where, hm?" You press, stroking his swollen chest.

"I..." he finds the courage to snake a hand up the curve of your back. The rings on his fingers feel cool where he settles around your neck, stroking you softly.

He pulls you close and gives you a nervous look before quietly admitting-

"I want to finger you."

You smile and giggle, knowing that this big, scary looking man could barely tell you that.

You give his lips a peck, then take his breath away when your tongue slides over his. He's so stunned he almost forgets to kiss you back, until he regains an inch of composure and starts licking and sucking at you.

"You're so sweet, Choso~" you smile over his lips before pulling away and dragging his hand down south. Your tiny hand encircles his inked wrist, barely fitting around the muscle of his forearm, and his fingers start twitching when you guide him under your skirt.

"Mm- warm-" he groans and slides his fingers over your bare pussy, parting you slowly, rubbing up and down. Despite his shy nature, he has got very good at touching you.

His hand parts your legs wider and his eyes dip up and down your clothed body. You look so pretty like this. His dark eyes focus on your face and you feel his fingertips edge into your entrance. Your expression starts to contort and your mouth hangs open. His breathing gets a bit shaky now, his eyes trained on your parted lips.

He sinks inside. Two fingers; ringed, thick and deep.

You shudder and his free hand caresses your back, steadying you on his lap as he presses his palm all the way to your pelvis.

"B-big-"

There's a pleased spark in his dull eyes and he bites his lip, feeling your silky, wet walls around him. He spreads his digits, opening you gently with your mouth gaping wider in tandem.

"Oh-"

You let out a little noise that encourages him to dip and curl his fingers. He finds his favourite spot inside you that makes his angelic girlfriend look like some kind of pornstar.

He massages you there with his fingertips, barely moving, feeling you grinding down on his knuckles.

"M-more-"

"Baby- I, I-"

"More, please-"

You should know better.

"I can't take it when you beg for me like that."

He holds your thigh gently and drags his fingers out, pulling them from under your skirt and oggling the slick juice all over his hand. Just from a few gentle movements you get like this. For him.

You watch lust completely take over and he sinks his fingers into his mouth, sucking every last drop of you off and leaving his digits coated in saliva.

He brings them back under your skirt and plunges inside you, hard rings nudging your entrance with every rough pump.

And he watches you scream.

Every time he slams his fingers into you his palm slaps your clit and you get sweet, jolting pleasure through your abdomen. You feel tense and hot and his thumb suddenly slips over your bundle of nerves, circling you quickly and making you cum hard and fast.

"Ch-cho - Choso-"

You pant for breath but his fingers are unrelenting.

"Again."

His voice sounds rough, deep and full of confidence.

It makes you quiver and shake and he grabs you more firmly, seeing your eyes go wide with shock when he picks you up.

He plants you on the fluffy carpet and kneels between your legs, pushing up your skirt to reveal his wet dream.

His fantasy.

"I love you"

You don't know if he's talking to you or your pussy but you really don't care.

He stares at all the gushing, clear liquid that's leaked all over your folds, over your thighs, dripping from one hole down to the other.

He sinks down and has a smile on his face, shoving his fingers back inside and toying with your clit with his spare hand.

He loves playing with you like this, adoring the look on your face every time you cum. He wants you to do it again and again, making you call his name, spilling more of your essence, all for him. He licks it off his fingers and hand like some thirsty beast and doesn't show any signs of slowing down.

But you knew what you agreed to. When Choso asks to touch you it usually is for a very long time.

He has to take you over the edge numerous times, obsessing over the feeling of you cumming and the way your face looks. And when your orgasms start to fade and you're just a wet, leaking mess with a hole spread wide from his greedy fingers, you have to take a few deep breaths and tell him to calm down.

He gets the message and slowly draws his fingers out one final time, tugging your hole with his thumbs and seeing you gape open. He bows his head down, sinking into your stomach where he presses soft kisses.

You play with his hair gently and he coos into your soft skin, telling you how much he loves you and needs you till you feel his hot tears running over your tummy.

You comfort him and tell him he did so well, until he dries his eyes and gives you a smile, bringing you up for a hug.

"W-won't get so carried away- next time- promise."

You hope he does. In fact, you're counting on it.

choso | m.list

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Omg! Love your biggest fan!! Are you still updating it? Like, where the world finds out it's them!? Can you imagine the chaos!!🙊

I don't think the world could find out with absolute certainty, there will just be rumours for the rest of their lives. It would be too damaging for their careers, family and probably their relationship too. But...there can be a little chaos.

Your Biggest Fan {3} || LN4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, anal, angst WC: 2.4k One || Two || SMAU || Three

The Matriarch: We need to talk. Bring Lando.

The text left you cold inside and it was quickly followed with a dinner reservation at the yacht club. It had been two weeks since you deleted the Only Fans account. You had panicked when a picture of some unknown sub-reddit user showed up on your FYP, tagging Lando in it first and then you. You hadn't thought about how deleting it would come across to the people who had seen it.

"Relax, our faces were never seen," Lando assured you as he read the text message from your mother. "It's just, what's that word lawyers use?”

"Objection?"

"No," he snorted. "Heresy, herosy...hearsay, that's the one. The rumours will blow over, they always do.”

“Except these aren’t rumours, that was actually us.” You paced the room until he grew dizzy watching you and caught you around the waist, pulling you onto the couch with him. You squeaked as you fell back but his strong hands steadied you into his lap, and his beard tickled your neck.

“You’re stressing and I know just how to get you to relax.” The gravel in his voice and the hard length pressing against your ass had you wriggling closer and you leaned back so he could reach your lips. 

“Come on then, big boy,” you murmured against his lips as you dragged his hands down your body and between your thighs. “Show me what these magic hands can do.”

He chuckled darkly in your ear and ran his fingers over the seam of your jeans, pressing the material over your clit. “My fingers, my tongue, my dick. It’s all magic, babygirl.”

You used Lando as an escape, the orgasms he gave you freeing you from the compulsive thoughts that plagued you. He grounded you when he swept you off your feet, hooking them around his waist as he ground into you against the hallway wall. Impatient for more than just your kiss, he dropped to his knees and dragged your jeans down your legs. By the time you made it to the bed your legs were trembling and Lando’s chin glistened with the evidence of your orgasm. 

“Still stressing, love?” he teased as he pushed your knees back to your chest and paused a moment just to feast on the sight of your pussy begging for him. 

“Like you would not believe,” you giggled, “but you’re getting there.”

He curled two fingers into your cunt and pumped them a few times until they were coated in your juices. “I think this will definitely take your mind off things,” he rasped as he teased your ring, gently probing you one finger at a time. “You gonna be a good girl for daddy?”

“Mhmmm,” you moaned as your tight muscle relaxed around his thick fingers. “Fuck that feels so good.”

“Just you wait,” he chuckled before reaching into the bedside drawer. The squirt of the bottle made you jump and the cold lube ran down your slit and over your ass, making you shiver at the change in temperature. “I’ll warm you up, babygirl.”

Lando ran his cock through the gel, his shaft teasing your folds until the tip rolled over your clit and you moaned at the sensation. “Haven’t even put it in you yet.”

You were going to tell him to hurry up when he pulled back and lined himself up with your ass. Slow, shallow rocks of his hips pushed the head against you, the swollen tip slowly spreading you more with each little thrust and you sighed at the heavenly throb beating in your core.

“More,” you begged as the thickest part of him pushed through the resistance and he froze. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, babygirl, just take it slow. I’m still going to fuck you real good.”

His thumb circled your clit as he kept easing himself deeper, pulling back slightly before driving forward. Your breath lodged in your throat when your bodies met, his hips hitting your ass, and his fingers gripped your thighs tight enough to leave bruises while he bit his lip.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Feel fucking amazing,” he moaned. 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the fullness of having him seated inside you but they quickly opened as he retreated from you almost completely before pumping his hips forward. “Holy fuck,” you cried as he dragged his cock along your tight walls, the sensation unlike anything your toys had given you. It was pure pleasure. “Harder, daddy, I can take it, please.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as he couldn’t think clearly enough to remember to be gentle. He had the same need you did and he was happy to give you everything you asked for. “Take it, babygirl, you take my cock so well. Look at it stretching your hole, feels good, don’t it?”

You could only moan incoherent answers as liquid fire ignited on your skin, a feverish flush spreading from curled toes to ears that were ringing. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the pressure grew and Lando grunted as your walls tightened even more. You didn’t think you could peak any higher until two fingers curled into your cunt and found your g-spot too.

A scream tore from your throat as your body arched up beyond your control. You were a puppet and he was the puppetmaster playing with you. 

“Keep coming, keep coming,” Lando growled as his brows pinched together in concentration. “Want to feel you rain all over me, babygirl.”

His wrist worked his fingers over the magic spot and your cries fell silent as your mind shut down. The lightning that splintered your vision short circuited your brain and your breath shuddered with each spurt that gushed from your cunt.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he surrendered himself to his own release, filling your ass with his cream. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lando drove his McLaren to the yacht club that even he couldn’t get a membership for. Even in Monaco his McLaren stood out among the supercars but in the valet parking at the club it was just like every other car there. He hadn’t quite grasped exactly what being an heiress meant until that moment. It was one thing for him to never worry about affording a spontaneous holiday to a luxury island but he was just starting to realise your parents likely just bought the island.

For once, he felt a little out of place. He wished he could grab his hoodie from the car but there was a strict dress policy so he had donned a suit he usually saved for awards or galas.

"Did we drop you on your head, young lady?" your mother said the second you stepped into the private dining room, a ringed finger pointing to the two empty seats. "Only Fans, really?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," you lied as you sat down, Lando pushing your chair in before taking his seat. "You shouldn't believe the rumours."

"You think I don't know what your birthmark looks like? I gave birth to you." She turned her glare to Lando. "And you, how dare you put my daughter in that position."

He bit his lip and glanced down while you had to hide your laugh behind your hand. "Which position was that, mother? There has been quite a few."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "I should have sent you to Saint Katherine's Boarding School when I had the chance."

"Probably, but just imagine what trouble I could have had with a priest." You laughed as Lando pinched your thigh under the table. Reaching over to his thigh, you traced the inside seam of his trousers higher until he snapped his legs together and your hand was pinned between them.

"Enough, your little rebellious streak is over. You've had your fun but you need to stop now," she snapped. "Your father wants you in Switzerland where he can keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, you can't tell me what to do."

"I can if you want to keep a roof over your head, or have you suddenly got a job to cover your expenses for life in the real world?" You shrugged nonchalantly while Lando took a sip of his drink, but she continued. "Or will your boyfriend be happy to let you drain his bank accounts?"

Lando placed his water back on the table and draped his arm over the back of your chair, his fingers teasing the bare skin in your shoulder. He had been tempted to keep you tied to his bed when he saw the gown you wore, you had looked absolutely divine he wanted to drown in you. "I'm happy to provide for her," he admitted honestly. “It would bring me great pleasure.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you grinned wickedly at his double entendre. “I’m sure my face, or at least my last name, could make enough on Only Fans to cover our bills.”

Your mother’s face dropped and she fidgeted with the delicate gold chain your father bought her. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t know. You kind of started that anyway,” you shrugged. “How did you find out anyway?”

“It is our business to know what is happening in this family, in case of damage control. When those photos came across my desk…I have never felt so embarrassed.”

You cringed at the idea of her seeing even the most tame stills that could have possibly been taken and you covered your heated face in your hands. “Tell me about it.”

“Good, at least you can feel some kind of remorse. That gives me hope you’re not completely ruined beyond repair.”

You rolled your eyes as that ‘remorse’ quickly evaporated. If only she knew how ruined you were only hours ago when Lando was buried balls deep in your ass. You should have recorded it for all time's sake. “I guess I am fixable, yippy, so can we go now?”

“No,” she said as she reached under the table and pulled out a stack of documents. “I need you to sign these.”

You took the papers and saw it was an amendment to your trust fund. “What’s this?”

“That is your future and it is for you to decide what you do with it.” She took a sip of her favourite Bordeaux wine before continuing, the same tactics she used to fill you with dread when you were growing up. “Sign the documents and your trust fund and inheritance remain yours, but-”

“Here we go, stipulations,” you groaned. “Go on, what are they now?”

“Three rules. One, if a single new nude photo comes across my desk, then this gets burned. You will have nothing. Do you understand that? The clubs, the cars, the plane, the yacht, the apartment. Gone.”

You sighed and gave her a small nod as you reached into your handbag for a pen. “Yes, mother.”

“Two. No nude videos, private or otherwise. No streaming on Only Fans or any other porn site.” 

You didn’t correct her on the fact it wasn’t strictly a porn site. That probably wouldn’t go down very well so you kept your lips shut and nodded as you opened the cap off your fountain pen.

“I understand, no fun on camera.”

“This isn’t a joke,” she sniped.

“I know, I was serious,” you huffed as you reached for the dotted line. 

The nib rested on the thick paper, the cerulean ink staining the fibres as you started to sign your life away. “Three. You end this relationship now.”

The cursive lettering shot off the page as you tore your hand back. “No.”

“It is non-negotiable.”

You snapped the cap back on and shoved the pen in your bag. “Exactly, I am not signing that.”

“Don’t throw your life away for a boy, especially one that wants to treat you so…revoltingly. You are degrading yourself, honey.”

Lando’s hand had slipped away from your shoulders and you caught it before he could bury it in his pockets. “Don’t listen to her, I don’t.”

“And look where you are, hmm.”

“I could agree to everything else, but not that. I love him more than the clubs, the cars, the plane, more than anything you can offer me.” You rose from the table with your handbag, throwing a handful of cash on the table knowing it would piss her off. She loved to flash her unlimited black card.

Lacing your fingers with Lando’s, you smiled at him before sparing one last look at your mother’s pained face. “Just so you know, it wasn’t his idea. I was degrading myself way before he subscribed to my channel.”

“Is that supposed to endear me to him? Knowing that you were acting like a whore and he still decided to date you.”

“That’s enough. You don’t talk to her that way, it doesn’t matter how you are related,” Lando snapped as he tucked you into his side. “Come on, love, let’s go home. I’ll take care of you.”

“Here, you can keep it all.” You plucked your keyring out of the bag as you passed your mother’s seat where she remained frozen. She made no move to take the key to the apartment and the car that had been bought with your trust fund so you placed it on the empty setting where your father should have been. “Maybe one day I can lose the family name too.”

Lando grinned at the idea of replacing it with his. “How does Norris sound?”

You tested the name on your tongue as if you hadn’t already imagined spending the rest of your lives together. He was your forever person, you had known that for a long while. With a skip in your step you left the private dining room and all but raced out of the club. You tugged your hair out of the styled updo before tugging Lando’s tie off and capturing his lips while you waited for his car to arrive.

You were breathless and needy when you finally broke apart, the valet drivers looking away with pink cheeks. “Y/N Norris,” you hummed as you unbuttoned his top three buttons and bared some of his tanned chest. “I like it, big boy.”

His head dipped close to your ear as he growled quietly. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now. I would very much like to bend you over the hood of my car and fuck you when you say that.”

“What? Big boy?” you teased, giggling when he shook his head. “I love you, perv.”

“Love you too, babygirl.” He took his car key from the man who had climbed out and slapped your ass with a grin. “Now get in the car before I get us arrested.”

[l0vergirlwrites]

gulity as sin ; eddie munson

synopsis: since eddie joined your friend group, you’ve fallen for him. but sometimes the feelings you’ve harboured for him make you feel guilty—but he’s just too dreamy, so how could anyone blame you?

warnings: sexual innuendos, mentions of weed & alcohol & partying, mentions of sexual thoughts, downbad!reader & eddie, love confession & makeout!!!!

note: i just had to get this out of my system but i’ll write my next ttpd fic based on the winning things on the polls don’t worry!!

“just so you know, you’re staring at eddie like you wanna fuck him” robin whispered in your ear as she came to your side with extra vcr tapes to stack near the back of the store.

“jesus! am i really?” you asked in a hushed whisper, face crowing warm with embarrassment. you couldn’t help it when eddie just looked so good as he leaned on the front counter talking to steve.

while you mentally face palmed yourself, robin gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “just a little bit”

peeking back over her shoulder at eddie to make sure he wasn’t looking at you (because you’re anxious & paranoid), you let out a breath of relief. “you think he noticed?”

she laughed “i hope not”

letting out a quiet gasp, you shoved robin’s shoulder “thanks for the vote of confidence, rob” you said sarcastically.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry!—but seriously…” she paused for moment to create dramatic effect. “when are you gonna fess up & tell him how you feel?”

the big question.

with a big sigh, you shook your head in retreat. “probably never. it’s just some stupid crush—& besides, we’re just friends. i don’t know if he’d like me like that, rob.” you said while getting back to work, trying to get the image of eddie’s ring clad hands out of your mind so you could focus.

“is that really how you feel? or is your fear of rejection speaking for you?”

narrowing your eyes at her, you rolled your eyes knowing she was kidding (but was she? were you really hiding behind a guise so you wouldn’t get hurt?).

“you know,” she paused to look at eddie. “if he doesn’t want to jump your bones, i’d be floored” she said cheekily, causing you to nudge her rib cage.

“he doesn’t” you stated, but in your mind you hated the thought of it.

“if that’s what’ll help you sleep at night” she chided before moving onto a different shelf, the open space letting your eyes drift back to eddie, only to find that he was looking right at you.

“you coming to the party by reefer rick’s place on the weekend? i convinced stevie boy here to tag along—“

“—& to be the DD. i don’t know how i got roped into this” steve cut eddie off with an exasperated expression.

with the spotlight (eddie’s eyes) on you, you couldn’t help but feel stuck in place & your mind was running a million miles a minute.

clearing your throat, you nodded. “yeah sure! i should be able to if keith doesn’t make me come in last minute”

the last sentence caused eddie to roll his eyes.

“who cares about what keith says—you’re coming & you’re gonna have fun! you’re deserving of blowing off some steam, right?” eddie said convincingly.

“he’s right! fuck keith & his stupid last minute shift calls“ robin agreed with steve soon following suit.

jokingly with your hands up in surrender, you finally agreed. “maybe you guys are right…”

“of course we are, babe!”

the pet name eddie called you made your stomach flip in six directions, your face growing warm until steve beat you to speak.

“when the hell did ‘babe’ get into your vocabulary, munson?” he asked eddie with a quizzical eye.

“oh calm your tits harrington—“

“hey man, i don’t have tits & i am calm so shut—“

“hey!” you yelled, shutting them both up. “no bickering on my watch, idiots” you pointed to them both, causing eddie to place his right hand in his heart in apology.

“what do you expect,” robin chimed in. “they’re five year olds”

you both laughed a bit at her comment while the guys just rolled their eyes.

“well, i’m gonna head out & prep for my next campaign. butttt, i’ll see you geeks saturday?” he asked while twirling his van keys around his index finger.

before steve could try to rebuttle against eddie about him calling you all “geeks”, you beat him to it.

“yes—we’ll be there! bye eds” you waved sweetly, your hand flattering when eddie shot you a wink before heading out the door.

as the glass door chimed & shut after his departure, you immediately turned to robin.

“he winked at me!” you mouthed to her with excitement.

“are you guys secretly talking without including me, again?”

turning to steve, you gave him an apologetic look. “she was just fawning over how eddie winked at her” robin said with a nonchalant smile, causing you to gasp.

“robin—“

“why do you care if he—wait… ohhh… that makes sense” he lit up like a light bulb, going back to checking through the return log on the computer.

you stood there stumped at his reaction.

“is me liking eddie predictable?” you asked aloud, causing steve & robin to share a glance.

“yes” they said collectively, leaving you to sigh & turn back to the shelf to finish stacking the pile of tapes.

**~*~**~*~*~**~*~~*~**~*~*~~***~*

it was now saturday, & you were on speaker phone with robin as you were getting ready for the party.

you had decided to wear a short flowy black skirt, fishnet tights, your favourite black boots, & a dark green babytee with your favourite band on it. it was simple, but cute (& you secretly hoped eddie would think the tights were a nice touch).

“do you think you’ll tell eddie how you feel once you get some liquid courage in you?” she asked genuinely.

with a thoughtful sigh, you stopped applying blush to your right cheek. “gosh, rob—i don’t know. i don’t think it’s a good idea”.

you could tell she was shaking her head from the other side of the phone.

“remember when i was too afraid to tell vicky i liked her?”

you knew what she was gonna say. “yes, i do”

“so, you remember how you told me i should just ‘go for it! do it before it’s too late—what’s the worst that could happen?’, right?”

you slumped in your desk chair, fidgeting with your makeup brush. “yes…”

“sooo, you gotta practice what you preach—tell him before you regret it!” she encouraged, but still, you were horrified to.

“what if—“

she shushed you. “no what ifs. don’t do that to yourself—just be honest when the right moment comes along”

staying silent for a moment, you thought it over in your head before coming to a conclusion.

“maybe you are right, robin”

“i’m always right—regardless of what steve says” her words made you laugh, relieving you of a little stress.

**~*~*~~~*~***~*~**~**~*~*~~*

it was now nine-thirty on the dot & you could hear steve’s beamer honking from your driveway, signalling that it’s time to go. as soon as you stepped onto your driveway, you were met with hollers & whistles from your friends in the car—including eddie.

as soon as you saw him with his head out the window, whistling & vocally saying “shit y/n, looking good!”, you could’ve sworn you were going to collapse then & there.

shushing them before their hyper annoyed your neighbours, you (coincidentally) got into the backseat with eddie.

“you have everything?” steve asked before reversing the car.

“yes, dad” you joked before a silver flask was shoved into your lap.

“got you your favourite” eddie told you with a smile, causing you to audibly “awe” & thank him before taking a swing from it.

despite steve having a fancy car, the backseat was surprisingly small, so you knew it was going to be a long night with how your thigh is already pressed into eddie’s & his fingers were tapping his jean clad thigh dangerously close to your exposed one.

you caught him every now & then staring at your tights too, which didn’t help the fantasies brewing in your mind of him taking them off you.

“you excited?” you asked him while steve & robin were caught in their own conversation.

swiping his tongue across his teeth, he looked at you with a gaze that made your stomach tighten. “as long as you stick close by, then yeah i’m excited” he nudged you gently, allowing you a moment to process what he just fucking said.

tucking your hair behind your ears (a sign that you were nervous & liked him & were going insane), you let the conversation drift into comfortable silence as steve turned the radio up.

thank god for that.

**~*~~**~**~***~**~*~~**~**~*

the party eddie brought you guys to was packed at some random house on lover’s lake.

& it reeked of pot & beer, which was normal & expected.

with the flask eddie gave you in your right hand & eddie’s hand in your other (because the front lawn was packed & he didn’t want to lose you), your group maneuvered your way inside to disco party lights, sweaty bodies, more pot & more beer.

your grip on eddie’s hand was taut as you continued sliding past more & more people while muttering “excuse me, sorry!” over & over until you guys arrived on the dance floor.

“do you want anything?” eddie leaned down & whispered into your ear so you could hear over the music.

you took a second to answer because of how warm his breath felt against your skin. “no i’m okay, i got this remember?” you said with a smile, holding up the flask he gave you.

returning you a smile, eddie let go of your hand because robin was pulling you to dance a little.

“be back in five!” eddie mouthed to you, holding up five fingers & looking at you until you waved in acknowledgment.

“okay there’s no way he doesn’t want you” robin yelled into your ear as the song changed & people roared happily.

laughing & shaking your head, you disagreed.

“cmon! let’s just dance, yeah? destress!” steve yelled to you both before bopping his head to the music, causing you & robin to look at each other before laughing & join in.

the more songs played & the more you swing back eddie’s flask, you could feel yourself letting loose a little—possibly even making you feel courageous.

so much so that when eddie returned with a red solo cup with some sort of drink, you slung your arm around his middle for a quick hug.

“missed me?” he yelled in your ear.

“just maybe” you replied, feeling his right hand rub your arm up & down before fetching a joint from his pocket.

“missed me more now?” he asked again, laughing when you nodded your head, eyes glassy from the smoke in the room that was building.

“outside?” he yelled again, & you were the only one that agreed.

*~*~*~~*~~*~*~~**~***~*

departing from steve & robin to go smoke, eddie grabbed your hand once again & kept you close as you both made your way to the back porch that outlooked onto the water.

the backyard was still filled with people, especially jocks who were doing dumb keg games, but you didn’t mind. with your back against the siding of the house & eddie in front of you, caging you in, all you saw was him.

& god he looked hot. his hair was a bit frizzy, but his leather jacket managed to showcase his muscular arms & his slightly cropped band tee allowed you to see the happy trail on his abdomen.

it took everything in your power not to fold then & there.

“you want the first hit?” eddie asked as passed you his drink & pulled his lighter out of his pocket.

with a simple nod, you placed the joint between your lipstick covered lips & leaned forward for eddie to light the end of it for you. the action felt extremely intimate & already hand your skin tingling.

with the joint slotted between your fingers, you took a few hits & relished in the buzzed feeling it already gave you. & knowing eddie & is interest in pot, you knew whatever was wrapped within the joint was the good shit.

while you were taking your hits, eddie was reminding himself to not get hard at the thought of your lipstick rubbing off onto the joint or how you looked pretty with smoke exhaling from your mouth—he could feel his pants start to feel the tiniest bit tight at his view of you.

when you handed the joint to him, eddie stood beside you on the wall & took his time (possibly so you could look at him a little longer?).

& you didn’t care because he just looked too perfect with his head tilted up, the veins in his neck showing in the porch light, the joint rested between his ring clad fingers—you could already imagine yourself getting off to this image of him later—but you reminded yourself to stay cool.

everything was fine! you guys were just friends!

“you feeling okay?” eddie asked, turning to you who was already giving him soft doe eyes.

“better than okay” you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder because you felt too warm under his gaze.

“wanna get off inside?” you heard him ask, causing you to cough & blink for a moment.

“shit—what did you say?” you looked at him, feeling his hand begin to interlock with yours again.

“i asked if you wanna go back inside—you sure you’re good?”

oh god, now you were hearing things.

“y-yeah, good idea” you mumbled as you followed his lead, holding on tight to avoid getting broken apart through the sea of teenagers & college students.

you only broke apart when robin pulled you in for a hug, hearing her say “it felt like you were gone for ages!”

for the rest do the night, you told yourself to he lost in the music rather than thoughts of eddie munson doing nasty things to you, which was going pretty successful until you felt his breath on your neck again.

“wanna dance?”

& how on earth could you say no?!?!

you let him pull you into his arms, his hands firm on your waist while yours were loose around his neck.

with the pot & other alcohol mixing in your system, you felt on top of the world. especially with eddie’s eyes on you. he’d twirl you around in circles & give you room to dance your heart out with him in your grasp & steve & robin would give each other knowing glances about whatever was brewing between you too.

you felt hot, sticky, & tingly all over your skin (not just because eddie was touching you) so you pulled his head down a bit to yell in his ear. “i’m gonna find a washroom!” & he was leading you around the house to find one without a question.

once you both found one of the third floor of this outrageous house, you pulled eddie in with you & turned on the light, thankful there was a dim setting.

“jesus, that was bright!” eddie shielded his eyes, causing you to laugh as you hopped up onto the counter.

exhaling a sigh of relief, you let your head lean back & rest against the mirror while eddie leaned against the closed door.

“do you need me to like, turn around or something…?” he asked, wondering what you were going to do.

“no—i just wanted to go somewhere quieter. less sweaty bodies”

he nodded understandingly before shamefully looking you up & down, telling himself to not get hard at the sight of you so pretty. you were already falling down a rabbit hole of all the things you want to do with him right now, each more dirty than the next—it would be just so easy for him to take off your skirt & unbuckle his pants—wouldn’t it?

but the guilt started to seep in & make you hide your face to groan in annoyance because why on earth were you spiralling like this?

“is something wrong?” he walked to you, holding your wrists & pulling them away to uncover you.

“just going insane is all” you replied, causing you both to laugh until he reached up to wipe off some of your smudged eyeliner from your under eye. he just needed to touch you somehow.

“guess what an old friend told me while i was getting a drink earlier”

you tilted your head in wonder, staring directly at eddie’s lips as he spoke.

“he saw us walk inside & told me that we looked like some couple from a movie—don’t remember which one though…” he ended with a murmur, too focussed on swiping his thumb on your cheek until you spoke up.

“is that a bad thing?” you asked, suddenly feeling small in this washroom with his hand directly on your skin.

eddie was closing in on you now, & you didn’t want it to stop.

you instantly felt sober now. especially with how each swipe on your skin felt like he was making you his—which was definitely an exaggeration but how could you need feel that way when he was holding you so delicately?

shaking his head ‘no’, eddie’s brows furrowed. “of course not—it’s not a bad thing. i-i just thought it was, i dunno, cute—“

“cute?” you questioned softer than him, a smile in the beginning stages of forming on your face.

was this your moment that robin was talking about? you sure hoped so.

“i-i think that’s the right word” he stumbled over his words, feeling your right hand brush some hair out of his face.

“i think so too”

& then there was comfortable silence.

you weren’t sure how to move forward from here. do you tell him all your feelings for him that you’ve keep hidden in a vault at the back of your mind? do you tell him that you’ve been fantasizing about him for weeks? that he’s the only one that makes you feel so many things?

you wish this part was easier.

“would it be, i dunno, uncalled for if i told you that you’ve been driving me crazy?” eddie asked, immediately unlocking said vault inside you.

“are you serious?” you asked, completely sober now as you pulled his hand away from your face & fixed your posture, eyes locked on his for the answer.

“as serious as the dead” his breath hitched, unsure if he made things worse or misread whatever signs you sent, but before he could apologize your hands were already on his face to pull his lips to yours.

it was a messy, top lip & hungry kiss that you’ve been dying to experience since you first laid eyes on him. & god did it felt right, with his tongue meshing with yours & his hands gripping your fishnet covered thighs as he pulled you closer to his body with aching need.

it was the kind of kiss that tried to convey just how you felt about him, the wanting & lusting from afar, the longing glances & lip bites when he made you feel a certain type of way.

it was catastrophic & heavy but sweet with laboured breaths of beer & smudged lipstick.

“holy shit” eddie breathed out against your lips, chasing him for another kiss because it was just that good but you were smiling & clashing your teeth against his & giggling from how silly it all felt.

“that is why i’ve been going insane” you panted against him, hands falling to grip the cotton of his shirt.

“i’m crazy about you eddie. & it’s not the drugs talking, i promise” you swore, scouts honour.

with his forehead pressing against yours & laugh escaping his lips that had little bits of your lipstick, he squeezed your thighs. “i would hope not, ‘cause i’m really crazy about you too”

you closed your eyes now, relishing in the weight lifting off your shoulders & how his touch felt electric. “eddie” you exhaled.

“yeah, sweetheart?” his fingers were pressing different patterns on your thighs to the point where you asked in yourself if he was writing ‘mine’ across the fishnet material.

“can we do this again tomorrow?” you asked, already longing for this feeling to last, praying this wouldn’t be just a one time thing at a party.

“i don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, so yeah, i think we can make it happen” eddie smirked, kissing you quick before pulling back to see your swollen lips.

“wanna go back to the party & surprise the geeks?”

“i’d love to”

& with eddie whisking you from the counter, hand on your hip as he lead you back downstairs, you both immediately saw steve & robin jumping up & down happily when they witnessed you two looking like love sick idiots who finally fessed up.

young love, am i right?

[cherry-leclerc]

the red high heels ☆ cs55

genre: humor, secret relationship, leclerc!twins

word count: 1.9k

It's 2am and Charles is desperate to find you. Who better to help look for you than his teammate?

req... guys, i literally wrote different versions of this request at least 5 times...anyways, hope you enjoy a quick one :)

Groaning, Carlos stands up from his bed, making his way to the door. It’s 2 am and he was far too comfortable until he was rudely interrupted. Opening the door, he sees a despaired Charles, dark under eyes evident. “Charles? Are you okay, man?” His voice is raw and croaky almost. His teammate shakes his head, then nods.

“Fuck, it’s just that…my sister. Mate, I don’t know where she is.” Hearing this, the Spaniard narrows his eyes, all of a sudden awake. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“Well, I checked her room, I called her and nothing. We’re supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour!” 

Carlos stays still for a moment. “Okay, I’ll help you look for her, she can’t be too far out. She’s not like that.” The Monegasque nods slowly before beginning to slump his way into the room. Carlos sprints after him.

“Oh! Um…How about you wait outside? It’s just that the room is so messy.” Turning his gaze, he points to the spotless room. Charles frowns. 

“Carlos, this has got to be the cleanest room I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He scrunches his nose before waving his hands in his teammates direction. “Hurry and put on a shirt so we can leave.” With tight lips, he nods. He’s slow about it too, the way he makes his way to his suitcase. Opening it, it’s empty. He slightly curses himself for being too much of a neat freak that he just had to organize his clothes into the small closet. “Some girl kept your shirt?” Charles' smile is teasing as he sends over a playful wink. Carlos winces.

“Of course not! Just have to…” He points over to the closet that is on the other side of the room. He pats his face. “You know what? I think I’m going to put my shoes on first! I’ll be quick, if you want we can meet outside.” 

“It’s no big deal. I can wait. I mean you are helping me after all.” The brown eyed man wants to yell when a kind smile tugs at Charles’ lips. Get out, get out, get outttt. 

“Of course.” Leaning down to grab his Golden Goose under the bed he takes a deep breath. His heart is beating so fast, he thinks it might leap out of his chest. Charles is talking, but all is unclear as Carlos reaches down. He quickly relaxes when he finds his shoes. He lets out a shaky breath.

“Oh no. Is your age getting the best out of you?” Charles snickers as Carlos grunts before sitting beside him, slipping on his shoes ever so slowly. Charles is growing impatient, he could tell. This was good.

“So, um, where do you think she is?” Carlos questions as he unties his other shoe. Charles hums.

“You know what? I have a feeling she’s not that far…Twin telepathy.” The broody man rolls his eyes as Charles shares a thoughtful glance. He laughs. “Call it what you want, but that shit exists.” 

“I bet.”

The green eyed boy furrows his brows at Carlos’ clumsy fingers playing with his laces. He desperately huffs. “Do you need help or something?”

“Almost got it…” The white strings become undone for what seems the millionth time before he finally gets the grips of it. Bravo, Charles mutters. 

“Coming back to what you were saying, what do you mean by twin telepathy?” Carlos stands up making his way to his empty suitcase again but Charles doesn’t even seem to notice as he becomes entertained by his bracelets. 

“Oh, well, it’s real. I feel like she can’t be that far. How else do you think I would win at tag when we were younger?” He raises an eyebrow over his teammate. He continues with a now moody face. “Though, something else tells me she’s with someone, y’know?” Carlos chokes as he turns to face Charles. I don’t, he squeaks out. “It’s just that I’ve had this feeling that she might be seeing someone from the grid. I told her not to and she said she would never, but I don’t know why I could never really believe her. Plus, she’s oddly been attached to her phone a tad bit too much.”

Just then Carlos’ phone rings. They both shoot their eyes to the bright light that shines in the middle of the messy bed sheets. Reaching out, Charles grabs it before handing it over. You should probably answer. Hastily, he takes it. 

Get. Him. Out.

He coughs as he slips his phone into his back pocket. “Hey, why don’t you start looking for her without me? I swear I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I don’t know where else to look, I’ve tried everywhere! Just hurry so we can brainstorm ideas. I swear to God when I find her-” A light thud echoes the small room as he cocks his head to the side in attentiveness. He raises his hand to his ear. “Did you hear that?”

The Spaniard immediately goes to rub his elbow. “I just hit my arm, that’s all.” 

“Be careful, mate.” He stands up. “Okay grab your shirt.”

“Mierda. I can’t find it.” But that's a lie because just a couple of feet behind Charles, it lies. Right next to a pair of red heels. Charles' eyes roam the room with a slightly annoyed expression before spotting it. Picking it up, he pauses. When he turns around he wears a toothy grin.

“Oh shit! You have a girl over! That’s why you went all shy!” He picks up the heel. “That’s crazy. Looks just like my sisters. Girls just have the same taste these days…”

Carlos quickly grabs the shirt from him before snatching the heel back too. “I-I didn’t–I mean I did, but she left! She must have forgotten her sh–” The words tumble past his lips so fast that he doesn’t notice how Charles’ expression has dropped.

The red high heel could have been anyones, true, but not everyone had your initials at the bottom. He knows since he was the one who had gifted them to you as a birthday present. You had begged for months.

“Hope you shut up now that you have them,” he says as you smile down at the designer heels. You nod happily. 

“I promise I’ll take care of them, Charlie! So sweet, I mean, you even added a nice detail!”

He’s fuming, but he’s also confused. “You motherfucker–”

“It’s just a shoe, mate!” Carlos' voice cracks in nervousness as his teammate strolls his way over. The Monegasque quickly grabs Carlos’ collared shirt as he pushes him against the closet. His body thuds as he groans. 

“Where’s my sister?” His harsh glare doesn’t equal his tone and that scares Carlos just a tiny…lot. 

“I don’t know! Let’s go look for her!” He tries to pry Charles’ hands off, but this only makes him push him back against the wood, harder. He cringes.

“Stop lying.” When Carlos looks down and doesn’t respond, he doesn’t think twice as he starts to bang his body against the brown doors. It shakes so much that the closet starts to get slightly unbalanced. And then…

It tips over.

Reacting quickly, Charles swiftly pulls Carlos away as they both fall onto the floor. The closet falls with a loud thud as they both gasp. But Carlos is quick to try to lift it up. “Calm down, it’s just a closet-”

“Fuck you, your sister is inside!”

Charles’ eyes go wide as he runs over to help his teammate. Finally, once it’s stood up correctly, they open the doors in a hurry. You moan as you rub your head.

“You both are so fucking innsufferable.” Your eyes are screwed shut when you reach your arm out for help. Your boyfriend is about to help you but your brother beats him to it. He leads you to the bed as you curl into a ball. “Oh God, I think I have a concussion.”

“We should take her to the hospital,” Carlos says as Charles bites down onto his nails. He agrees. They care, of course they do, but they’re not smooth about it.

“You grab her head and I’ll grab her legs.” Charles instructs as Carlos nods. 

“No!” You sit up straight as you crawl further away from them. “I’m fine.” 

“Amor, you should get checked out-”

“I don’t like that nickname. Stop it.” Charles mutters as he crosses his arms. You ignore him.

“Seriously, I’m fine. All your clothes saved me.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh as you giggle. Charles can’t help but glare at both of you.

“Okay, since you’re feeling well, then we should leave. Now.” 

“No.”

His gaze sharpens as you cuddle your legs to your chest. “Stop being a brat. Let’s go.” He reaches out for you but you only kick his arms away. I’ll leave with Carlos, you bicker back. “Just shut up. Let’s. Go.” He reaches out to grab your legs as he starts to drag you towards him, but you’re kicking and screaming so loud that he lets go to cover his ears. He almost loses it when you run over to Carlos as you hug him like your favorite teddy bear.

“You can go. I want to leave with Carlos.”

He clicks his tongue as he places his hands on his hips. He taps his shoe. “Listen, say goodbye or whatever you want, but you are not going anywhere with him.” You shake your head. Carlos sighs as he places a kiss to the top of your head.

“I think he’s right.” 

I don’t need your help controlling my sister, Charles wants to warn him but he doesn’t when he notices you deflate, furthermore. “No, I want to stay with you. I can deal with him later.” The Spaniard unties your hands from his waist before he leans down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“No, you should listen to your brother.” You know he isn’t breaking up with you, but perhaps a bang to the head has you slightly sensitive. Tears slowly fill up your eyes.

“Do you not want me anymore?” Your voice is small and he wants to punch himself for causing so much confusion. He’s about to say, you know I always do, but decides not to answer when he looks up at Charles, who stands by quietly.

“I…”

Charles awkwardly clears his throat as he twists his heel. You muster up the dirtiest stare possible as you say, “What do you want now?” He winces at your tone as he exhales in defeat.

“You can stay.” You narrow your eyes as you let out a wobbly smile. Are you serious? He nods as Carlos smiles at him in thankfulness. “But we spoke about this so many times, didn’t we? I always warned you that relationships like this take lots of taking care of, that's the main reason why I was always so against it, never because I didn’t want to see you happy.” His eyes flicker to Carlos, who’s attention remains on you. 

“I know that, but I don’t care. I’m willing to learn.”

“I know you are. And you.” He points sharply at the Spaniard. “I can’t believe you went behind my back! That’s my sister!” Calm down, you plead. “You know what, we’re twins, so I hope you think of me when you kiss her-”

The room goes silent as you stare back with wide eyes. Once a single giggle is let out, a string only follows as you hurl over laughing. “That’s so wrong!” Charles blushes.

“Forget I said anything, just…Be careful and treat her right.”

Carlos bobs his head as he hugs you from behind and you lean into his touch with a glow Charles has never seen on you. 

“I swear to God I will always do that.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cave boy Danny has way to much fun fucking with the bats after a while. Jason is too until Danny bites him after some unwanted human contact. Alfred gets a big wave of nostalgia when Danny does it too.

Danny can say that the Waynes have been ridiculously welcoming, all things considered. He still hasn't come clean about not being Bruce Wayne's alternative double, so to throw them off from finding out the truth and have a safe place to crash- he's missed plumbing- he has been invited to the Wayne Manor and has been lazing about when under their watch.

If there was one thing apparent, it was that Bruce Wayne did not laze about. It was mind-blowing to those who knew him to see Danny- a version of Bruce- act like walking across the room for a remote was too much work.

It drove them mad to see such a difference between them, and thus, none of the Waynes noticed Danny's side project to get home.

The Waynes gave him a giant room and helped set up a fake Identity for him while they worked on getting him home. To the public, he was Danny Kane, a long-lost relative recently coming to Bruce for help.

Thanks to the support of Jacob and Kate, they agree to make it seem that Jack Kane- Danny's made-up father- was the result of Bruce's material grandfather having a fling after his wife's death. Jake was hidden from the public eye but had his father's financial support until he was an adult.

Jack was never bitter and told Danny stories of his wayward father, filled with love to prove it. These stories inspired Danny to seek out the remaining Kanes after Jack's untimely death, which led him to Bruce as Martha Wayne nee Kane's son.

The day Danny would be sent home, the Waynes would fake his death, and no one would be the wiser that Danny Kane never existed.

Fine by Danny

. He only planned to stick around long enough to get his ship ready and pinpoint a location that had the vile between the living and dead thin enough to slice his way back to the Ghost Zone.

Unlike Wulf, who could open portals wherever he wanted, Danny had to find points weak enough to punch a hole through. He knows his parent's portal was way out of his set of skills, and he sure as hell wasn't going to give anyone the idea to build their own here. Two percent of portals were already two too many.

He mostly hung around the house- with someone always close by in a poor attempt to hide the fact they were watching him. Most of the time, Danny was either lazing around the house, eating and sleeping, and it felt like a costly vacation.

He refused to help on the coms when the Bats went out to kick ass, even after Dick offered to sit in front of monitors and relay information to the heroes like he was offering the chance of a lifetime.

This seems to disturb everyone else in the house except for Alfred.

If anything, the fact Danny straight-up refused to put on tights and rush into night to fight crime made Alfred adore him. The butler claimed he was worried everyone in the family would forget what everyday life was supposed to feel like.

A few Waynes couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the concept.

"You're not interested at all?" Tim asks, eyes narrowed. He was among the few who thought Danny was suspicious for not wanting to risk his life to fight the corrupted system.

"Nah, man, I'm good here. I got my nachos, I got a movie room and I got the softest bathrobe ever bathrobe." Danny snuggles more profoundly into the pink plush robe that Steph had lent him. "Why would I want to ruin any of these? Sides, I can't even throw a punch."

".....There has never been a single alternative Bruce Wayne that wasn't involved in this life in some way. If not as a hero then he was a villain. Bruce as a villain is one of the most dangerous things that can ever happen across the multiverse" Tim reveals grimly. "We've won every single encounter but only by the skin of our teeth."

"Damn. Let me guess. You guys beat the evil Bruces by sending his kids after him."

"Yes."

"Problem solve. You already know you can kick my ass, so if I try anything, you can take me out, right?" Danny doesn't wait for a answer. He turns away from the teenager to stare at the movie screen showing his picked movie. "I can do nothing but tremble before your bat might."

Tim steps into his line of sight. "I mean it. You do anything to harm this family and will regret it."

"Does that mean I can't bite Jason again? That sucks. It's the only way I can get him to stop trying to drag me to galas. He wants to scare the other rich people with my poor people's manners."

Tim's lip twitches and Danny knows he's fighting to keep his face under control. "You didn't have to lock your jaw in like that."

"I really did. Jason tested me."

Tim tilts his head. "You don't really feel like Bruce. You look just like him at fifteen. Alfred says you act just like him. But for the last three weeks, you've been trying really hard to make it seem like you're okay with doing nothing."

"I am comfortable doing nothing."

"I think you're lying," Tim says, moving closer to stare down into Danny's eyes with frankly a manic glare. Danny's core flares up with the sense of challenge he finds in that dark blue gaze.

Which is a first for a human, and frankly is terrifying. If Tim had been a ghost he would have easily been an Ancient assistant or a baby Ancient. He has to be able to match Danny's power like this. Holy shit.

"I think your parents didn't give you enough love as a child, and now you seek approval from everyone around you while trying to push everyone away because you are too scared to make yourself valuable. You find yourself in an endless loop of self-doubt and self-hate by doing both simultaneously." Danny blurts. He watches Tim freeze, then winces. "Shit, sorry, the psychoanalyze came out as a reflection. Forget that."

Tim is still frozen in a way Danny recognizes as someone hearing something challenging to come to terms with. This is why he needs to break the habit of using Jazz's psyche training as a weapon.

He forgets not everyone insults each other with their deepest insecurities. That's just how he and Jazz love.

"...Do you want to watch the Grey Ghost Marathon with me?" He asks after a long pause. Tim closes his eyes before plumping down next to him.

"I like that."

Neither mention Jason, who is gasping in the last row of seats and attempting to suppress muffled laughter behind the wrist cast that Danny lovingly gave him at the last gala.

On a side note, Danny Kane is called "Rabid Dog." by the elites of Gotham, who watched the boy make three grown men cry after two minutes of talking to him and also witness four Waynes attempt to pry his mouth open screaming, "No Danny drop it. drop it!" while the boy munched on Jason's wrist.

No one has noticed that half of the tech has disappeared.

[darkbluekies]

i have been DREAMING of a silas torture scene!!! i have literally read, re-read, and re-re-read every word you’ve ever written about that man .. you have no IDEA how much I am going to eat up his torture story 🤭🤭 thank you for feeding us!!! <3<3

In the basement

Mafia!yandere OC x reader

Summary: you find yourself in Silas' basement once again and he decides to try a new torture technique — which backfires.

Warnings: torture, violence, mentions of starvation, manipulation burning, boiling water, mentions of cuts, mentions of sawing off people's limbs, ripping out teeth and nails, blood, beating, (let me know if you find more, I have been editing and rewriting so much that I've forgotten what is in the story at this point)

Word count: 3.5k

You lift your head when you can hear footsteps coming towards you. The mumble of Silas men greeting someone is all you need to know who’s here to see you. 

“There we have them”, Silas snickers and clicks his tongue amusedly. He’s acting as if he’s talking to a child. “Are we ready to act like a big girl/boy again?”

You glare up at him, where he stands with his hands in his front pockets. If you could, you’d tackle him until he hits his head, but your ankles are chained to the cold floor.

“I fucking hate you”, you mutter coldly. 

“Oh, do you now?” he chuckles cockily  and grabs your chin firmly, tilting it up to look at him. 

Your neck gets strained beyond its limits. Silas is tall and refuses to crouch down to make it easier for you to look up at him.

"Still disobeying?" he asks. "I thought you'd be good by now. I miss you, little thing. I want to have you back in my arms. Who am I supposed to hug at night?"

"Hug a cactus", you spit. "Suits your pleasant personality-"

Silas chuckles and grabs a fistful of your hair. He sinks down in front of you and forces you to look at him. Your eyes widen in fear and your scalp burns at his fingertips. You can feel your heart beat harshly in your chest. Suddenly, you remember why you've been afraid of him before — why his techniques always work. You seem to forget the basement when you've been let out, everything turning into a blur. All you remember is that you do not want to go back. But somehow, you always manage to.

"You don't want me to be nice, do you?" he asks you. "Want me to break that pretty little head until you're bleeding, hm?"

You shake your head quickly. Suddenly, you've figuratively your tongue — and if you're not careful you'll soon literally lose it. 

Silas lets go of your hair and stands up. You keep your head down. 

“Hm, what should we do to teach you a lesson?” Silas thinks out loud and takes a hold of your hand. “Should we … break some fingers?”

You shake your head quickly and try to take your hand back. Silas holds it tightly and brings out a lighter from his pocket. You panic and try to rip your hand out of his iron grip. Silas traps you against the wall with his knee and elbow keeping you in place. He shifts his bodyweight onto you and traps your arm onto the wall by securing your wrist to the surface. With his other hand, he brings out his lighter. You squirm desperately under him.

“Alright, I’m not going to break your pretty fingers”, he says. “You need them to please me.” 

“Please, please, don’t!” you screech and try to kick him. “Silas, don’t!”

He lights it.

“Do you know how my heart feels right now, Y/N?” he asks calmly. “It’s burning. I think it’s only fair for you to feel it too, to understand how hurt I feel.”

He moves the flame to your arm, holding it under your skin. You cry out in pain and apply more force to your wiggling. A stance of burning flesh reaches your nose. Silas holds the flame for a good thirty seconds before removing it. He brushes some soot off of your arm and bends down to kiss it. He moves on to your next arm, then your waist. You finally manage to pull your arms free and push him away. You try to sink down on the floor, but he lifts you up by your shoulders. 

“I need you to stand up for me”, Silas says. “Still with me?”

Your face scrunches up in pain. Silas shakes you carefully. 

“Still with me, baby?” he asks in a loving voice that doesn’t match his manners. 

You nod weakly. Silas smiles slightly and places you back at the wall. Your poor legs are still cuffed and feeling like jelly. Silas chuckles. 

He looks over his shoulder as two of his men come in with four buckets of water. You stare at them with wide eyes. This is new. 

“You know I can’t hurt you”, Silas says and walks over to the buckets. 

“Can’t hurt me?” you repeat in disbelief and show your arms full of cuts and bruises. “You’ve burned me! You’ve cut me!”

“You should see what he does to people he doesn’t like”, one of his men smirks. 

“Don’t talk to them”, Silas warns him and grabs the man by his collar. “Or you’ll get to taste what I do to those I don’t like.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

Silas lets him go and grabs one of the buckets. He walks back to you where you stand against the wall. You want to sink into it. With your eyes glued onto the bucket, you open your mouth to ask what he’s going to do but you don’t have time to do so before he throws it at you. You hide your face with your arms and scream. Boiling hot water crashes against your body. Your dirty clothes stick onto you and quickly grow cold. You breathe heavily and look at Silas in shock and pain. He has already turned around to get the next bucket. Suddenly, everything’s ice cold and you scream again. Somehow, it’s worse this time. The quick temperature change feels like sharp needles penetrating your skin. You’re sure that Silas’ men upstairs can hear you by now. 

You shake your head in desperation as you see Silas pick up the next bucket. 

“Silas, please-”, you cry out. 

“You caused this yourself, Y/N”, Silas reminds you. “You have one simple rule: do not leave me. And what did you do?”

You stay quiet. He throws the next buckets full of water. Scorching hot. You scream even louder and start to sob. 

“What did you do?” Silas asks testingly and walks over to the last bucket. 

“I-I tried to run away!” you cry out and hug your shaking body. 

“And?” 

He picks up the next bucket. 

“I talked to a cop!” you sob and press yourself closer to the cement wall. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do that again! Please don’t hurt me anymore! Please, Silas, I-I’ll do anything!”

Silas scoffs. “You wanted to leave me, get me in trouble and destroy everything I’ve built up these last ten years! And I’m just supposed to … forgive you?”

You sob. You know how proud Silas is of his imperium. He's spent the last ten years building it to become the most fearless and powerful criminal in the country. You just wanted him to feel as helpless as you do.

Silas throws the last bucket at you and an icy waterfall greets you. One last scream leaves your panicked body. You sink down in a curled up ball as you hug your body, trying to keep some kind of warmth and shield. You sob and whimper with your head full of fear and nerve system confused. Silas throws the plastic bucket to the side and walks over to you. He sinks down in front of your body and grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb, like he did before. 

“What do I need to do to make you obedient?” he asks. “Do I need to kill everyone to make you stay with me?”

“Please …”, you plead through hammering teeth. “Please don’t, please-”

He hushes and cups your cold, wet cheeks. 

“You only need me anyway”, he says softly. “All those other people — your family, your friends — they don’t care about you like I do, do they? They just pretend to spare your feelings. Have they even tried to find you? Or help you? They’re probably going on with their lives the same, as if nothing has changed, in this precise moment.”

“You don’t know that”, you whisper and sniffle. 

“I do know. I have been watching them.” Silas moves closer to you. “If they really cared about you, they’d tell you when you did something wrong, and then help you fix it. That's what families do, they help you become a better version of yourself. They wouldn’t lie and let you destroy and embarrass yourself. The reason I put you down here, Y/N, is because you're my family, someone I care very much about. I have to teach you a lesson to make sure that you don’t do anything dumb. You’re a danger to yourself. You need me to take care of you, to teach you what is right and wrong.” He caresses your cheeks. “If only you didn’t do such stupid things I wouldn’t have to do these hurtful things. You know I love you.”

You sob and look down. 

"Say it back, Y/N", he urges you. "Say that you love me."

"I … I love you", you mumble.

"Good girl/boy."

Silas warm lips presses a hard kiss to your forehead before standing up. You sit frozen while he walks up the stairs. 

Silas leaves you alone for another twenty four hours before he walks down again, to see if you’ve broken yet. If you haven’t, he’s going to take your clothes and carve in his name in your leg to force you to see his name every time you open your eyes. He sees you curled up in a ball in the corner of the dark, cold basement. You’re not moving. 

“Are you sleeping, baby?” he smirks. “Rise and shine, we have work to do! We’re not done yet.”

You don’t move. You must be weak from hunger. 

“If you act well today, I might get you something to eat”, he smiles and walks over to you. “Would you like that?”

He’s much, much nicer to you than to the other people who have the displeasure of ending up in his basement. He would never talk to them as sweetly as he does to you, never negotiate with them like this. He would never change his torture methods to be nicer to anyone else but you. 

“Y/N.”

You don’t give him any attention. Silas rolls his eyes and grabs your hair to turn your face to him. You moan out a weak painful sound. Something’s wrong, Silas can tell that. He sinks down in front of you and presses his hand to your forehead. 

Shit.

Silas can feel how his heart skips a beat. He should have realized that you would have gotten sick if he left you in this cold basement in your ice cold, soaked clothes and hair. He gulps and cups your cheeks. 

“Are you awake?” he asks quickly. “Baby, look at me.”

You open your eyes slowly and look at him with dull, glossy eyes. Silas looks over his shoulder, towards the stairs. 

“Get me the keys to the cuffs!” he roars. 

He turns back to you and hastily brushes the hair out of your face. 

“Hold out, darling”, he says softly. “You’ll be taken care of as soon as I get the key.”

You cough out a weak sound that seem to come from deep inside of you. Silas helps you by patting your back. 

A woman comes down and gives Silas’ his keys. He hurries to uncuff your ankles and pick your warm, limp body up in his arms. He hurries up the basement stairs and then up the next stairs to your bedroom. He takes your cold clothes off of you and gives you new, dry ones. His sweatpants, his t-shirt. You black out right away. He takes the time to take care of your older cuts and your newer burns before tucking you in bed. Silas watches you with a burning gaze. He clenches his jaw before walking out of the room. His second in command stands downstairs.

"You", he says angrily.

"Yes, boss?" he asks and looks up from his phone. "What can I help you with?"

"Go up to the bedroom and watch over Y/N. I don't want them to be alone."

"Sure, but what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to work a bit. I need to get my mind on other things."

"I will watch them for you."

"Thank you." He grabs his shoulder. "You know the rules. Recite them."

"I will not talk to them if not necessary. I will not answer any questions and I will not touch them if not necessary. I will let you know right away if something is wrong.”

Silas nods and walks away. He walks into his office and sits down behind his desk. Although he tries to concentrate on paperwork, anger is boiling through his veins. He doesn’t know what he’s angry at — himself, you or his men. Himself for forgetting that you could get extremely sick, his men for not warning him … or you for getting out of your punishment before he had gotten to the point he wanted. He tells himself that this sudden sickness is a part of your punishment, but it doesn’t help his racing heart. 

Silas pours himself a glass of brandy, in hopes to calm his nerves. The liquid burns down his throat and warms up his body, but it doesn’t help. Before he can stop himself, he throws the glass as hard as he can against the wall. It shatters into a million pieces. The door opens quickly. 

“Boss, what’s wrong?” one of his men asks. 

“Get me someone I can mangle or else I’ll go insane”, Silas breathes out through gritted teeth. “Take someone from the street if you have to — just bring me someone I can kill.”

You open your eyes and feel how a lump has grown in your throat. You try to cough and rip your entire vocal chords with it. A cough attack erupts from deep inside your stomach. Every cough hurts worse than the one before and every breath in feels as dry as an ocean. 

“Oh, careful”, a voice says and helps you sit up. He holds a glass of water to your lips. “Drink up.”

You recognize the man beside you. Silas’ second in command? Where’s Silas?

“You’re awake”, he states and stands up from his chair after putting down the glass. “I’ll go get the boss-”

You panic and shake your head.

“Please stay.” You’re caught by surprise that your voice comes out as nasally and thick as it does, although it shouldn’t surprise you in the slightest. “Don’t get him.”

“I have rules to follow.”

“I have to ask you something first.”

The second in command sighs and turns his head over his shoulder to look at you. He looks tired, but you can’t let him leave until you’ve had your question answered.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m not allowed to answer your questions”, he says. 

“I really need an answer”, you plead. 

“Silas will answer-”

“I don’t want his answer. He’ll lie to me. Please.”

He sighs and turns to you with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. “Let me hear the question first.”

“What do Silas do to the people he doesn’t like?”

Silas runs his hand through his sweaty hair. The man in front of him cries out. Silas has continued to throw punch after punch, using this strange man as a boxing doll. His fists are sore and bloody. Sweat drips down his back. The man in front of him has gotten his teeth pulled out with pliers, his hair has gotten cut down to his bleeding roots and nails have been ripped off. Silas had forgotten to gag him at first but the second the first loud scream exited the man's body, all he could see in front of him was your terrified eyes waking up to it.

"Boss, Y/N’s awake", a voice behind him says. Second in command.

"Fuck, I'm all bloody", Silas mutters and looks down at his black jeans and shirt that he's pulled the sleeves up on. "I can’t go up like this. Get me a washcloth."

The second in command drowns a cloth in a bucket of water. Silas uses it to scrub his arms, neck and face while walking up to you. When he opens the door, he finds you sitting up in bed, hugging your knees close to your chest.

"Hi, baby, how are you feeling?" he asks and sits down on the side of the bed.

Your eyes scan hum warily, stopping at his arms. Traces of blood can still be visible in the hair strands. Silas pulls down his sleeves.

"Don't worry about that", he says with an embarrassed smile. "How are you feeling, darling?"

"It hurts."

Silas reaches out to caress your cheek, but you flinch away. He frowns.

"I'm not going to hurt you anymore", he says carefully.

“Why are you bloody?” you whisper. “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Why do you have to like me? Why do I have to go through this?”

You start to ramble for yourself and Silas hushes loudly. 

“You’re not making any sense, little thing”, he says. “Slow down, take a deep breath.”

“Why do you do those things to people?” you almost hyperventilate before starting to cough. 

Tears flow down your cheeks. You’re absolutely hysteric. Silas freezes. You know something.

“Why do I do what?” he asks quickly, grabbing your shoulders tightly. “Did someone tell you anything? What did they say?”

You sob and shake your head. 

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me what someone has put in your head-”, Silas says sternly. 

“You saw off people’s limbs!” you sob. “You … y-you-”

“Y/N, enough. Who told you?”

You don’t answer. Another cough attack erupts. Silas starts to get annoyed. 

“Y/N, who told you?” he asks through gritted teeth. “If you’re trying to hide someone, I’m throwing you back into the basement right away, with a fever or not.”

You sigh and glance up at him in pure fear. “Your second in command …”

“That motherfucker-”

Silas lets go off your shoulders and fly up from the bed. He can’t help but feel a deep ache in his heart. His second in command has been with him since he started his ‘organization’ — he’s been with him through thick and thin, had his back through everything. Him, out of anyone, knows the rules better. Silas trusts him to keep an eye on you alone, knowing that he would never betray him … or at least believing that.

He grabs his second in command and throws him against the wall.

“Traitor!” Silas growls. “You told them?!”

“They said that they had to know!” the second in command answered loudly, defending himself. “They wanted to know if you really love them! They wanted to know if you really were softer on them than others! They thought you’d lie if they asked you! I did you a fucking favour!”

They meet eyes for a few seconds before Silas curses and lets him go. He backs away, running his hand through his black hair. 

“Silas, I didn’t do anything to betray you”, the second in command says calmly. “I answered Y/N’s question in your favor. If I didn’t, they’d be even more wary of you.”

Silas doesn’t answer. His head and his heart are battling. 

He notices how you’re sitting at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing, coughing into your arm. You’ve dragged yourself out of bed to stop him, but you couldn’t get far enough before your weak, aching body betrayed you.

“Y/N, what are you doing out of bed?!” Silas says sternly. “You need to rest!”

He runs up the stairs and picks you up. You’re tucked in again. 

“If you leave the bed again, I’ll have to cuff you”, he says carefully. “I don’t want you running around — especially when you’re sick.”

You’re very familiar with the chains that he uses to keep you in bed. Silas climbs sinto bed and sits on top of your legs to make sure you stay in place. 

“Y/N, Y/N, listen to me”, he says and cups your cheeks. “I could never do those things to you. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“You hurt me”, you remind him through sobs. “Even if it wasn’t as bad as you do to others, you still hurt me!”

“You know I don’t want to, but I have to. I have to make sure you don’t do stupid things like this — asking my men about my work. You know better than this and I know that. That’s why I’m helping you get back on the right track. If I don’t, you become like this, all frantic and scared. Why don’t you just let me protect you? Aren’t you tired of getting your heart in trouble? I know you are, baby …”

You sob which to him seems to be all the answers he needs.

“Trust me”, Silas says. “Trust that I know what’s best for you and you will never have to feel this kind of pain and fear again, okay?”

You can feel how your body starts to relax against your will. Silas wipes your tears and kisses your forehead. 

“My pretty, little baby”, he whispers comfortingly. “Everything will be okay. As long as I'm here, nothing will ever happen to you. I'll make sure of it, I'll help you.”

You sob and close your eyes. Once again, he wins.

[mysterycitrus]

[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

[pandoraslxna]

Three is always unfortunate

Stepbro Neteyam x female Na‘vi reader

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Neteyam is ready to do everything in his might to protect his precious little sister. Especially from mean boys that can’t keep their hands to themselves.

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, stepcest (= they’re not related by blood), bully!aonung, slight age difference, everyone is aged up!!, kinda dark / mean neteyam, degradation kink, overprotective & possessive behavior, hints of sexual harassment, graphic description of violence (not towards reader) , blood, rough sex, oral, implied voyeurism,… damn this really has it all

That was his first mistake.

To be fair, you weren’t even supposed to talk to him at all, Neteyam told you that enough of times already. But the moment Ao'nungs very fingertips made contact with your skin –the soft, warm skin of your thigh, that was strictly forbidden for anyone to even look at– even though you told him no several times already… That was his first mistake.

"You heard what she said", Neteyam all but growls at him, shoving him away from you with a rough push to his chest, "Back. Off." His fist itches, ready to knock that guy out, just like his dad had taught him from a young age. But Ao'nung just laughs in his face. "Oh, look at that. Big brother comes to the rescue", he says mockingly and his hand reaches out for you again. Teasingly, he pulls at your tail and you shriek, before you rush over to hide behind your older brother‘s back. That was his second mistake.

"What? We were just talking. She’s old enough to hang out with a real men, you know, have some fun. It’s not that serious", Ao'nung winks at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips and he’s clearly being ambiguously. Neteyam can see it in his eyes, the way they’re basically undressing you, how he imagines your taste on his tongue, his ears twitching as if he could hear your moans in his head.

And that was his third mistake.

He was so dead.

Neteyams fist hit him with full force, hearing a crack as either a tooth or the bone under his left eye socket shattered. Ao'nung stumbles and falls to the sandy ground with a grunt and in the blink of an eye, Neteyam was on him. Four punches later and he landed a hit on his nose, breaking the cartilage with a sickeningly satisfactory crack that sounded disgusting to your ears.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm– I‘m sorry", you whine in all honesty, "I won’t do it again, 'Teyam– fuck!"

"You know I hate, hate, hate when you talk to these guys", Neteyam hisses, underlining each word with a thrust of his hips. "Can’t fucking listen to me for once, huh? Always getting yourself in trouble just for your big bro to come and rescue you." He pistols his hips against yours, fast and hard, the obscene sounds of flesh against flesh filling both of your ears. You’re just glad Neteyam had dragged you further away from the village, before you’ve found yourself in your current position. Like this, you were at least free to be as loud as you liked. As loud as he liked. Only the great mother herself knew what would happen, if your parents would ever find out about this thing going on between you and your step brother. But you had other things in mind right now, your brain too fucked out already, to form any coherent thoughts anyways.

"You know, I’m slowly starting to believe that this shit turns you on", Neteyam’s tone is mockingly and you can’t help but clench around his cock as he speaks. "You like it when I get my hands dirty for you? Like when your big bro beats them unconscious just for looking at you the wrong way? Yeah bet you do, dirty girl." One of his hands loosened from the bruising grip he had on your hip and then slides all the way up to your breasts. Instead of teasing or kneading them, he goes straight to grabbing a nipple inbetween his thumb and index finger. He rolls and pinches, until they turn to hard pebbles under his rough treatment and you whine, your back arching even more. "Answer me when I‘m talking to you", he tsks.

"Yes, oh fuck, 'Teyam", you moan ever so sweetly it makes his heart ache, "Like it when you pr– oh! W-when you protect me!"

"And you know what? I like that too. Fuck, I love it. I’d beat them all to death– every possible mate, every man that tries to lay their hands on you, because you’re mine. My sweet little sis, I’ll always protect you. None of them will ever be good enough for you." And you know he’s right. He had already ruined you for everyone else the first time he laid his hands on you, the first time he looked at you with that spark in his eyes, the first time he made you cum. You would never consider anyone else for you. It was him or nobody.

Neteyam lowers himself to kiss you softly, in contrast to the almost brutal force of his hips smacking against yours, hard enough to leave bruises he’ll need to find an excuse for later or his dad was going to skin him. His fingers move to press against your clit, rubbing and stroking and you moan into the kiss.

Your velvety, wet walls are enough to drive your big brother crazy. Neteyam doesn’t think he could ever fuck anybody else, having been so used to your pussy afterall these years of spending time with you, discovering each others bodies and all the first times you’ve shared with him. Knowing what makes you twitch, what makes you melt. Moments ranging from cuddling and sweet-talking, then escalating to him balls deep inside your pussy, the friction of your jointed bodies driving you closer to the edge until you came around him with those sweet, familiar moans.

"And I’ll ruin you for everybody else", he groans, "I’m gonna fuck you so good, until you finally behave like the good little girl that you are and until you finally fuckin' listen to me and shit— no one will ever satisfy you the way your big brother does, am I right? Tell me I‘m right, pretty girl, let me hear you say it."

Your older brother is absolutely relentless when it comes to fucking you. Sure, he can have his sweet moments, but not on days like this. Not when he was proven right, that men only ever want one thing from you, that they want to corrupt his sweet and innocent sister and when he has to be so overprotective of you, because you’re just too dumb to realize people’s true intentions. And not when he’s so, so jealous of other men just looking at you the wrong way, let alone touch you.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach, the head of his cock bruising hard against your cervix again and again. "Yes, yes fuck, you’re right! Right— right there 'teyam!", you brabble whatever nonsense comes to your fucked out mind, your need to climax so shamefully on display that it made him groan in delight. Only he could make you feel this way.

"Are you coming already, baby? Gonna cum on your brothers cock? Such a dirty girl, look at you all fucked out, drunk on my cock and I’m not even done with you yet", his words come out as something between a moan and a laugh and it’s degrading, but you love it. You can’t help it. You love when he’s mean, love when he takes his anger out on you like this because he’s even sweeter to you afterwards.

Like a good brother, he helps you ride out your orgasm– hips still snapping against yours, even if they’re not set in rhythm like previously. Neteyam moans when he feels the flood of your own cum on his cock, a feeling that should never even feel that good. You’re like a curse. Or more like drug to him. What else would describe it best, because you made him feel so incredibly good, yet you were something forbidden. Something he shouldn’t even have consumed in the first place because it was wrong. But he was already addicted and now couldn’t resist anymore.

"I‘m gonna fill you up, gonna cum inside that tight pussy, yeah? You’re gonna let your brother cum inside you? Make you feel all hot and sticky inside, my precious girl", Neteyam hisses out, manhandling you with the rough grip of his hands placed on your hips along with his cock bruising your insides. Your legs shake and tremble, harder this time due to the absolute wave of pleasure washing over your step brother, as he keeps fucking into you like you were begging for it. And in your mind, you were.

Neteyam’s orgasm hits him full force, his hips bucking and hands clawing your hips in a death grip, while you feel his hot and thick, gooey cum dump itself inside your pussy. His eyes are squeezed shut as his rhythm finally falters and then he slumps over you with a thud.

He’s heavy on top of you, almost crushing you under his weight but you relish in the feeling. His face is pressed in the space between your neck and shoulder, and his warm breath tickles against your skin. Waiting for a few moments to shake off the overwhelming feeling, he then starts to leave wet kisses here and there, littering on your jawline and the space behind your ear.

"No more talking to boys, alright?", he mumbles against your skin and you can’t help but giggle. "Alright", you assure him with a smile. You can feel him shift on top of you and then one of his legs nudges your thighs further apart. His kisses travel lower with every beat of your heart, until he’s passed your navel and reached your pubic bone. With his thumbs on either side of your core, he spreads you lips until your clit comes into view. You inhale a sharp breath when cold air brushes against your wet skin. "This is your last chance, sis. Be glad I‘m in a good mood today", Neteyam says with kiss to that little bundle of nerves and a gasp falls from your lips, "If you don’t listen to me again, I won’t let you cum at all. Maybe I’ll even let Ao'nung watch you beg for my cock, before I kill him."

You nod your head, eager to please him and with that, Neteyam completely buries his head between your thighs— licking and sucking on every inch of skin he can reach, until you’re nothing but a moaning, shaking mess below him. Because he truly was the only one to ever make you feel like this.

[lovebugism]

Play wrestling with bff Steve and getting giggly when he just straight up manhandles you 😭😭😭

✶ ┄ SORE LOSER !

summary: steve harrington doesn't like to let you win until he realizes how good it feels to lose. pairing: best friend!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 1.6k warnings: a lil bit suggestive towards the end, but nothing crazy a/n: i got super carried away with this lol i kinda just took this request and ran with it and well... here we are :) enjoy!

Steve never lets you win. 

He thinks it’s letting you off too easy.

The boy’s competitive to a fault. He can’t stomach a loss, even if it’s in something as meaningless as a carnival game you only wanted to play for the giant dinosaur plushie that’s half the size of you. 

He always ends up giving it to you when he inevitably wins, wearing a big smug smile on his pretty, pink lips. You take it from him with a pout. The childlike scowl is quelled only by the funnel cake he buys you after.

It doesn’t matter what it is — a game of monopoly, trivia questions on the ends of popsicle sticks, taking in the groceries — Steve finds a way to make all of it competitive. He wants to have the most fake money and little fake properties, he wants to shout the answer before anyone else can, he wants to carry more heavy plastic bags than everyone else. Just to say that he did it.

If you put this much effort into school, you’d be in college right now, Harrington, you’d tease.

Not my fault you’re a sore loser, he’d retort. I’ll let you win the next one, sunshine. Promise.

He never does.

You and Steve play-wrestle like a couple of kids. It usually comes out of nowhere. You’ll make fun of him, he’ll shove at you, and you’ll shove back harder. Then it just turns into a game of who’s stronger than who — and it’s always him. Obviously. 

You try your hardest to prove your strength, pushing at him with nimble fists and wriggling something fierce in his hold, but you come out red-faced with a participation ribbon laced within his taunts. And even though he’s got several inches on you and quite a bit more muscle, he never lets you win. Ever.

He manhandles you, perhaps a little too rough at times, but it wasn’t like he had to be kind to you. You weren’t dating or anything, you were best friends — this is what a couple of pals do, right?

They play fight on the carpet of the other’s movie room after being told their closest confidant would murder them in a game of fuck, marry, kill between Anthony Michael Hall and Robert Downey Jr. with zero hesitation.

Friends totally force the other onto the ground by grabbing at the bottoms of their thighs before kneeling over them, wrenching their wrists in their grip and pressing their hands to the ground on either their head.

It’s the definition of being best buds. Truly.

For the first time, you manage to get the better of him. You’re pressed beneath his weight, breathing heavy and rapidly tiring, and you wave the white flag of surrender.

Just when Steve's letting you up and swiping a hand through his mussed hair, you force him onto his back and straddle his waist — like he always did to you — and giggle with mirth at the idea of finally beating him.

He doesn’t find a similar enthusiasm in it, though. His tune changes almost immediately.

You beam down at him, the words of a taunt on the tip of your tongue, and you notice how his cheeks flare pink. His honey-colored eyes widen and his mouth falls softly agape. He glows red in embarrassment and you think he’s just upset that he lost, but he sounds like he’s panicking. The words rush out of his mouth — “Alright, shit, fine— you win, sunshine. Get off, alright? Off, off, off.” 

His hand swats at the side of your knee to hurry you off him.

“Alright, jeez!” you concede with the roll of your eyes, halfway annoyed that he just can’t let you win anything. “You don’t have to be such a sore loser about it, Harrington—”

You understand his haste in that moment, when you feel him brush your inner thigh. Like, all of him — as in, the boner trapped in the sweatpants he’s wearing, all rock hard and raging in its cotton confines.

Suddenly, you’re just as bashful and panicked as he is. 

Your eyes lock at the rock hard realization but neither of you can think of anything to say.

Do you apologize? Do you act like you didn’t feel anything? Do you trust your voice to make a stupid joke so you can move on and forget any of this ever happened? You’re not quite sure.

And in the five-second silence, Steve just wants to die. Internally, he’s praying for a strike of lightning to take him out on the spot because he’s never been more embarrassed in his life.

He’s certain that he’s grossed you out, or worse, made you irreversibly uncomfortable.

In the mess of thoughts running through his head, he tries to rush out some apology that might soothe the awkward air. Your laughter does all the work for him before he can.

It bubbles like sunshine from your mouth, filling the silence and allowing Steve to breathe again. He finds himself chuckling under his breath with you, though he’s still red-faced about it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, sunshine,” he chides with the roll of his eyes, though a smile hints at the edges of his mouth. He rises on his elbows to look at you. “What was I supposed to do? Your tits were in my face and your ass was on my dick— sorry for being human!”

“Sorry, alright? I’m sorry,” you manage through hearty giggles. You settle finally at his side and look over at him, still grinning. “Want me to leave so you can… take care of it or whatever?”

He knows you’re joking but he shakes his head anyway. “Nah, it’ll go away. Let’s just… finish this stupid movie.”

“Stupid movie? You picked it!”

“Yeah, so I could see Kelly Lebrock in a bikini!” he argues back, more thankful for the familiar bickering than he ever thought he’d be. “But you made me miss it!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Watch it, sunshine,” he grumbles, half-heatedly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I think you’re the one who needs to worry about finishing, Harrington,” you joke and giggle when he shoves you.

You would’ve helped him, if he wanted you to. You know it’s uncomfortable and that it’s partially your fault. You also know that all of those are just excuses to cover up the fact that you’ve always wondered what his cock looks like.

He’d need only ask you, but you know that he won’t.

Even if he did like you in that way, it’d just make things all complicated. And that was totally the opposite of the effortless relationship you’ve developed with him. The kind of effortless where he can be rock hard next to you, and you’ve both decided to just move on from it.

Steve, meanwhile, spends the rest of the movie not watching a single damn minute of it. He’s too busy trying to calm himself down like a teenage boy and figuring out he can get you on top of him again without being too obvious about the whole thing.

He decides he might just start swallowing his pride and let you win sometimes.

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

How would the aot boys react if they heard a rumor that reader has a crush on them

i heard a rumor….

eren jaeger is so nosey when he hears the rumor going around. he’s intrigued by your crush on him and he wants to know every little detail, of course by everyone else and not you. he gathers everyone’s opinion and saves you for last. he doesn’t beat around the bush; he tells you he knows that you’re crushing hardcore on him. he’s playful and witty, trying to get you all flustered.

armin arlert, bless his heart, tries to be cool about it. and he does a fairly good job you think. he often finds ways to get you two alone but he never makes a bold move. he asks if he can help you do things, tries to find common interests, etc. you know he knows because you find him trying to spend too much time with you, not that you’re complaining. he just lets things take their course.

jean kirsteins plays the disinterested, too-cool-for-you character. he’s damn good at it too. his actions and short replies hurt your ego and your heart. so, you give him the same treatment back. this, he’s not a fan of. he demands that you tell him why you’re treating him like this and you respond that you’re just dishing out what he is. that makes him go ‘oh’ and it results in a very around the bush way of telling you he has some sort of feelings for you but he was trying to repress it.

connie springer grins from ear to ear for days end when he hears the news. he was already crushing on you big time and now that you like him back, he’s convinced your soulmate. shamelessly, connie asks (it’s more of a statement) that you go on a date. you cant believe he knows. you want to just disappear when he confronts you but he doesn’t understand why. “am i coming on too strong? hold on, i can get weak in the knees real quick.”

levi ackerman acts like he doesn’t know about your feelings for him. his behavior isn’t much different than when he didn’t know- his eye’s just tend to linger on you a bit longer. his gaze makes you feel…violated. it’s like he’s looking right through you or undressing you with his eyes. hard to tell. he continues driving you crazy in various subtle ways until you can’t take it anymore and wind up confessing at him in a ‘why are you doing this to me’ moment. he just laughs.

reiner braun's interest is piqued, that's for sure. he's not so smooth about it, always turning into a flustered mess when he's around you. you, now beginning to panic he knows your secret, turn into a shorter flustered mess. your awkwardness makes all your friends laugh and they just tease you more, which causes more stuttering and the cycle repeats. eren's the one who finally sets you up, not able to bare any more of reiner's incoherence.

bertholdt hoover makes the brave decision of telling you how he feels. he doesn't pick the greatest time. he tells you in front of all your friends and that leaves you feeling a little pressured. so, you get up and drag him away from everyone. the two of you share a raw confessional in peace and quiet. it leaves your heart full.

zeke jaeger texts you as soon as eren tells him. he doesn't wait for any more clarification. the text reads, heard you're basically in love with me. I'll pick you up later: a man of his word, he comes and picks you up. you try to him he's ridiculous but he knows you're his future wife.

erwin smith does his best to avoid you. a crush is meaningless to him.but fuck, the way you look at him makes his heart stop. he's beginning to think that there's something wrong with him- he can't breathe when you're around him. one night, he has too much wine to drink and accidentally lets it slip that he knows. he decides he doesn't care anymore and kisses you on the forehead, leaving you confused about the way he feels about you.

porco galliard's too fucking cocky. he starts spreading the rumor himself once he gets wind of it. he tells everyone he knows, bragging about it over and over. the rumor makes it's way back to you and you want to cry. so, that's what you do. you know everyone knows, so he must know. porco catches you crying and is upset with himself for spreading it. he didn't know you'd be so embarassed, considering he ‘obviously feels the same way’

please go read my jean fic 🤍

[krashoutluv]

Arkham Knight Relationship HCS !! <3

( light nsfw, mostly SFW tho!! )

literally my wife ( i made this pic idc abt creds i just wanna talk abt it)

SFW !! <3

dying on this hill when i say basically any red hood would be soo yummy with a civilian or just someone who is extremely balanced.

im a red hood needs more fucking normalcy in his life TRUTHER.

relationship starts off slow, romantic and platonic, you need to be patient with him long enough for him to get over his mental dilemmas to feel ANY-TYPE of way towards you.

more then like 6 months lets be real yall

his way of bonding is quality time. ill die on this hill, especially at the start of the relationship. Nothing huge maybe just spending a couple extra minutes around you before leaving.

next is probably gift giving, esp with early relations, probably just gonna order you food or put fifty bucks on your countertop. you dont even notice until you realize you find a fifty around the last place he was standing. expect deliveries from R.H whenever he feels bad for something.

doesn't like being around for too long, feels like he's messing up something. ruining your day by keeping you up late (he was there for fifteen minutes), ruining your mood, (there was an awkward silence for like 30 seconds.)

not a overly conscious thought process though, he feels physically he isn’t supposed to be there. for whatever subconscious thing he picked up on, a awkward silence, or hes been there 15 minutes too long or something

well sometimes he'll mentally beat himself up.

he spirals a lot, needs someone to pull him out of that.

i think when he needs to be grounded, its not just comfort its making him feel alive in the present moment. he's never gonna truly forget about his traumas but maybe for just an hour or two; running around an arcade, walking around the city. just making him feel normal, yeah you BAGGED his ass quick.

he needs someone patient, really patient, someone whos very attentive and empathetic. (but not a complete push- over def needs someone to set him in line still)

i think if you move to quickly, he'll get super snappy and ghosting you,, ong put ur hands on him too early and he's left hooking you.

yeah you're waking up and the first thing your hearing is "Its been 12 years..."

second thing you hear is "you've been in a coma for.. 12 years."

third thing you're hearing is, " we think a bus hit you...”

obviously not touchy, even when he is settling down. hes just not sure how to .. or where to .. or why he wants too.

please his mental gymnastics get so crazy, just sit down with him and put on some silly ass movie so he stops

when he’s settled he cant pry himself off you though.

a lot of his expressions can definitely be told by his body language, naturally hes tense but theres certain habits he has when he's maybe thinking too much, or fustrated/irritated.

but he does all of the same for you, comfort, love, as much as he can he tries

Very attentive, has a mental list of 'shit you do when somethings wrong' or 'shit you like.'

doesn't consciously make any of these mental list, he just knows.

"didnt they say they liked this?" He pauses "shit ill just leave it at their window."

so he's like canonically smart as shit.

you have too much work from your boss or professor? hand it over its done in less then two hours.

literally buys you groceries and pays your bills (fucking lover boy.)

arkham knight finally figuring out how to ask for a hug (hes been dead silent for 5 minutes) (link) <— insta reel

HES A CHEM/HISTORY NERD FOR SURE

NSFW !! <3

probably- A FUCKING VIRGIN !! HES A NERD !! GETS AWKARD AS SHIT. WITH RAGING COMMITMENT AND TRUST ISSUES !! (will still die4you tho)

AGAIN, not in a "my soft squishe potato always been scared of sex" way but in a ‘oh my god hes so unsocialized’ way.

yall ever see a big ass dog just..standing.. literally him (hes dissociating)

genuinely dont believe that when he was arkham/training to be, he was sexually or romantically involved with anyone. the last thing that was on his mind was actually pursuing a sexual or romantic relationship.

along with his trauma, he just wasn’t comfortable with any of that.

ghosted so many people..

couldn’t flirt for more then five minutes, just stopped feeling it or got uncomfortable .

I AM ANTI ARKHAM KNIGHT BEING A SEX GOD

not that he’s horribly awkward, but he’s noticeably a bit more quiet for first times.

ofc this man has watched porn n’ shit but hes smart enough to know thats not what its really like.

he’ll still figure it, what makes you tic, what you love, what makes you most comfortable.

kinda shitty at dirty talk, just makes him buffer.

he gets better at it tho, too damn good

gets so snarky and confident about it too uuhgrr

late relationships hes smirking and chatting your ears off cause you know hes gettin you turnt.

he has a love-hate relationship with his scars. 95% they remind him of his past, but 5% hes alright with them because they’ve shown what hes been through.

deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, he knows hes fine as fuck. TRUST YALL.

again, super observant and attentive. really pays attention to what you enjoy.

I genuinely don’t believe hes into super hardcore/painful kinks or anything.

Sex for him is definitely a way of showing his trust and intimacy with someone!! Let him show you how much he loves you and how much he wants to make you feel good! Do the same to him !!

mmm tell him how good hes doing and hes a absolute mess!!

praise him! PRAISE HIM *im yelling from the hospital bed im strapped down on*

wouldn’t let you ride for awhile, but once he’s comfortable with it ,, he’s actually obsessed.

cant see him bottoming , just wouldn’t be comfortable with it

my brain is getting messy so im stopping here! feedback and comments would be cool if you wanna drop some!

[sintiva]

❝baby, can you suck it?❞ ✧ ೃ༄

ft. toji x black!reader

۵summary: toji’s day of festivities starts with you on your knees 🫶🏽

‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ۵content warnings: established relationship, fem!reader, chubby!reader, reader is into makeup, is a throat goat, slight degradation (toji calls us a slut twice), oral sex 😚, cock worshipping, impact play, spit kink, hair pulling, dacryphilia, throat fucking, cum eating, facial… // wc: 2.8k

‏‏‎ ‎ ۵notes: y’all thought i was playing about that oral fixation, huh👩🏽‍🦯this was supposed to be less than 1k……😭 (ac: @/beesflyy_ on ig!!)

“baby, can i suck it?” you plead. 

you paw and fondle your husband’s bulge that sits comfortably in his sweats. you cup it, rub it, and stroke it while you beg with big, doe eyes. he stares at your all’s shared reflection in your vanity mirror. unimpressed, annoyed, flattered you can’t really tell. maybe if you’re eyes didn’t pathetically dart back and forth between his eyes and dick you’d be able to read him.

you finally finished beating your face and spritzed setting spray to lock everything in. he’d been watching your entire process since the moment you patted your face dry from cleansing. you always started getting ready before him, but you both showered together.

a vanilla bean 3-wick candle was burning, he had the mood lights on in the room, and from your tv; ari lennox’s voice floated through the room. boy bye making you sing your heart out and reenact your own one-man dialogue. there he lay in bed, a towel around his shoulders, and his thumb scrolling through tik toks 

 toji didn’t find it necessary for you to get ready so early, more so, he didn’t really understand why you wore makeup, but he didn’t care. besides, he'd already spent hundreds of dollars buying you whatever products you desired, so he couldn’t complain. so, eventually, he’d learn your routine, and when he noticed you were finished he’d waltz on over. 

only hopping a mere foot off the bed and pacing forward with about twenty steps until he was right by your side. no underwear, no shirt; just sweats and his love-smitten grin, when he’d pull your face, c’mere you look so, sexy, for a kiss that involved way too much tongue. now you’d have to reapply your nude lip. 

grumbling an unpleasant “toji,” you shot a deathly gaze up at your husband. watching as he’d wipe a huge glossy layer off his lips with a smug look. 

“just cause it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can get away with everything.”

“i can if you let me.” he dips down and pecks your lips again, ignoring the slowly mattifying lipstick you had on your cupid's bow. yet, you can’t really get mad, because you make the wrong mistake of taking too long to adjust your eyes — quite long if i may.

and you “mistakenly” get a look at the thing that has been slowly getting harder as he laid and watched you put on makeup. from watching you get up from your pink heart-shaped spinny chair, then over to the bathroom. he didn’t know what to focus on more, your ass swallowing up your thong; or the cute expression you’d make — especially when frustrated. safe to say both contributed to the small wet spot that formed along his right thigh. 

“it’s leaking, how long have you been hard for creep?” 

i forgot to mention that just before you too got in the shower, you were slobbering all over his dick. sucking on the tip, just so he would cum. you know he wanted to get one out, and you just had to assist. every chance you got you were on your knees begging for him to use your mouth. acting submissive and pouting until he tapped the dark, pulsing tip against your lips. 

you glanced up at him. fluttering your eyes shut — blinking two complete times before you smirked in the mirror. he chuckled; letting a puff of air zip out the corner of his lips with a pshh. the bright apricot-red powder that brought out the contour of your cheekbones lifted with your smile, and toji chuckled even more. 

you didn’t know why he was giggling, considering the fact that you saw the veins in his arms flexing as it moved down the length of his dick through his shorts. cupping it at the tip, and squeezing it real firm and nice when you’d moan out or whine from your arms being tired. 

“who knows,” he jutted his hips out, and crossed his arms over his chest, taking them out of the deep compartments of the sweat’s pockets. now it was more evident, you didn’t have to turn your head at all to see how his dick rested against his thigh, because it was right in your peripheral. the tip was the clearest thing. thick and hard; straining against the flimsy grey material. 

“so,” you peer up at him, and he peers down at you. the scar on the right side of his lip twitches when the corners of his lips raise up, “can i suck it?” 

you flip your wrist towards it and cup it in your hand again. you gawk at the size, and how you have to actually extend all your digits to get a grip on it. you squeeze it gently and fix your hand so that it’s situated “under” his dick. even though it is a bit harder since he’s wearing his sweats you still manage a good grip. 

“ ‘sss i’m still a bit sensitive from earlier.” he groans oddly loud, a bit out of character, but maybe he is that sensitive right now. you can’t really blame him, your mouth was feeling just a bit emptier earlier just like how it is now.  

“consider it another extra birthday present. just… dessert a bit early.” you clasp your arms around his thigh and press your cheeks against it. you bring it in for a hug and ruffle your hair against his leg since you didn’t want to mess up your makeup, and fuck! 

“and imma need dessert later.” he rasps. 

he just couldn’t find it in him to say no, no matter how short he’d last. 

two big arms swooped down to scoop you up bridal style. those two big, bulging arms had hands that lingered on your ass for quite a bit though; squeezing and fondling the jiggling flesh as he spun you in the air. he carried you both over to the edge of your california king and perched you on his lap. his hand slipped between your thighs, and his lips found purchase all over your skin. 

biting, nibbling, and sucking on your brown, glitter-covered skin. his lips tickled the skin of your collarbone and all up to your neck that he swore over and over tasted like honey. you used a tired arm to move your hair out of his path. the longer he kissed you, the more you slip off his lap, landing right by his feet. 

toji was aware of your impatience. you kept pawing at him through his sweats, take ‘em offs, and cute little cries rolled off your tongue. 

these th- take ‘em off, i wan’ ‘em off…

the well-filed shape of your nails, scratch and poke at the skin of his adonis belt making him twitch in a mix of plain and pleasure. 

“be gentle, princess, it’s not going anywhere.” 

you exaggerate an excessive eye roll and wait like a good girl. hands folded neatly against your thighs, and the top of one foot was crossed so it sat in the arch of the other. you wait and clench your fist, you dig your nails into your thighs as you watch him stand up. you’ll be “patient”, you’ll “wait”. when you think you’re just gonna stare and wait for him to drop his sweats his voice snaps you out of your daze. 

“up here,” he snaps his fingers and taps your cheeks with two fingers when you crane your neck to look up, “open.” your mouth opens immediately

he ducks down and spits in your mouth, tells you to “hold it,” with a smirk, “and you better not let any come out.” it’s warm and nearly slid down your throat because you adore every little thing toji gives you. he takes his sweet time with it. 

his fingers dance and skim around his waistband; playing with the elastic and snapping it away from his body. and surely, like always, he tugs them down painfully slow. shimmying out of them as if he’s you trying to get some jeans on. your calves feel sore from the weight of your butt, but you squeeze your eyes tight and shake your head to void that feeling. 

then in that instance, you hear it; the weight of him slapping against his stomach ‘thwack’. you drop your head foregoing any instruction, and moan at the sight, careful not to let his spit pour down the sides of your mouth. his perfectly trimmed hairs are the perfect background, and pre cum already dribbles down his stomach from his belly button. it rolls down and forms little beads in the hair. 

he takes it in his hands; smooths his fingers over his tip and carries the pre along his shaft. your brows scrunch together. you’re very impatient. not until he smacks it along your cheeks, and smacks it against your lips are you thinking this is going anywhere. it’s hot, and its weight has ghosting effects on you. you still feel the weight of it all over your face when he moves. he just slaps it against your cheek over and over. 

then he rubs the tip in between your thick lips. back and forth, “you better not open your mouth.” he moans. his

when he sits back on the fluffy mattress, he spreads his legs, and you scoot all the way forward so that there isn’t an inch of space. 

“i love your dick,” you praise and wrap your dainty hand around it, “‘s so big and perfect.” you suckle on the tip; lovingly and focused. your lips wrap perfectly around it, making it disappear from his view. his hips twitch when you do that, sucking on it like a straw trying to get all his nut out. “shit baby- jus’ tryna make me cum, huh?” 

“ ‘s working?” you look up. “i love it, i love it, i love it.”

you take your lips off him, but now without a well-emphasized smack of your lips, “is that a problem?” he laughed a short stream of air siphoning out his nose, before he dragged a heavy hand down his face, biting down on his lip when you warmed his tip in your mouth once again. he could feel his hips going crazy. rolling against the cushion and testing his shitty resolve.  

you suck his dick politely, but you manage to make it so nasty. slobbering, and drooling so that you both hear the tiny ‘pits’ ‘n ‘patters’ of your saliva dripping to the floor. small bubbles of spit coat his length and rid your lips of the beautiful matte lip you perfected 10 minutes ago. your hands are still planted on your thighs when you turn your head to rub your lips down his shaft. with each pass of your lips, you kiss and worship every part of it. 

“i just love your dick so much!” 

you poke your tongue out of your mouth and trace the veins that spiral his dick. two prominent veins, running nearly parallel to each other, and meeting just before it sprouts to the glans. you love to lick, poke and prod with your tongue then you kiss, suck, and love on it with your lips. your sweet lips drive him up a wall. 

he finds the teasing a waste of time. it’d be a waste if you weren’t spiraling yourself. when you bring your hands up, touch and rub, he grabs a handful of your hair; tilts your head back, and fits two fingers in your mouth. your tongue sucks on them, swirls around them as he pushes them as deep as his dick should be. he feels your mouth buzz around his fingers and your eyes are keen on what should be in your mouth.

you dismiss it and pull your head back. 

“i want this.” you wrap both hands around his dick, and stroke it. your wrap your fingers tightly around his dick. he bucks his hips up into your hand and keeps his hand in your hair. if you keep it up he’ll be cumming a little earlier than expected. 

“then suck it.” he pulls you closer and wraps another bit of your hair around his dick as he guides your mouth back to his dick. he yanks your head back and spits another glob of in your mouth, and you can’t lie his actions make you tear up. your eyes burn and a steady line of tears roll down your cheeks. when he manhandles your annoyance from the teasing, you always cry, because he gets a little rough; rougher than he’d like. the absence of your lips on his dick makes him groan. 

“come on don’t be crying on me, you know i love it when you do.” you attempt to protest, but when you open your mouth again he slides himself right in. he stuffs your face full — right to the hilt and he can feel your throat squeezing around him. you gag and choke around him. you place your hands on his thighs and squeeze the thick muscles of them; trying everything you can to relax your throat. you're trying every little thing possible to adjust to his dick that curves so obscenely down your throat. 

he’s stuffed himself so far down your throat it feels like he’s breaching your heart if he had just one more inch it feels like he’d reach it.

he pulls out, you breathe a short ‘gwah’ coming from you. 

“thought you wanted to suck it,” he grins, “or is it too much when i’m fucking your throat?” 

you ignore him and wipe your face; big mistake. if you know you know.

he returns to the usual; peering down at you for permission to continue. you nod and take a deep breath as he guides you back to him. he gives silent commands. he thrust back into your mouth and now does so in a steady motion. pulling out till only his tip is in your mouth then he’s rutting himself back into you. falling in love with the way your tongue curls around his dick. moaning at the curve of it down your throat. 

balls smacking your chin, and saliva falling all down the column of your throat, to your tits, and to the floor. “you’re a messy little slut, you know that.” 

your gaze raises when he says that, and he can feel the vibration of your whimpering around his cock. he stands up to make it easier to thrust himself in. the muscles of his thighs bulge as he gets up, and his deep purs and moans go straight to your head. making you feel light and capable. he situates both of his hands down your throat as your head bobs along his cock. 

“your mouth’s perfect. sucking dick like my personal little slut.” 

mhmm.

the salacious sounds of your mouth suctioning around his dick have his head feeling hazy. all he can think about is cumming, where? he’s unsure. but the way your throat continuously tightens around him has him ready to shoot white hot buckets down your throat. his tip twitches in your throat, and his fingers lace through your hair. taking a tighter hold. you take your hands and grab his ass. you squeeze tight, holding on for dear life because it feels like he could fuck your jaw right off. your nails dig into his skin tighter and tighter til the last snap of his hips against your face, and he’s pushing your head further into his groin. your nose is fully pushed against him, and you gag when you feel him emptying every bit of cum he has into your throat. 

then he’s pulling you off of him, and letting some of the spurts shoot up on your face. sticking to your lashes, pumping it out all over your cheeks, and groaning with each bit that shoots out the slit. he’s proud of his work, painting his favorite aspects of your face a pretty translucent cream. 

your cheeks puff out as you work to swallow the thick substance down.

it takes three big gulps for you to get it all down. three and then you're showing him your mouth; opening wide so he can see that it’s all gone, minus the bit of it that was stuck to the back of your tongue. your eye twitches from the taste, but you put on a happy smile disregarding the makeup that you’d have to redo. 

“you fuck me all the way up, you know that.” he plops his ass down onto the bed and catches his breath. getting sucked off by you! well… fucking your throat twice in less than two hours has stolen all of his energy. 

you kiss his tip one last time, and stand up on your feet. your thighs shift, and you can feel the wetness that grew in between your legs. you grow hot, but you bend down and give him a kiss, “happy birthday, my love.” 

“thank you, baby,” he gives a soft smile, and wraps his arms around your waist, “but do we really have to wait for dessert?” 

۵tagging: @eclpsess @venusflytrapstar @si00p @uwubraun @godhatesdimitri @sunnylovesfics @sirenh4ll @dimepdf @keke2fly06 @jellymantra33 @toji-dabi-wife @persona-enthusiast @luvrgalore

[churipu]

96 + 98 , gojo satoru

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. cursing, school! au, uses of the word 'pretty' to describe the readers' appearance // 2.9k words

note. i absolutely love the academic rivals to lovers trope, so here's a try on this trope. and i'm so glad requests are coming in :') i'll be getting to them after this one shot <;33

synopsis. gojo and you have never gotten along, maybe it's the fact he's the epitome of perfection. he has a pretty face and a pretty brain, who wouldn't like that? so you made it your job to try and beat him at that brain game of his, which never ends well. until you find yourself 2 points higher than him, with his help. oh, boy.

gojo satoru was everywhere. and by everywhere — i mean everywhere.

it was no longer surprising that everyone in school knows him, whether by his name or personally knowing him. it's a surprise if someone doesn't know him, really.

he has a pretty face, and a pretty brain. who wouldn't like that? he's got girls and guys fawning and bowing down to him like their life depended on it, but really, is that all to him? a pretty face and brain?

unfortunately, not.

just to top it off, like a cherry on top. his friendly and light demeanor has earned a lot of respect from people all around, even ones who were outside of school — and that shit, pisses you off. he's the epitome of perfection that it pisses you off, how does one look like they have no flaws?

you used to think that you were it. people call you smart and how they envy your intelligence. but ever since gojo satoru beats you at the one thing you solely thing you excel in (you think): your brain. you had a personal feud with him; which you were currently losing in, by the way.

pretty was never an adjective that sits well with you. you never thought you were a pretty person. back during middle school, you tried hard, constantly trying to make yourself pretty for the sake of others to like you. but at the end of the day, it's you sitting down in front of the mirror doubting yourself whether this was really you or a person you made for other people to look at.

so you settled down for the one thing you were good at: studying.

"fuck you, gojo." you muttered out, clutching your test paper with a big fat and raging red '92' on it along with a 'nice job!' under it, and the fact that it has a smiley face beside it gave you the ick. you just wanted to pour gasoline on it and set the paper on fire.

"just because i beat you in a calculus test? c'mon y/n, instead of that — why don't we just study together?" he swayed, holding out his paper that had a big '100' on it.

ever since you made it your job to try beating him with your grades, you've never find the pleasure in studying anymore. it felt like a chore, it felt like a chore to beat gojo satoru; and when it doesn't happen, you just kind of drown in failure.

and it fucking sucks.

constantly forcing yourself to study just for the sake of beating him even by a point or two, it didn't feel nice. but the thought of him winning yet again made you a little scared.

a 92 for a calculus test would be a dream come true to other people. it would be yours too if gojo satoru hadn't appear in your life, but reality check, he's here and he's just so good at it that it angers you.

people often called you "ungrateful" or a "try hard", honestly, at this point — you can't really help but to think the same. anyone would want to get a 90 in a calculus test, or any other test. but to you, it felt like defeat.

you won't be satisfied until you beat him.

beat gojo satoru.

"study togeth— are you fucking serious?" you spat out at him angrily, crossing your arms.

gojo leans on the stair railing and hums softly, "yes. one hundred percent serious, wanna do it?" he shot you the sweetest smile.

a smile that would send any other person to the moon and back, but the sight honestly just pisses you off. the anger you felt from him beating you in the most recent calculus test was already too much to bear, and like adding salt to the wound, he hits you with a "why don't we just study together?"

"go to hell." you muttered, walking away.

"hey!" the male calls out to you, as much as you didn't want to stop — you did, glancing back at him, brows furrowed, "we have a statistics test next week, maybe it's your time to shine."

his voice was teasing, and he said that with a big toothy grin. god, you just wanted to run over there and bash his face in, plastering a scowl on your face, you shoved out your tongue and walked away. gojo laughs loudly as you walked away.

the dreaded statistics test came, and for some reason — you were more nervous than usual. maybe it was the fact gojo was taunting you about it the other day? or was it the fact he was sitting right next to you, occasionally stealing glances at you with those striking deep-set blue eyes of his.

you'd be lying if you said the male wasn't attractive. but even the thought of yourself thinking about such makes you angry. honestly, everything about him makes you angry.

you look to the side and the male was leaning his head down, his cheek on his left arm as he scribbled on his answer sheet. noticing your gaze on him, he gives you a big smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes deepening.

upon that, your face contorted into one of disgust and your eyes averted back towards your answer sheet, which somehow looks...empty. it wasn't that you didn't know the answers to it, there was doubt in you, would you be able to finally beat him? what if you lost again?

but as time was ticking, you pushed those thoughts away and wrote down your answers. confidently. as your teacher commanded for everyone to collect their answer sheets, it was no surprise that the male sitting beside you was the first one to stand. trotting over to the teacher's table and collecting his work, he strides back towards his seat, shooting you a (mocking) wink.

a few minutes later, you stood up to collect your own answer sheet. students often wanted time to go in a rush during average lessons, but tests? they hoped time had slow down even just by a few seconds. it was dreadful, groans and aggravated sighs were heaved out as the bell rang, signifying the end of the test.

"so, how did you do?" gojo questions, standing undoubtedly close to you. too close to your liking, but you brushed that part off.

"why does it matter to you?" you uttered back, annoyed.

"woah, shit. somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," you sighed out exasperatedly, standing up to make your way to the school's cafeteria. one of the most atrocious place you could ever walk into — if you hadn't woke up half an hour later this morning, maybe you wouldn't on your way there right now.

but it is what it is.

"why're you following me?"

gojo groans out, "dream on. i'm going to the cafeteria to eat and hang out with my friends, not to follow you," he mumbles out, his hands shoved deep inside his pocket, "why're you always so angry with me? who hurt you?"

"you."

gojo was silent, he looks at you with a surprised look, "wait, really? remind me of what i did again because i don't have any records of picking fights with you...?" confusion.

you casted a disdainful look towards the male, prompting to stay silent to his nonchalant question-answer. gojo didn't pry on, the confusion still written all over his face, but he walked by your side slowly, matching your steps.

"i'm sure you're gonna beat me in statistics." he suddenly prompted, grinning brightly, "i didn't have time to study."

you groan out in annoyance, typical template of words people use when they know damn well they're going to ace the test. his words were answered with complete silence from you as you slipped inside the cafeteria, walking towards a section to buy yourself a meal.

and gojo, like he said — didn't follow you and parted ways right after you both enter the rowdy place.

"so, what's your score?" gojo whistles, leaning back on his chair as he holds onto a paper, looking at it intently.

you clutched onto the statistics test you did last week, blinking hesitantly, "ninety-eight." your reply was short, but at least it answered him.

a few seconds passed by and doubt started surging in you, maybe he had landed yet another perfect mark? maybe he's one point higher? maybe he's thinking of words to make fun of you with. so many thoughts at this point that you felt your head hurt.

"congratulations."

"yeah, yeah i— congratulations?" you turn towards the male, who was holding out his paper with the number '96' on it.

it took you a few seconds to digest the whole scenario. you actually beating him by two points? it might not seem a lot to other people, but to you? two points felt like you'd just won a competition first place with a gold medal.

the corner of your lips twitched upwards, "i did it."

gojo shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, he didn't seem too affected by your score, "guess you did. congrats."

the whole thing felt a little too good to be true, you tried doing anything to wake up from this dream. pinching yourself, smacking yourself, but nothing happened — this is real life.

and you finally beat gojo satoru in a brain game.

"oh my god, okay — i am freaking out a bit." you tell him, a small smile plastered on your face. in that moment, you wanted to just scream, shout, and let all your euphoria out.

"hold your horses, we still have economics next week." he chuckles, shaking his head.

but you were too ecstatic to hinder his words, standing up, you ran out of the class with sporadic steps. you jumped down a few steps of stairs and approached a vending machine giddily, inserting a bill and pressing on a big can of pop.

opening it with a slight 'pop!' you chugged down on the contents happily, walking all around the school property with a big smile that brought people into a state of wonder. asking themselves to why you could be this happy.

finding yourself on the rooftop, you inhaled sharply. letting the summer breeze caress your face lightly, you sat down around the corner of the staircase, scrolling through your phone happily. even to commemorate the day — you'd mark it in your phone's calendar, naming the day "the day i finally beat gojo satoru's brain power!"

hugging the device, elated. you look up towards the blue sky, was this it? was everything you sacrificed just for today? could you finally study without the burden of beating him in the future?

you hear the door to the rooftop open with a loud slam, flinching a bit. startled at how loud it was, and to your dismay, it was the deep, agonizing laugh of gojo satoru that made you freeze on your spot.

"y/n got higher in statistics? woah." you recognized that voice as geto suguru, one of gojo's closest friend besides shoko ieiri, "what did you do?"

at the mention of your name and last week's statistic test, your ears perked up a bit. gojo's deep chuckles resounds and he cleared his throat, "i could've beat them if i wanted to."

you bit the inner of your cheek silently, "could've? why didn't you?"

"i felt bad for them."

that was it. those three words were all it took to dissipate the ecstasy you felt for a short while. turns out it was all a fluke? you blinked in confusion, does that mean you beating him was all a planned thing he made?

"what do y'mean feel bad?"

"i don't know suguru, they look like they're trying so hard," gojo mumbles out lightly. even if there were no signs of mockery in his voice, still, you felt as if this was an unfair win for you (not that there was a win-lose from the beginning, you just made it up along the way).

the disappointment seeped in, and you felt a sense of languor washing over you. he was just letting you win, standing up slowly, you brushed your outfit — making your presence known to the two friends.

"you're a fucking prick, you know that?"

gojo looks back at you, his eyes widening the slightest bit, obviously not expecting you to be here, "how long have you been listening to us?" he asks you softly, exhaling slowly as if he had been holding a deep breath.

"it doesn't matter how long i've been listening to you, fuck you."

gojo's face fell as you began leaving the rooftop, he contemplated on chasing after you, but stopped himself from doing so. assuming you wouldn't be in the right mind to be talking to him right now.

or ever.

which was proven by the constant game of cat-and-mouse, he and you were doing.

"y/n, can we talk—" you brushed past him like he didn't matter, and gojo swore he felt his heart break a little when you walk by him, not even sparing a glance. but he didn't chase after you.

for the next couple of weeks, the male has been nothing but desperate. trying to reach out to you both online and offline, but much to his dismay, none of them had the feedback he needed to hear. and it fucking broke him.

"y/n, can we please talk about this?" he asks you as you took a seat on your assigned seat like the usual, but you didn't give him the attention, "please don't ignore me, talk to me."

he sounded so desperate. at this point, it was like the male was at school for you and you only. he just needed to talk to you about everything, get things straight, and live life like the usual. fighting about grades, teasing you about it, even if you return it with simple insults or the language of sarcasm.

he just needed that y/n back.

as you stood up, this time gojo chases after you, grabbing your wrist as you slipped away from the door, "talk to me, please," he mutters out lowly, his grasp so gentle.

you furrowed your brows and pulled your wrist away before turning away, walking further from where he stood.

"why won't you talk to me?" he asks you out, his voice echoing throughout the hallway of the third floor, "why won't you let me explain what i really meant by what i said that day? why won't you give me a chance to talk about it? why won't you talk to me?"

it irked you. he succeeded in stopping your walk, making you glance back at him in annoyance, "i didn't mean it in a way i didn't trust that you could beat me in the test," he said, standing in the same spot, the creases in between his brows deepening and a big frown latched on his lips.

"i see you everyday, ruining yourself to try and beat me. i can't fucking stand it y/n— you're killing yourself slowly. and i don't like that," he tells you, "i didn't even know why this was a competition in the first place, you're a smart person, why do you have to validate that by trying to beat my grades?"

you clenched your fists in annoyance. annoyed that he was somehow right on point. yet again, he was right.

gojo looks at you, waiting for an answer. his eyes profusely blinking as if he was holding back tears, which wasn't the point. you spared him an odd look, trying to walk away yet again. but the male was ready to hold you in your place, gripping your arm.

"why are you doing this to yourself?" he asks you.

"doing what?" you finally answered him.

"this. everything."

i look him dead in the eyes, "because i fucking hate the fact that you're beating me in the only one thing i'm good at. i don't fucking know gojo, the fact that i'm actually not that good at the one thing i assumed i'm good at is pissing me off — you're pissing me off!"

"y/n, what the fuck are you talking about?"

you pulled your arm away, "look at you. you're attractive and you're smart — i don't think i'm attractive, so i just try to be smart, but i'm apparently not doing a fucking good job at it too."

gojo heaves out a sigh, "so you think i'm attractive and smart?"

you look at him in disbelief, "how is that important right now?"

"it is important. the person i like thinks i'm attractive and smart," he tells you.

"okay, so what if i find you attractive and smart— did you just say you like me, gojo? what the fuck?" you asked him, very surprised and he sent you a charming smile.

"how is that important right now?" he questions back, grabbing your hand, giving it a light squeeze, "what matters is that you're not going to ignore me again, because frankly speaking, i fucking hate it when you're ignoring the fuck out of me y/n. i don't care if you insult or talk shit about me, just don't ignore me."

i look at him, mouth slightly agape, "can we talk about the 'the person i like' part, please?" you posed a question, still in disbelief.

"no. that's not important."

"yes it is important, gojo."

"so when it comes to my feelings to you, it's suddenly important? can we talk about your feelings to me after then?" you shook your head and walked away after that sole question, "that's a bit unfair don't you think? and why the hell are you walking away? come back!"

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !