#Hand Knotted Shoulder Bag

[project-1000]

Improve Your Glamour with Office Shoulder Bags for Women and Hand Knotted Shoulder Bags

how you carry your belongings and your organization is determined by the right bag you need. Office Shoulder Bags for Women and Hand Knotted Shoulder Bags are two items that are indispensable in the Protocol for every contemporary woman. These bags are not only fashionable accessories to your outfit but also incorporate functionality in a woman's life. At Project1000 we respect quality, style, and functionality, and that is why we want to help you make the right choice of bags. For business or work purposes it is very important to have a good sturdy bag but at the same time, the bag should be fashionable and chic. Office Shoulder Bags for Women are created for women who want a stylish purse that meets the demands of a working day.

Designs and Characteristics of Office Shoulder Bags for Women

Spacious and Organized: Office shoulder bags have fairly large spaces and come with so many pockets and sections to ensure that the items inserted are orderly stored.

Professional Appearance: Touting premium leather finishes and durable fabric material, these bags are stylish and chic, which assist you strike a good figure at work.

Comfortable to Carry: These bags have padded straps that spread out the weight across your shoulder, making these bags comfortable to wear even when fully tucked with your working gear.

Versatility: As much as they can be loved in the workplace, these bags can be worn to evening events since they are not overly formal in their design.

These hand-knotted shoulder bags have a certain charm that cannot be described or imitated and that can be found in no other bags. Hand Knotted Shoulder Bags can be recommended to those of you who appreciate simple yet high-quality production and exclusive designs.

Characteristic Of Hand-Knotted Shoulder Bags: -

Artisanal Craftsmanship: Every hand-knotted shoulder bag is crafted to perfection with care being taken to ensure that it was done properly. Since the work is being done manually, the artisans use strings to tie the material in various beautiful interlinking patterns.

Unique Designs: All the hand-knotted bags are unique and are not made in anytime, anywhere duplicate. This uniqueness hopes that the wearer owns a unique accessory that sets out his or her trend.

Durable and Long-Lasting: Although the main idea of the material is to give it an aesthetic look and design, this method of hand-knotting also gives the bag more strength.

Eco-Friendly: Most shoulder bags that are hand-knotted are made of natural or recycled fabrics; therefore, people who value the environment would be happy with them.

Why Choose Project1000?

Quality Assurance: All of our bags are sourced from reliable manufacturers and artisans with the use only of the highest quality raw material. This way, clients are assured that any bag you buy from us is of the best quality that will last you for ages.

Wide Selection: We can offer you a vast range of chic-intensive products with different characteristics in terms of styles, colors, and designs.

Customer Satisfaction: Customer satisfaction is very important to us and we do all in our power to ensure that our shoppers enjoy shopping with us. This team is ready to provide you with any information or help in choosing the individually suitable bag.

Convenient Shopping: Browse through the comfort of your home and make your orders. Varying bags can be obtained conveniently through our well-designed web page with full payment facilities and fast delivery.

Conclusion

Possessing what one needs in the wardrobe can boost looks and convenience in immeasurable ways. Office Shoulder Bags for Women should act as smart and well-organized for work, and Hand Knotted Shoulder Bags should inspire artisan’s work. To address these needs, Project1000 has the following bags; These bags are of high quality and will still be fashionable besides fulfilling the said purpose. Come visit our website today to see for yourself the full line of products we have to offer and the perfect bag that you need.

[midnightarcheress]

stress-relief

husband!Simon helping his wife!reader with her stress <3 cw: nsfw. mdni. fem reader, masturbation, squirting, a lil overstim.

you shuffle through the bag to find the keys to your home, only to drop it the minute you raise it to unlock the door. great. it’s one of those days where everything goes wrong, and you want nothing more than to shut out the world and curl up in bed, silently praying for the next one to be better. 

you pick up the keys from the doormat and swing open the door of your flat, hoping that the familiar scent flooding your lungs will help you ground yourself back to a more serene state. tossing your coat and bag aside, your gaze falls on the tall man quietly reading on the sofa, sweetly mouthing a “welcome back, love.” that you dismiss with a grunt, stomping your way to the bedroom.

‘uh-oh.’ Simon thinks, siren already buzzing and red light blinking in his brain, making him pull up to his feet at god-speed and quickly follow you to your shared room, being met with your clothes scattered around and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. he promptly puts away your discarded attire and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you.

you stay in the shower for some good thirty minutes, allowing the water to wash away your stress as you massage your scalp. the weight finally falls from your shoulders and flows down the drain, leaving you alone with the tiredness that’s been brewing in your tense muscles since you stepped out of the house. with a long, weary sigh, you drape the towel around your body and walk out the bathroom, tiny droplets cascading from your hair to your chest, descending on the swell of your breasts and stirring your husband’s cock in his pants.

“gonna tell me wha’ got you so cranky, dove?” he asks with the slightest of teasing, knowing he’s staggering on the thin line of your temper.

“‘m sorry, jus’ a hard day.” you mutter sheepishly, turning to get some well-deserving comfy clothes on the dresser

“c’mere,” you barely have time to react before Simon pulls you by the wrist onto the bed, positioning your body between his legs as he rests on the headboard, “talk to me, lovie.”

his hands brush your arms delicately, fingers running up and down your skin as you start addressing the misfortunes of your day. how a jerk cut you off in traffic, how a client screamed at you on the phone after you explained it wasn’t possible to fulfill his request, how your long awaited sweet treat after lunch fell straight to the floor, how your mother called just to raise hell at you for not visiting enough, how your boss scolded you for a mistake that wasn’t even your fault.

“hm, she said tha’?” he murmurs, massaging the knots on your shoulders and slowly drifting his hands downwards, opening up the lightly damp towel that’s clinging to your frame as you ramble. his rough, calloused skin finds its way to your soft tits, gently kneading the fat while his lips plant small kisses all over your neck.

“i swear that woman’s out to get me, don't know how i haven’t been fired yet.”

“she knows tha’ place would fall apart without ya, doll. you’re the only one with a brain there,” he coos sweetly in your ear, fingers traveling down your stomach and reaching your mound, making your breath hitch in your throat. Simon smirks at your reaction, feeling your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder and your still wet hair soaking his shirt, “let me help you decompress, eh?”

you, too tired to resist the offer, let him spread your legs with ease, compliant to the touch of your loving husband. his middle finger smears the hasty arousal leaking from your cunt through your slit, softly caressing your folds as you melt into his arms. “so wet f’me, love.” he chuckles, slightly rubbing your clit as you hum.

his moves are tame, gradually pooling the warmth in your belly, taking his time to shape your tension until it’s the right moment to set you free. his finger toys with your entrance before sliding in, feeling the familiar walls of your cunt clenching around it, causing you to breathe heavily at just the beginning.

“you like tha’?” he whispers, introducing another finger on your tight hole as you turn to bury your face on his neck, mewling with pleasure and pain while he stretches you, digits hitting all the right spots. by the time he speeds up the thrusting, your moans are erratic, gasped, barely leaving your throat as you grasp his forearm in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, even with your brain reaching the fucked-out point by a simple touch.

his thumb lazily strokes your swollen nub as he continues to be knuckles-deep inside of your velvety walls, curling his fingers just enough to earn a squeal out of you. the coil on your lower stomach tightens, fibers threatening to snap at any second as Simon murmurs sugary praises in your ears whilst nipping the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, the love bite’s stings only intensifying the pleasure coursing through your bloodstream.

“Simon, ’m gonna-” you don’t even have the energy to complete your sentence before your juices flood on his hand, the god’s nectar gushing from your pussy and dripping from his wrist onto the long forgotten towel, as he bullies your clit to overstimulation. you cry out his name like a prayer, begging whatever higher power out in the universe to let you keep that sensation forever.

“looks like someone really needed tha’,” he laughs and you feel the deep rumbling from his chest on your naked back, only driving you closer to the edge as your legs convulse at the overwhelming thrill of your nervous system. your frantic moans echo in the room when Simon raises his free hand to your nipple, rolling the hardened tip between his thumb and index, painting twinkling stars in the ceiling, the scintillation being too much to keep your vision clear. “think ya got another one f’me, princess?” 

he doesn’t wait for your answer; he knows how to treat his precious wife and can cite by heart the prescription to get you to sleep better than any pill would. tears prickle in the corner of your eyes when he starts again, just barely giving you time to recover from the near out-of-body experience. 

his new rhythm is harsh, pulling your thighs - fully covered in slick and arousal - over his to keep you spread open, and fiercely pounding two digits inside you. you squirm and press yourself harder against his broad chest, babbling incoherently as he pumps his thick and scarred fingers somehow even deeper than before. 

“Si, ‘s too much, i can’t-” you choke out, streams rolling down your cheeks as he builds another orgasm out of you. half-lidded eyes meet his hazel irises in a lustful gaze, pleading in agony for another release before your body gives out.

it doesn’t take much before a jolt of electricity tingle beneath your skin and makes you cum, getting you blissfully drunk by finger-fucking only while your peak ripple through your core. your hands sternly grip on the sheets under your limp body, the frenzy running its way through every corner of your being, clouding your vision and leaving you in a divine peaceful haze.

your limbs twitch slightly as you come down from your high, Simon holding you tight in his burly arms and pressing kisses on your pretty face. “you did so good, lovie,” he praises, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your belly, “could’ve given ya s’much more but your eyes are so droopy already,” his quiet laugh almost lull you to sleep right there and then, “feeling better?”

you nod, eyes tempting to close as the fatigue washes over you, weariness creeping up your mind after a hell of a day and a celestial end to it. “thank you, Si.” you mumble with nothing but affection in your voice, utterly elated by the sight of your devoted husband cradling you. 

“anything for ya, my wife.”

just a little something i thought of while procrastinating my other works lol

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

~

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

~

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

[chestersturniolo]

“They don’t fuck around”

~ dealer!chris ~

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

You wake up to the faint sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric. Blinking in the dim light, you roll over on the couch to see Chris hunched over, stuffing things into his backpack. You don’t say anything yet, just watching him move with purpose, his jaw clenched and his eyes sharp.

You stretch, the blanket falling off as you sit up. “Chris?” you ask softly, your voice still thick with sleep. “Where are you going?”

He barely looks up, tightening the straps on the bag before slinging it over his shoulder. “I got a deal ma-” he says, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. “-big one”

You feel a pang of worry but push it aside. It’s nothing new—this is just a part of his life. A part of your life. “Can I come?” you ask, sliding off the couch and padding barefoot toward him. “I’m bored, pleaaase” you whine, sticking your lip out like a child asking for candy.

Chris stops what he’s doing and looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He steps closer, cupping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up. “Not this time baby”

“Why not?” You can see something heavy behind his eyes, something he’s not telling you.

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, and he sighs. “This one’s different” he says, his voice low, serious. “These guys I’m meeting, they’re not like the usual. They don’t fuck around. Guns, the whole thing-” He pauses, his grip on your chin tightening just a little. “-If something goes south, I can’t have you there. I won’t risk that”

His words hit you like a cold wave, and suddenly, you’re wide awake, nerves flickering in the pit of your stomach. “Chris...” Your voice falters. “…what about you?”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, soft kiss that’s meant to soothe you, but it only makes the knot in your stomach tighter. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a murmur. “I’ll be fine, ma. I’ve done this before. You just need to trust me, okay?”

You nod, even though you don’t trust this feeling, you swallow the anxiety. “Okay” you whisper.

Chris pulls back, as he reaches into his pocket. “Here-” he says, holding out a thick wad of cash, rolled up tight with an elastic band. “-go out, spoil yourself, spoil your friends. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it”

You stare at the money for a second before looking up at him. “Chris, I don’t care about—”

“I know…i know you don’t. But it’ll keep your mind off things. Go have fun. I’ll text you when I’m done” with one more kiss to your forehead he presses the roll of cash into your hand, and then he’s gone, slipping out the front door with a quick glance back, like he’s making sure you’re staying put.

You stand there, holding the cash, listening to the quiet of the apartment after he’s left. The usual calm that comes after he leaves for a deal doesn’t settle over you this time. Instead, a heavy, unsettling feeling lingers.

You toss the money on the coffee table and sit on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. Where you’ll stay, until Chris’ text comes through. 

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

taglist;

@sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh @phone4pills @demzzz @dripgodnay

@sturniooolos @monroesturnns @mattsbitchh @slutforsturnioloss @pvssychicken @tsturniolo4 

@brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @stvrlighht @witchofthehour @ilyttmatsa @asherrisrandom

[gojonanami]

BIRTHDAY WISHES — S. GOJO

content: fluff, gojo baking you a cake, silliness, cuddles, fluff, breeding, my birthday gift to all of you

“What are you doing?”

Satoru looks up, face and apron covered in flour, several open containers from jars to boxes spread out on the counter, and a large mixing bowl sat in front of him. He had a heap of sugar in a measuring cup that he was about to pour in.

“Oh, just baking,” you raise an eyebrow with a snort, walking over, as you thumb away the flour on his cheek.

“I see most of it ended up on your face instead of your stomach,” and he pouts, wiping his face, but only smearing it further on his face, “why are you up so early?”

“I can’t wake up early now?” And you watch him dump sugar into the bowl. And you raise an eyebrow, as you watch him glance at his phone, turning his body to block your view, “shouldn’t you get some more rest, sweets? You just got back from your mission,”

“Mm,” you hug him from behind, burying your face in his luckily un-floured back, “but I’m missing my pillow,” and you feel the chuckle rumble against you, “and I should be telling you that. I know you’re always to bed later than I am,”

“I told you I would do your paperwork for you and I did, because I am the best husband,” you smiled, nuzzling into the soft planes of his back — you still couldn’t believe someone so strong could also be this soft, “you had Shoko check you?”

“Clean bill of health, just a headache, but she said that’s normal with time dilation curses,” you smiled, as he started to mix the bowl, even with you wrapped around his back, “but she prescribed cuddles in bed, and for you to get back to it,”

You can hear the grin on his lips as he speaks, “Oh? I don’t remember her mentioning ‘cuddling’ as a cure to anything,” you lean up kissing his neck, fingers tracing along his undercut, and you feel the slight shiver that sneaks down your husband’s body — and you love it. You love how this man, the pinnacle of strength can be bent by your will, and he would do it again and again for you, “sweetheart—“ he whines.

“Please?” And he sighs, as he covers his bowl, wiping off his hands on his apron, before pulling it off, but he was forgetting one thing, “Toru, your face?” Flour and batter still caked on, but his lips only curled, as you only could manage a half step back, before he’s catching you by the wrists.

“Aw c’mon, wifey, in sickness and health right?” And you’re squirming, giggling as he tries to draw closer to you with flour and batter all over.

“I don’t remember messes being a part of that,” you squeal, but he’s scooping you into his arms, “Toru! No—“ but he’s muffling you with a kiss, and you’re gasping as he makes sure to tilt and twist his head, before kissing down your jaw to make sure you were covered too.

“And now we’re matching,” and you’re pouting at him, trying to break from his grip, but he’s already tossed you onto the bed. He grabs a towel from your bathroom, dampening it before wiping your face and then his own. He tossed it into the hamper, a smile on his lips as he cuddles up behind you, “just what the doctor ordered right?”

And you turn your head and kiss him softly, “right.”

~~~

And now it was the second time you woke up alone in your bedroom.

You check the time and see it’s almost noon, a sigh on your lips as you stretch your body, muscles in knots still, as you slip out of bed.

You find your way out and into the kitchen only to snort again.

“Put the icing down,” and your husband freezes, piping bag in hand, as he turns, careful to maneuver his body to block what he was working on, "what are you doing?"

"Sweets, shouldn't you be sleeping--" and you're stepping forward, trying to crane your neck to see, "no! I have my delicates out--"

"And you're using frosting on them?" and he's pouting, hands on your shoulders, "Toru, why are you acting so weird?"

He sighs, head hanging, as he finally steps aside to show what he's been working on.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

You furrow your brow, thinking about the date, "who's birthday is it?" Satoru flicks your forehead lightly, "ow!"

He's chuckling, as you rub your forehead, "Well, who's the only other person here besides your wonderful, thoughtful husband?"

"But my birthday--" and then you check your phone, the date of your birthday staring back at you, "how--" and then it dawns on you, "the curse, it screwed with my sense of time, I completely mixed up what date it was,"

He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on top of your head, "You may forget, wifey, but I'll never forget my favorite day of the year,"

You smile, "Your favorite day?" and he hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"The day the best person was born to ever exist was born," and you laugh.

"And I thought that was you," and he's clicking his tongue.

"No, I was born only to worship at your feet, humbly of course," and your lips curl, as he murmurs against your ear, "can your humble servant finish the cake, oh beautiful goddess?"

"Of course,"

And now you're sat in the living room, eyes closed and covered by your hands at Satoru's insistence, "Toru? Do you need help?"

"Just a second, you can't rush perfection, sweetheart," and you can hear him puttering around the kitchen, drawers opening and closing.

"But I'm rushing you," you tease, a smile on your lips, "the lighter is in the far left drawer,"

You can imagine the pout on his lips, "I'll let that comment slide for now," and you hear the click of the lighter, and you hear his footsteps finally approach, "you can open your eyes,"

And you do to find the lights dimmed and Satoru holding a somewhat messily made cake with your name now written on it, his sweet grin illuminated by the glow of the candles.

"Happy birthday to you," he sings softly, "Happy birthday to you," and he's stepping forward, setting the cake in front of you, "Happy birthday, my lovely wife," and you can't stop smiling, "Happy birthday to you," and you grin, covering your lips, "uh-uh, you can't blow out the candles like that, sweetheart,"

"What do I wish for when I have everything I want right here?" you pull him close, your lips finding his, "I love you," and he kisses you again, fingers cupping your cheek.

You blow out the candles, as he smiles up at you, "Not as much as I love you."

~~~

"What did you wish for anyway?" he hands you a piece of the cut cake, as you pick up some frosting with the fork.

"I'm not supposed to say, it's a secret, buuuut,” you lean and whisper, “I really want a baby,” and you hear his breath hitch, lips parting, as he looks at you, a hunger in his gaze, before you smear frosting down his cheek.

“HUH?” And you’re giggling and running to the bedroom, “sweetheart—“ and then he’s hit with your t-shirt and shorts in the face.

“I wasn’t kidding!” And he tosses the clothes away, grin on his face as he’s taking off his shirt.

“Your wish is my command.”

And he wouldn’t let you leave bed until he was sure he had bred you well.

[chosok-amo]

ONE TOO MANY : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

the first time you have an argument with your two boyfriends is because they've been ignoring you for weeks, so you return the favor.

wc. 4,3k | m.list | part. 2

warning. boyfriends! satosugu, angst to fluff (kinda), petnames, light arguments, silent treatment, and idk.

as you sit on the couch, the dim light of the living room casting long shadows across the room, you glance at the clock. it's late—much later than usual for geto and gojo to be coming home. a knot of worry tightens in your chest, but you push it aside. you know their work can be demanding, but you miss them.

the door finally creaks open, and your heart leaps as geto and gojo step inside. but something feels off. their usual smiles are absent, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion. geto barely acknowledges you with a nod, and gojo doesn't even glance your way, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“hey...” you begin softly, but your voice trails off as they move around the room like you're not even there. geto drops his bag by the door and heads for the stairs, clearly ready to crash in bed without a word. gojo's usually bright eyes are dull, and when he finally looks at you, it's with a tired expression that makes your heart sink.

“i’m just... really tired,” gojo mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoids your gaze.

you feel a wave of frustration and hurt rise within you. they’ve had long days before, but they’ve never been so dismissive. you stand up, crossing your arms, trying to figure out what to say, how to break through whatever barrier has suddenly sprung up between you. “baby... what's going on?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

geto pauses at the base of the stairs, sighing deeply, “just... give us some space, okay? we’ve had a rough day.”

his words hit you harder than they should, and you’re left standing there, feeling more alone than ever as they head off to bed without another word. the room feels colder, emptier, and you’re left wondering if it’s something you did, or if there’s something they’re not telling you.

the next morning you wake up to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of music coming from the kitchen. your stomach does a flip, a hint of excitement mixing with lingering unease. you slide out of bed and pad down the stairs, your heart rate picking up as you near the kitchen.

the sight that greets you is unexpected. geto and gojo stand side by side, their back to you as they putter in the kitchen. gojo's tall form easily dominates the space, his shoulders broader than you remembered. geto's hair is ruffled, still messy from sleep, and it's a stark contrast to his usually composed appearance. they haven't noticed you yet, engrossed in their task as they move around each other in a synchronized dance.

you lean against the doorway, watching them for a moment. gojo's slender fingers skillfully flip pancakes, and geto hums along to the music playing softly in the background, a spatula in his hand as he tends to the bacon.

it's a scene so domestic and natural, yet it feels surreal given their cold demeanor from last night. it's as if they're trying to pretend yesterday never happened, to go back to normalcy. geto suddenly looks up, catching your gaze. his expression turns serious, his dark eyes locking onto yours. gojo continues cooking, his back still to you, but you can almost feel the tension radiating from him.

“you're up,” geto comments, his voice neutral.

you clear your throat, trying to keep your tone light, “yeah, the coffee smell woke me up.”

“coffee's almost done,” gojo says without turning around, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. an awkward silence settles over the room, thick and stifling.

you watch as they continue to cook, each movement precise and calculated. no small talk, no casual touches or laughter like you're used to. gojo plates the pancakes and bacon, setting them on the table, before finally turning to face you. his normally bright eyes are cool and detached.

“breakfast is ready,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the distance between you growing wider with every passing moment. the breakfast they've prepared looks delicious, but sitting down to eat together feels like an impossible feat given the current atmosphere.

you shift your weight, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further. the air in the kitchen is charged, and the earlier domestic scene has been shattered. geto turns back to the stove, his shoulders tense as he tends to the food. gojo continues flipping pancakes, his movements more rigid than normal.

“so...” you begin, your voice breaking the silence, “about last night—”

“don't,” geto interrupts, his voice firm. “can we just not do this right now?”

his blunt response hangs in the air, and you're taken aback by his abruptness. you feel your frustration and confusion mounting, but before you can say anything, gojo puts down the spatula, his voice laced with irritation.

“yeah, maybe we should just focus on the food,” he says, avoiding your gaze. the room falls into an awkward silence again, only the sound of cooking filling the air. you can feel the tension building, the unspoken words and emotions hanging heavily between you.

you look at them for a second, just staring without saying a words and they can see how quickly your expression change to cold as clear as the day. you swallow hard, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. instead, you just nod, barely meeting his eyes as you mumble, “okay.” your voice comes out small, almost defeated, as you focus on the floor.

even as you agree to let it go, the hurt gnaws at you. you want to bridge the gap, to reach out to them, but the coldness in their demeanor keeps you at arm’s length. the silence stretches on, and you’re left feeling more alone than ever, standing just a few feet away from the two people you thought you were closest to.

the meal is eaten in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. neither geto nor gojo make an effort to talk like they usually do, their eyes focused on their food. gojo's movements are mechanical, while geto's gaze keeps shifting towards you, his expression a mixture of guilt and determination to keep his distance.

as you finish eating, they quickly rise, busying themselves with cleaning up, still avoiding any meaningful eye contact with you.

as satoru reaches for your plate, you finally speak up, your voice firmer than you expected, “don’t.” he freezes for a moment, his hand hovering over your plate. you can feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look up. “i’ll do it myself,” you add, your tone making it clear that this isn’t up for debate.

geto looks up, his eyes flicking between you and gojo as if silently trying to communicate. gojo seems ready to argue, his jaw clenching, but geto subtly shakes his head, a silent warning. a beat of tense silence passes before gojo reluctantly pulls back his hand, a flash of something that looks like hurt in his eyes. he mumbles something under his breath that you don't quite catch.

pushing down the knot of emotions threatening to choke you, you stand up from the table and walk towards the sink where geto is still standing, his presence a heavy weight in the small space. without looking at him, you ask, your voice edged with coldness, “are you done?”

geto nods, his expression unreadable as he steps back slightly. there’s a moment where you consider softening your tone, but the way they’ve been treating you today and days before hardens your resolve.

“then move,” you say, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. if they want to treat you like this, then you’re not going to just sit there and take it. you’ve given them space, tried to be patient, but their coldness is more than you can handle right now.

geto hesitates, a flash of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before he steps aside, giving you room to move past him. you take your plate to the sink, the cool metal under your fingers grounding you as you begin to rinse it off, your movements sharp, deliberate.

as you stand there, the sound of running water filling the silence, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders. but you don’t turn around. if they want to push you away, you won’t beg them to stay close. not tonight, not anymore.

geto remains where he stands, watching you silently, while gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you as well. the minutes pass in a tense silence, the sound of the water and the clinking of dishes the only noise. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes burning into your skin, but you keep your focus on the task at hand, refusing to break.

geto finally breaks the silence, his voice soft, but with an edge of determination, “can we talk?”

you pause for a moment, letting his request hang in the air. a bitter scoff escapes your lips as you turn off the water, feeling a surge of irony wash over you. you turn to face him, your expression hard as you look between geto and satoru. “oh, now you wanna talk?” you ask, your voice laced with mockery. “when i wanted to talk, you both shut me out. but now that i’m doing the same, suddenly it’s time for a conversation?”

there’s a biting edge to your words, a reflection of the hurt and frustration that’s been building up inside you all weeks. you don’t bother hiding it, letting them feel a fraction of what you’ve been feeling. if they want to push you away, then they’ll have to deal with the consequences.

geto falters, his expression flitting momentarily to gojo, before returning to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and stubbornness. gojo doesn’t say anything, his jaw set, but you can sense the tension radiating from him as well.

“i know,” geto starts, his voice a bit shaky, “i know we’re being unfair. we owe you an explanation. we just…” he trails off, his gaze breaking yours as he glances at gojo again, almost seeking validation. gojo remains silent, his face stoic, but his eyes betray a flicker of internal struggle.

they both shift uncomfortably under your sharp words, gojo’s gaze darting away and geto’s expression darkening. their discomfort only adds fuel to your indignation.

“yeah, it’s funny how that works, isn’t it?” you continue, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you ignore me for weeks and then suddenly want to talk when i’m finally done playing your little game. well, too bad. i’m done playing along,” you turn the water off and walk away to your shared bedroom.

gojo’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can step away. the suddenness of his action catches you off guard, his grip tight but not aggressive. “wait,” he says, his voice low, his eyes searching yours.

geto steps towards you, his expression a mix of guilt and determination, “please.”

the desperation in their voices is unmistakable, and it’s the first sign of vulnerability they’ve shown all weeks. it’s enough to make you hesitate, to feel a flicker of reluctance. but you stood on your grounds— trying to stood on your ground. “i have works to do,” you mumble before push his hand away.

the past few days have been a blur, a mixture of long hours and late nights. you've been coming home later and later, deliberately avoiding going to bed with them, choosing instead to crash on the couch, wrapped in a blanket of silence and exhaustion. it’s not just the late nights—it’s the subtle shift in your routine, the way you’ve distanced yourself, mirroring the coldness they showed you that night. you’re not even sure if they’ve noticed, but it’s become your own form of silent rebellion, a way to protect yourself.

tonight is no different. when you finally walk through the door, it’s nearly one in the morning, your body heavy with fatigue. you’re expecting the house to be dark and quiet, but as you step into the kitchen, the soft light catches your attention. they’re both there, geto and gojo, standing near the stove, the faint smell of food lingering in the air.

gojo looks up first, his expression serious but tinged with something you can’t quite place. geto follows, his gaze steady as he watches you enter. “can we talk?” gojo asks, his voice more gentle than it’s been in days.

you hesitate, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag. “talk about what?” you reply, your voice is neutral, guarded. geto steps closer, concern etched into his features. “we heard you’ve started taking missions again,” he says quietly, the words heavy with implication. “why?”

you feel a flicker of something—anger, maybe, or frustration. they ignored you, pushed you away, and now they want to question your choices? it feels like a cruel twist of fate.

“why not?” you shoot back, dropping your bag onto the counter with a soft thud. “i figured if you two can focus on work and shut me out, then maybe i should do the same. why waste time waiting around?”

gojo's expression hardens at your answer, a shadow passing over his features. geto’s eyes flick between you both, his expression pained. “we’re not shutting you out,” gojo insists, his voice strained, “we’re just..”

“busy,” geto finishes, his gaze dropping to the floor.

the kitchen falls into thick silence, the tension stretching the air between you all. gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, while geto stands in the middle, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

you feel the pressure of their gazes on you, waiting for some reaction, some sign of understanding or forgiveness. but instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, your expression carefully neutral. “okay,” you mutter, the word simple but loaded with a cold indifference that makes their attempts at explanation feel small.

gojo shifts his weight, clearly frustrated by your continued coldness. his jaw clenches. geto tries a different angle, his voice soft. “we've been worried about you being out there alone.”

your eyes flicker back to his, and a flash of irritation passes through them. “alone?” you echo, a bitter edge to your tone. “really? you guys have been MIA for weeks, but now you're worried about me being alone?” the absurdity of the situation hits you, and a mocking laugh bubbles up, escaping in a few harsh chuckles. “you guys are unbelievable,” you say, the laughter carrying a mix of disbelief and hurt.

the laughter seems to take them by surprise, their faces reflecting a mix of guilt and confusion. the mocking tone of your voice stings, cutting through their attempts at reconciliation with a sharp edge.

gojo's jaw tenses, his hand clenching into a fist.

geto winces at the sound of your laughter, his eyes downcast. “i know it looks bad,” he murmurs, his voice almost pitiful.

“looks bad?” you repeat, your voice raises an octave, anger leaking into your words. “that's a nice way to put it. you two have been distant for weeks, acting like i don't even exist. then suddenly you're here, in the kitchen, when you know most nights i get home late.”

you step forward, your eyes narrowing as you gesture towards them. “were you waiting for me?” you ask, your voice quiet but seething with anger. “were you hoping to catch me in a weak moment, when i'm tired and vulnerable, so you could have this little heart-to-heart and feel better about yourselves?”

they both take a step back, looking taken aback by your sudden aggression. gojo's expression is a mix of guilt and defensiveness, while geto's eyes widen at the accusation. you take a deep breath, letting the anger ebb away just enough to speak. “i don't have time for this,” you say, letting out a sigh, “i only came home to get my things because my flight leaves in two hours. i’ve got a mission abroad for a week.”

the reality of your departure hangs in the air, the urgency in your voice making it clear that this conversation will have to wait. you turn, starting to gather your things, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as you move. the distance between you all feels like an insurmountable chasm, but for now, you have to focus on what’s ahead.

geto's eyes widen in surprise, while gojo's face pales. “wait—” they both speak at the same time, their voices filled with a mix of shock and desperation. geto quickly regains his composure, stepping forward, his arm reaching out. “hold on a second,” he says, his voice urgent, “you can't just leave—” gojo cuts in, his expression a mix of guilt and worry. “you’re not seriously going alone, are you?”

you brush off geto's arm, continuing to gather your things. “i don't have a choice,” you reply, your voice firm. “the higher-ups assigned me to the mission. i have to go.” gojo steps in front of you, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of pleading in them. “can we at least talk about this?” he asks, his voice quiet.

you pause, hesitating for a moment before shaking your head. “there’s nothing to talk about. my flight leaves soon, and i have to get ready.”

you can see the hurt in their eyes, the realization of your words sinking in. they hadn’t been there for you, and now they expected you to stay? to wait around for a conversation you didn’t think they even wanted to have?

gojo runs a hand through his hair, his expression frustrated. “what if something happens to you out there?” he says, his voice low and tense. geto steps forward, his eyes on yours, his voice pleading. “you can’t just leave things like this.” the desperation in their voices is a stark contrast to the coldness you’ve been experiencing these past few days. but it’s too little, too late.

your hands pause for a moment, your heart rate increasing at their reactions. you had wanted a reaction, but this intense concern was not what you had expected. you look back at them, your expression carefully nonchalant, despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

“why not?” you asked, your voice betraying none of your inner turmoil. “you two are the ones who have been busy and distant. if you've got your own priorities, then why can't i have mine?”

gojo lets out a frustrated exhale, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “that's not fair,” he mutters, his voice strained. geto looks torn, his eyes flickering between you and gojo. “just because we've been preoccupied doesn’t mean we don’t care.” the guilt in his voice is evident, mirroring the guilt you’ve been feeling. but you push it aside, trying to maintain the facade of indifference.

you let out a heavy sigh and sit down, looking up at them with a weary expression. “then what's fair, satoru?” you ask, your voice is steady but tinged with frustration. “tell me. i’ve been waiting for you two for days, weeks even. when i don’t wait around and i finally start doing things for myself, that’s not fair?”

the question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you. the silence that follows is thick with unresolved feelings, leaving the three of you standing on the edge of understanding, yet unable to bridge the gap between you.

gojo's gaze drops to the floor, his jaw clenching as if he’s struggling with his own emotions. geto's eyes flit between you both, his expression pained as he takes in your words. there's a moment of heavy silence before gojo finally speaks up, his voice low and laced with something you can’t quite place.

“you're right,” he admits, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “we've been shitty. we’ve been distant, ignoring you, making you feel like we don’t care.” geto nods in agreement, his eyes meeting yours as well. “we messed up,” he adds, his voice soft. “we've been dealing with some things and we shut you out.”

gojo runs a hand through his hair again, his gaze darting away and then back to yours. “we didn't mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice quiet but sincere, “we just... we weren't thinking.” the weight of their words hangs heavily in the air, and you feel a pang of sadness at their regret. “but you did hurt me,” you reply softly, your voice carrying a trace of vulnerability.

they both flinch at your words, their expressions flickering with guilt and remorse. gojo lets out a heavy sigh, his hands clenching into fists.

“we know,” he mutters, his voice almost a whisper. geto steps closer, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and understanding. “we were idiots,” he says, his voice filled with remorse, “we didn't realize how much we were hurting you until you started spending less time with us.”

you take a deep breath as you stand to leave, the unspoken emotions and unresolved tension still linger between you. “i need to go. ijichi is waiting for me,” you say, the words firm but carrying an undertone of sadness.

you pause at the door, looking back at them. “we can talk when i get home,” you add, offering a faint, weary smile before stepping out. the door closes behind you, leaving them with the weight of your words and the promise of a future conversation.

they both watch you leave, their expressions a mixture of guilt, sorrow and a hint of hope. gojo's shoulders slump as you close the door behind you, while geto lets out a sigh, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where you were just a moment ago.

the apartment feels strangely quiet without you, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. they both know they have a lot to make up for, but for now, they wait, anxiously anticipating your return.

a week has passed, and the tension has only built as they waited for your return. when you finally come home, the sight that greets you in the living room is striking. geto and gojo are there, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and desperation. they look worn, their usual composure replaced by a sense of helplessness, as though the time apart has taken a visible toll on them.

they both rise as you enter, their eyes searching your face, a mix of hope and apprehension in their gazes. it’s clear they’ve been counting the days, each passing moment stretching into a painful reminder of their mistakes and your absence.

“hey,” you greet them with a small, tentative smile.

the room is thick with unspoken words and emotions. geto and gojo exchange a glance, their expressions softening slightly at your presence. they both take in your appearance, their eyes roving over you as if checking for any sign of injury from your recent mission. their shoulders relax somewhat, relieved that you're relatively unharmed.

gojo is the first to speak, his voice low and hoarse, as if he hasn't used it much these past few days. “you're back,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on yours. geto stands behind him, his arms crossed as if holding back his own mixture of relief and anxiety. “how was the mission?” he asks, his voice a soft counterpoint to the tense silence.

you nod, your smile fading slightly as you respond. “the mission went well,” you say, your voice calm but carrying a hint of fatigue. geto uncrosses his arms, his posture relaxing a bit, while gojo’s shoulders seem to ease from their tightness. the tension in the room begins to shift, making way for the conversation and reconciliation that have been waiting for this moment.

you nod in response, your heart feeling the weight of the moment. “yeah, we can talk,” you say, but the words feel inadequate for what you’re really craving. “but could you hug me? i feel like i’m going to lose my mind if i don’t get a hug from you right now.”

gojo doesn't need to be told twice. he immediately steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a tight grip, pulling you into his chest, his embrace so strong it almost lifts you off the ground. he buries his face in your hair, his breath shaky against your skin. “god, i missed you so much,” he murmurs, the words muffled against you.

geto hesitates for a moment, watching gojo's embrace. the sight of it makes his chest ache, a pang of jealousy mixed with guilt. but then, as if unable to resist, he steps closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his front pressed against your back. his embrace is gentler than gojo's, but no less heartfelt. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

you let out a deep sigh of relief as they wrap their arms around you. the warmth and closeness of their embrace offer a sense of comfort that you've been missing. the tension that’s built up over the past week starts to dissolve, replaced by the soothing reassurance of their presence. in this moment, the words and explanations can wait as you simply allow yourself to be held and to feel that things might start to mend.

they both hold you tight, their arms firm against you. their hold is almost possessive, as if they're afraid you're going to slip away. they don't say anything, their only response a mix of soft breathing and the occasional whispered murmur of your name.

after a few moments, gojo pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his blue eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn't seen you in years. his voice is hoarse when he speaks, filled with a mixture of remorse and vulnerability. “can we sit?” you nod, a small but weary smile crossing your face. “yeah, let’s sit,” you agree, feeling the weight of the past week begin to lift just a little as you prepare to talk and hopefully begin to heal together.

they both guide you to the couch, with gojo sitting beside you while geto takes the armchair across from the two of you. as you settle into the cushions, their eyes follow your every move, as if afraid you might disappear again at any moment.

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. gojo seems a bit unsure where to start, his eyes flickering between you and geto. geto takes the initiative, his eyes staying fixed on you. “we owe you an explanation,” he says, his voice soft but filled with regret. “we understand why you’re angry at us, and we’re sorry.”

gojo fidgets beside you, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands in his lap before he forces himself to look at you again. “we were caught up in some things,” he says, his voice low and almost ashamed. “and we shouldn’t have shut you out like we did.”

geto nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “we were idiots, plain and simple,” he admits, his voice filled with remorse. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you started distancing yourself from us. seeing you leave, not knowing if you were okay or not, it was one of the worst things we’ve ever experienced.”

you listen quietly, your fingers absently playing with the hem of your skirt. their words, while sincere, do little to erase the hurt you still feel from the past week. the pain lingers, a reminder of the distance and isolation you felt.

they both notice your distant expression, the silence in the room growing heavier. gojo’s hand clenches into a fist by his side, his eyes pained as he watches you fiddle with your skirt. geto’s eyes flicker to gojo for a moment before refocusing on you. he seems to struggle for words, his expression filled with regret. “can you look at us?” he says softly, his voice carrying a hint of pleading.

you slowly lift your gaze, meeting their eyes. the hurt is still there, but you try to convey a sense of willingness to listen and understand. “i’m here,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “i’m listening.”

gojo's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily, to take yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, as if seeking some physical connection to ground him. his grip is gentle but firm, a plea for forgiveness and understanding in his touch.

geto's eyes flicker between your faces, his expression taut. “we’ve been careless,” he says, his voice thick with remorse. “we’ve been too lost in other things and we didn’t pay enough attention to you. and that was wrong of us.”

as geto speaks, his remorse is evident in his voice, you take a deep breath. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with the hurt you've been holding onto. “it wasn’t just about not paying enough attention. it felt like you didn’t care at all, and that really hurt.”

they both flinch at your words, their expressions crumpling with guilt. gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes dark with remorse, while geto nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

“we didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t care,” geto says softly, his voice filled with regret. “we were just…” he trails off, struggling to articulate the weight of their actions.

gojo steps in, his voice strained. “we were dealing with some stuff, and we didn’t handle it well. there were ongoing issues with the higher-ups, never-ending missions, and the stress of yuuta and yuji’s executions. the pressure from the school and everything else just piled up, and we let it affect how we treated you.”

the added context helps to explain their actions, but it doesn’t completely erase the pain. the burden of their responsibilities and the way they’ve neglected you come into clearer focus, but the healing process will take time and effort from all sides.

you take a deep breath, your voice steady despite the lingering hurt. “i know you were dealing with a lot,” you say quietly. “i’m dealing with the same stuff—higher-ups, never-ending missions, everything that comes with it. but that doesn’t mean it was okay for you to shut me out.”

you squeeze gojo's hand gently, the firmness of your grip reflecting your resolve. “i understand that you were overwhelmed, but it didn’t excuse how you treated me. i needed you, and instead, i felt abandoned.” the words hang in the air, leaving room for reflection and a path towards healing.

they both hang their heads, their expressions marked by remorse. gojo's grip on your hand tightens, as if begging you to understand. geto’s eyes avoid yours, his guilt palpable. they both know you’re right, their previous justifications sounding hollow now.

gojo sighs heavily, his voice soft but firm. “we know we screwed up,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again. “and we're sorry. we truly are. we shouldn't have let our issues affect how we treated you. you deserve better than what we've given you.”

you take a deep breath, your voice trembling as you begin to speak. “i tried to take fewer missions because i know you both were worried. i wanted to be around more, to show you that I care. but every night... every night, when i’m in bed between you two, you turn your backs on me.”

your tears start to blur your vision, and you struggle to keep your composure. “no matter which side i turn, all i see is your backs. it felt like you were shutting me out, like I was invisible to you. i feel like i have nowhere to go, and feel more alone.”

the emotion in your voice is raw, and the tears that spill down your cheeks only deepen the weight of what you’re expressing. the room fills with the sound of your quiet sobs, adding a poignant layer to the shared moment of vulnerability.

their eyes widen as you continue, their expressions turning pained as you lay bare the depths of your hurt. gojo's grip on your hand turns almost crushing as he listens to your words, his heart clenching as he hears the anguish in your voice.

geto's face is pale, his throat bobbing as he swallows, the sight of your tears a physical manifestation of the pain they've caused. gojo's voice is rough, his eyes fixed on yours. “we didn’t think you felt that way,” he says, his voice hoarse. “we’re sorry. we were idiots.”

gojo’s other hand reaches up, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away some of your tears. “please don’t cry,” he mumbles, his voice cracking as he watches you cry. geto sits up straighter, his eyes fixed on your tear-stained face. “we’ll fix this,” he promises, his voice filled with resolve.

gojo nods, his eyes soft as they roam over your face. “please, just let us make it up to you,” he says quietly, his hand still holding your cheek.

you take a shuddering breath, your voice wavering but firm. “you know how it was at home before i came to jujutsu high. i was always walking on eggshells every day. i don’t want to feel that way with you two. i love you both so much, and it hurts to feel like i’m just an afterthought.” the weight of your words hangs in the air, a poignant reminder of your vulnerability and the deep emotional connection you share.

you look at them with a mix of sadness and fear, your voice trembling. “and i feel so scared because i’ve started to think that maybe I should leave. i don’t want to, but the way things have been... it makes me wonder if staying is just going to hurt more.” the admission is heavy, your fear of leaving mingling with the pain of feeling disconnected. It’s a vulnerable moment, revealing the depth of your uncertainty and the impact their actions have had on you.

their eyes widen at your words, their expressions changing from guilt to fear. gojo’s hand tightens on your cheek, his eyes turning desperate, while geto’s hands clench into fists in his lap. gojo’s voice is strained, his eyes searching yours. “please don’t talk like that,” he murmurs, his tone pleading. “please don’t even think about leaving.”

geto scoots to the edge of the armchair, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “you don’t have to go. we can fix this, just stay.”

they know, from the moment you first got met each other and you told them they were going to go down in history as the world’s biggest idiots instead of swoon over them, that you’re not the type of person to be a pushover. they’ve always admired how you refuse to let anyone disrespect you or treat you as less than you deserve. from the beginning, they understood that once someone starts treating you badly, you’re ready to leave—no matter how much you love them—because your self-respect has always been paramount.

and now, as you stand before them, telling them that if leaving is what it takes to keep yourself at peace, you’ll take that chance and face the consequences, they can feel the weight of that truth. their admiration for your strength has always been part of what they love about you, but now that very strength threatens to take you away from them.

the fear in their eyes deepens, a reflection of the realization that they’ve pushed you to the edge, and they know you won’t hesitate to step away if it means preserving your sense of self-worth.

they sit in stunned silence for a few moments, the weight of your words sinking in. they know you well enough to know that when you say you'll leave, you'll follow through. the thought of losing you, of losing what they have, is too painful to bear.

geto breaks the silence first, his voice soft but filled with an edge of desperation. “you don’t have to leave. we can fix this.” gojo nods frantically, his hand on your cheek holding you more firmly now. “please, don’t talk about leaving,” he murmurs, his eyes pleading.

you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in the room as they hold onto you, their desperation clear. “i did think about leaving,” you admit, your voice is soft but steady. “but it was just for a second because i can’t bear the thought of living without you two. i love you both too much, and that’s why i’m here, willing to talk.”

their grip on you tightens slightly, a mix of relief and guilt washing over their faces. geto’s shoulders relax a little, and gojo’s eyes soften as he hears your words. “i don’t want to lose you,” you continue, “but i need to know that things are going to change. i need to feel like i matter to you as much as you matter to me.”

they both nod slowly, understanding the seriousness of the situation. their hands remain firmly on you, desperate to maintain whatever connection they still have with you.

gojo’s eyes are filled with remorse, his voice soft. “you matter to us,” he says quietly, “so much more than you ever realize. we’ve been idiots. we took you for granted, and we didn’t give you the attention and care you deserve. that ends now.”

geto nods, his expression taut. “we’ll do better,” he says firmly, his voice filled with determination.

they both hold onto you tightly, as if trying to convey the depth of their feelings through touch alone. gojo’s eyes are fixed on yours, his expression filled with remorse. “we’ve been so focused on our own problems that we neglected you,” he mutters, his voice soft. “that won’t happen again. we swear it.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand reaching out to hold your other cheek softly. “we were stupid,” he says bluntly. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you were almost gone.”

you intertwine your hands with theirs, holding onto them firmly as you look into their eyes. “i’m not going to apologize for how i acted this past week,” you say, your voice calm but resolute. “i was just trying to give you a taste of your own medicine, to make you feel the effects of your actions. but that doesn’t change the fact that i love you both so much.”

they both nod, their eyes dropping to your intertwined hands. they know you're right, that you don't owe them any apologies. they have hurt you, and they know it's up to them to make amends.

gojo speaks first, his voice soft but firm. “we don’t expect you to apologize,” he says, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. “we deserve what we got. you had every right to react the way you did.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we were selfish, careless,” he murmurs. “we’re sorry.” you smile softly at them, feeling the weight of their remorse in the way they hold onto you. “i don’t mind you prioritizing your work,” you say gently, your fingers tightening around theirs. “you’re the strongest jujutsu sorcerers, and people rely on you. it’s your responsibility, and i understand that. i just don’t want you to turn your backs on me again.”

their expressions reflect the truth of your words. they know the demands of their profession, and they know they'll always be expected to prioritize their work. but they also know they messed up by neglecting you in the process.

gojo’s eyes stay fixed on yours, his voice low. “we won’t let that happen again,” he promises, his hand gently squeezing your cheek. “we’re going to find a way to balance our responsibilities and give you the attention you deserve.”

you lean your side against gojo's chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. with your hands still intertwined with theirs on your lap, you look up at them, your voice gentle but firm. “please, just talk to me when you’re feeling down or overwhelmed or anything,” you ask, your eyes searching theirs for understanding. “i’m here for you, and i want to help. but i can’t if you shut me out.”

gojo wraps his arm around you as you lean against him, his eyes softening as he listens to your words. geto nods in agreement, his grip on your hand gentle but firm.

gojo’s voice is soft, filled with a hint of guilt. “we know,” he says quietly. “we were wrong to shut you out. we promise we’ll communicate better from now on.” geto’s expression is taut but sincere. “we’ll talk to you when we’re struggling, and we’ll make sure you’re still a priority.”

you smile softly at them, a sense of relief washing over you as you feel the sincerity in their words. “thank you,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude. “thank you for trying to sort things out instead of just letting it be.”

they both look at you, their eyes filled with a mix of guilt and love. gojo’s arm tightens around you, holding you closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your hand in his. gojo nods, his expression firm. “you’re too important to us to let things fall apart like this.”

geto's voice is soft but determined. “we’ll do whatever it takes to make it right again.”

they sit with you in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the air filled with a mixture of relief and unspoken emotions. gojo's hold on you remains firm, his broad chest firm and warm against your side, while geto's hand gently intertwines your fingers with his.

finally, gojo speaks, his voice soft. “can you promise us something?”

you hum softly in response, your curiosity piqued by gojo’s gentle tone. you glance up at him, waiting for what he has to say, still feeling the warmth of their touch grounding you.

gojo's eyes meet yours, his gaze unusually serious. “promise us that you won’t shut us out either,” he says quietly. geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we want to know when you’re not okay,” he adds, his voice firm but gentle. “we don’t want a repeat of this week. we don’t want you to feel like you have nowhere to go.”

you nod softly, feeling the sincerity in their words. “okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. the promise settles between you all, a silent understanding that things will be different moving forward. the weight of the past week begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewed connection.

they both nod at your response, a visible relief washed over them. gojo's grip on you tightens again, his arm holding you even closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your fingers in his.

they both watch you for a few moments, their gazes filled with a mixture of love and newfound determination. they can feel the shift in the air between you, and finally, gojo speaks again, his voice quiet.

“can we ask you something?”

gojo smiles faintly, the sight of your smile melting away some of the tension in his own face. he glances at geto, who nods slightly, before returning his attention to you. “can we sleep with you tonight?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere. “we miss you.”

you playfully roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “of course,” you say softly, “i miss you too.”

they both exhale a sigh of relief, their expressions relaxing instantly. gojo’s arm squeezes you again, his body pressing against you firmly. geto’s grip on your fingers tightens slightly as his eyes linger on your face.

gojo’s voice is low, the relief clear in every syllable. “thank god,” he mutters, his voice heavy but filled with something soft and sincere.

geto nods slightly, his eyes meeting gojo’s for a moment before he turns his gaze back to you. “we missed holding you,” he says quietly, his voice equally as sincere. you look at geto, noticing the lingering guilt in his eyes. geto’s gaze meets yours, his eyes reflecting the lingering guilt. “come here,” you say softly. when you tell him to come closer, he moves to kneel between your legs, his expression still marked by regret.

as you slip his long hair behind his ear, your touch is gentle and reassuring. “you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” you say softly, your voice filled with understanding. “i know you care deeply, and that’s why this hurts. but you’re not alone in this.”

geto's shoulders slump at your words, the weight of his guilt visibly lessening. his eyes stay fixed on yours, the regret in them slowly being replaced by a soft vulnerability.

he leans into your touch, his head tilting slightly involuntarily at the touch of your fingers to his hair. “i know,” he mutters, his voice still heavy with guilt. “i just wish i hadn't let it get this bad.” geto’s voice is soft, the regret and guilt audible in it. “i just… i just can’t forgive myself for causing you pain,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

you give him a reassuring smile, your voice gentle. “i’m not in pain anymore, so you can stop feeling guilty,” you say softly. “we’ve talked things out, and we’re moving forward. it’s okay to let go of that guilt now. we’re okay.”

geto’s eyes search yours, the guilt still visible but diminishing by the second. he nods slowly, his expression taut but hopeful. he speaks softly, his voice still laced slightly with regret. “i know. but i just… it’s hard to shake this feeling, you know? it’s like a knot in my chest that won’t loosen.”

you lean down and gently kiss his chest, then move to his neck and jaw, your touch tender and soothing. each kiss is a silent reassurance, conveying that you're okay now and that you're not mad at him anymore. your actions are meant to comfort and ease the lingering regret he feels, showing him through your touch that things are healing.

his breath hitches at the feel of your lips on his chest, his body tensing for a brief moment before melting into your touch. each press of your lips sends waves of comfort through him, the knot in his chest loosening with every gentle kiss.

he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer, his grip tight and unyielding. when your lips reach his jaw, he tilts his head to give you better access, his eyes fluttering shut. you pull away slightly, your hands still resting gently on his shoulders. you look into his eyes with a soft, reassuring gaze. “don’t feel guilty anymore,” you say gently. “we’re okay. let go of that weight you’re carrying. we’re moving forward together.���

his eyes open slowly, meeting yours. the guilt in his eyes has lessened even more, replaced by a deep vulnerability and newfound trust. he nods slowly, his hands gently pulling you even closer to him.

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice soft and sincere. “i’m trying, i promise,” he murmurs. “i’m trying to let it go. it’s just… it’s just hard, sometimes.”

“shut up, stop it,” you softly murmur. you gently move your hands from his shoulders to his neck, guiding him closer. “come here,” you whisper softly, pulling him towards you until your lips touch his.

he smiles faintly at your soft command, his body willingly moved closer to yours. he doesn’t protest when you gently pull him closer, his eyes closing instinctively as your lips meet his.

the kiss starts slow and hesitant, his body tense against yours as if he’s expecting you to pull away at any second. but gradually, his lips soften, the tension in his body melting away as he surrenders to the tender connection. as geto continues to lean towards you, your back gently presses against gojo’s firm chest. gojo's arms instinctively wrap around you from behind, his presence a comforting anchor as you and geto share a tender kiss. the closeness between all three of you creates a cocoon of warmth and reassurance.

[thestylesplash]

The Long and Short of It - May's Thrifty Six

Happy Monday! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. On Saturday evening I watched the Eurovision Song Contest with a couple of mojitos. I was working Sunday morning, then I drove to my mum’s later in the day. The weather has been quite warm – I don’t know why I’m surprised by that…it is May after all! Shelbee chose this month’s theme of ‘The Long and Short of It’, which immediately made me…

[cherryredstars]

Construction worker!Ghost x Teacher!Reader? They're married and every time Ghost comes home he's instantly pussy drunk at the sight of the reader and hurries up finish eating so he can get to 'dessert' and makes sure his lovely wife gets absolutely cock drunk to remember forever like he always does?

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley" x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex

Unedited

His back aches.

A common occurrence after lugging around bags of concrete and bricks. There is an uncomfortable knot that always flares between his shoulder blades, and Simon sniffs in discomfort as he shifts his hard hat between his arm and side. He's long decided that if a warm shower doesn't help his muscles let up, he'll ask you for a massage. Maybe he'll even ask for you to use the really expensive, nice smelling lotion you bought as a treat to yourself.

His keys knock together as he opens the front door, the scent of you and homemade food instantly flooding his senses. The house is pleasantly cool, drying the sweat that still clings to his skin from the long day in the summer sun. He can hear whatever you're watching from the entrance as he hangs up his work vest and hat, turning to find you sitting in front of the coffee table. Colorful paper in different shapes is spread out in front of you, no doubt something for your students. You turn at the sound of him entering and you give him that breath-taking smile that still makes his stomach dip.

You get up from your spot, letting him get a clear view of the outfit you wore to work today. It's a pretty little summer dress with splashes of color and a skirt flowing just below your knees. Simon can feel saliva pooling on his tongue as you approach, his fingers twitching. You have to balance on the tips of your toes to reach his face, your hands grabbing his cheeks as your soft lips press against his chapped ones. You smell like glue and the summery perfume you wear to match the season. You pull away far too quickly for his liking, and his hands grab at your waist so you don't go too far.

"I've been waiting for you," You declare, hands planted flat on his paint-stained shirt. "Dinner is on the table."

Simon hums, his thumbs rubbing at your sides through the fabric. He lets you lead him to the table when your hands slide down to capture one of his, tugging him along behind you. He can't help the way his eyes follow the curve of your spine, dipping down to the soft swell of your ass. He licks his lips as he sits down at the table, hungry for something more than a home-cooked meal.

You just look so tempting as you sit across from him, giving him that cute smile before you begin eating. You don't even act surprised when Simon starts devouring his plate, already used to his unending appetite. You're barely halfway done with your food when Simon cleans his plate.

"Do you want seconds?" You ask him, looking up at him.

Your stomach drops when you meet his heated eyes. Something in you stirs, and you have to look away for a moment to avoid being sucked into his hypnotic stare.

"In the mood for dessert," Simon grumbles, leaning back in his chair. You gulp, the meaning of his words hitting you straight in your chest. Still, you decide to play coy.

"We have some cookie dough I can pop into the oven real quick?" You offer, pushing yourself away from the table. "Or I can get us some ice cream if you want something cold."

Simon says nothing as you begin to gather the plates, but he pushes away from the table and follows you inside the kitchen. You can feel the heat of his body searing your back as you place the dishes in the sink, hesitantly turning your head to face him. He towers over you effortlessly, and you gasp when his large hands grab at your hips and turn your body to face him.

He lifts you onto the counter top without a single sign of struggle, the back of your dress becoming wet from small spots of water. Even now you have to turn your head up to look him in the eye, and your mouth slightly gapes as he leans in.

"Craving something else." He finally responds, hands grabbing at your skirt and yanking it up to your waist. You gasp, watching as Simon bends down to inspect his next course.

Your panties already have a darkened patch of arousal, and you make a noise of embarrassment when he presses his nose to it and inhales the sweetly tangy scent of your slick. He pushes further, letting his tongue lap at the spot and groaning as if he could taste the full extent of your drooling cunt. Your hands fly to his hair, the short strands filling your palms as you moan out.

You can feel the bastard smiling against you, his warm breath driving you crazy. One of his hands slips away from your skirt, the fabric draping over your thigh and bunching on the counter as he uses it to move your panties aside. The cool air against your core makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced with the hot suction of his mouth. His mouth is scolding as he suckles at the tiny bud between your folds, wasting no time in taking his desired fill of you.

He alternates between long sucks and rapid licks, toying with the bundle of nerves before moving to your dripping slit. The tip of his tongue prods at it, not quite penetrating the leaking hole. Simon groans softly against you when you throw your feet over his shoulders, your heel digging into a sore spot in his back. But the pain just heightens his senses, pushing him to finally tongue fuck you.

A string of moans and whines escape your lips, hands tugging at Simon's hair as waves of pleasure fill your stomach. You try to call out his name, attempting to tell him how amazing it feels- how quickly your high is approaching- but it gets lost in the mind numbing pleasure that fogs your brain. You're left shaking when the build up explodes, your body slumping and your hands trying to push Simon's face away. He grunts, fighting you as he laps up the last of your release, savoring the taste as it coats his mouth. He pulls away with one last, harsh suck to your clit, chuckling when you whimper from the sensitivity.

He lets you catch your breath as he stands up, fixing your panties and skirt. Your body is lax and sluggish, and you don't protest when Simon begins to carry you out of the kitchen and to the bathroom. He whispers soft praises into your ear, telling you how well you took his feasting and how pretty you looked while doing it. You smile happily to yourself, tightening your arms around him as best as you can in your sedated state. As Simon carries you, he realizes that the annoying knot in his back has disappeared.

Maybe all he needed was a good taste of his wife's pussy to heal him.

[cythena]

TOUCH ME TEASE ME FEEL ME UP

❥ — ꒰ notes ꒱ gojo, yuuji, toji, nanami x fem!reader, making out, public (yuuji), semi public (gojo, toji, nanami), cursing, tit sucking (gojo), there’s no sex but very suggestive, everyone gets cockblocked

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ you looked so good for them and they couldn’t resist getting their hands and lips on you

SATORU GOJO ✰ BACKSEAT

he always had ijichi take you two around. he still has no idea how he convinced ijichi to drive you both around. satoru decided to take you on a date to a high class sushi restaurant in the city. you deserved it after the stressful mission you had. so you dressed up. you wore a tight deep blue dress (that he bought for you) and these black heels. he loved the way your legs looked in heels. they shaped your body nicely.

as you walked into the restaurant, he rested his hand on your back right before your ass curved. he couldn’t resist touching you when you looked so perfect. when you sat in front of him he admired your chest and collarbone adorned by the jewelry he gifted you. seeing you made the strongest’s ego swell up even more.

on your way back to the car ijichi texted satoru he would be back to the car in a minute and he didn’t mind at all. he didn’t tell you but he did start rushing you to the car just a little. when you were in your seat he pounced.

he protected your head from hitting the window with his hand. his body crawled on top of you and caged you in. he rubbed his hands against your thighs to pull your dress above your hips. you pushed his head harder against your collarbone. he sucked harshly at your skin until he was confident you had a dark purple bruise. “oh! s-satoru! ijichi-”

“isn’t here right now,” he cut you off and pressed another kiss to your lips. he moved to pull the top of your dress down. now he could see your braless tits. he slurped your nipples obnoxiously loud. “you just look so fucking sexy right now. i’ve been so hot for you since i saw you.”

you whined at his words. he sat up and pulled you down to lie flat on the seat. he lifted your ankle onto his shoulder. his lips focused on kissing your soft ankle and higher. your tits were covered in bite marks illuminated by the moonlight flowing into the car. satoru rubbed two fingers right against your clit through your thin panties.

“you wearin’ a thong?” he teased. you nodded with a loud moan when he squeezed your skin. he shifted his arm underneath your waist to flip you over. “shit- ‘ve gotta see that.”

suddenly someone cleared their throat. satoru languidly pulled himself away from you. his fingers still rubbed at your slit. you scrambled to fix your appearance. in the rear view mirror ijichi’s glasses reflected. you shamefully pulled your dress up and smoothed out the bottom.

“these tinted windows shouldn’t be abused,” the driver muttered to satoru. you could only wished to be as shameless as your boyfriend.

YUUJI ITADORI✰ BEACH

yuuji loved the beach. there was only one thing he loved more, your ass. so imagine his delight when getting to combine his two favorite things. nobara was a genius for planning this day. you had on a cute pink bikini. he remembers you picking it and showing him. it looked pretty online but he didn’t imagine it could look so perfect on you.

the small cups hugged your boobs to your chest and at first you had on the matching beach skirt. he held your hand while you walked to a nice secluded spot to hold for you and your friends. when your spot was ready, you untied the knot at the side and let the skirt fall.

yuuji was looking through your bag for sunscreen at the time. you were facing the ocean while talking to him. when he looked up he caught a beautiful sight of you. your skin was barely covered, it was so delicious to look at. it glimmered in the sun too. he could’ve sworn his mouth was watering. you turned around when he didn’t respond to your question.

“c’mere baby, real quick,” he murmured in a trance. he pulled you onto his lap. his hands played with your ass, fondling and squishing it. your tits were right in front his face too. “you look so pretty, my pretty girl right.” he said with a kiss to your shoulder.

he kissed up your neck and onto your lips. you held the sides of his face as your tongues met. your cunt rubbed against his crotch. he groaned into your mouth. your tongues swirled around each other’s.

“yuuj, calm down,” you giggled. he only pouted and leaned back in to kiss you. you didn’t resist him. your nails tickled his scalp from his undercut. he cock pressed through his shorts. he brought his hand to play with your boob from underneath the thin layer of your top. he pinched and toyed with your nipple.

“‘m sorry baby, your lips taste good. i can’t help it.” his cheeks flushed furiously. your head fell back in a laugh. you kissed his cheeks and stroked his hair. he tasted your strawberry lips again. they were so soft and delicious against his own.

“looking hot y/n! i missed you!” you turned around to see nobara, maki, and megumi walking over. yuuji’s mood deflated now. he hugged you to his chest until you eventually freed yourself to say hi. he laid back on the chair with a towel obviously laid on his lap.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✰ ELEVATOR

getting toji out of the house was a struggle. he didn’t want to get dressed and go to your friend’s party. the entire time you were doing your makeup and getting dressed, he was right behind you pawing at your hips.

you were grateful you made it into the building. your friend rented out a penthouse for her birthday. you stared at the buttons on the wall to the elevator.

“didn’t even know they made buildings this damn tall,” your boyfriend grumbled as he tugged on his collar. you looked at the mirror next to you — bending over to reapply your lipgloss. when toji turned to see what you were doing his eyes immediately fell to your ass sticking out for him.

his hand flew to grab a handful. the impact jutted to you forward a bit and you smeared your lipgloss. angrily, you stood back up about to reprimand him when he shoved you against the mirror. your lip gloss tube clattered to the ground.

his hands swooped your wrists together above your head. one hand locked them together while the other took advantage of the full access to your body. he nipped at your neck, exposed collarbone, and took his time in between your breasts.

“look so good, gotta mark ya up, make sure no man looks at you.”

“toji! control yourself!” you whined. he played with your thighs. his tongue licked a wide stripe back up your neck.

“mad i fucked up your lips?” he taunted. your leg wrapped around his waist, shifting your dress higher. the mirror revealed your lacy black panties that you were saving for him for after the party. you nodded with your lip stuck between your teeth. “poor baby.” he pecked your lips and wiped away the wine colored smudge. his husky voiced whispered, “i’m gonna ruin your whole look.”

the elevator dinged once before both doors began sliding open. toji loosened his grip for a second giving you the chance to push him off. you swiped your lip gloss from the ground and frantically reapplied it while toji fixed your dress. as soon as the doors on either side of you were exposed to the crowd of people.

you hurried to greet your friend with a nervous smile. your hands still smoothed out any wrinkles he left. toji followed behind you, blocking out the bit of your ass left hanging out just for him to see.

KENTO NANAMI ✰ OFFICE

kento was so proud of you for getting a promotion. now you got a new office that needed to be moved into. he offered his assistance to move your boxes into the new place. it wasn’t hard but he just wanted to spend some more time with you.

“you look so gorgeous, princess. i’m very proud of you,” he praised you. he picked you up and spun you around. you giggled once he put you down on your desk. he stroked the side of your cheek. you leaned into his touch.

“thank you, baby.” now kento considered himself a higher class man. he would never act on his perverted thoughts but when he looked down, the button on your blouse was open. multiple actually. enough for the plum colored lace of your bra to peek out.

he checked the time. it was about to be your lunch break. your body relaxed in his arms while he kissed up your neck. he kissed your ear and jawline.

“mhm. what’s gotten into you kento?” you sighed. your hand rested in his hair as he worked around your face. your eyes shut to intensify the feeling of his warm lips on your body. his thumbs stroked the dimples of your back.

“you smell good. do you have time?” he asked already knowing your answer. you followed his steps and checked your clock. he pulled away to look into your deep eyes. you gave him a nod and he reflected your mischievous glint in your eyes and smile.

he helped you to your back and rocked against you. he shoved his suit jacket off, disregarding where it landed. your buttons flew open, displaying your bra. he kissed them before his hands could meet them. your legs wrapped around his waist as your pencil skirt rose. he rubbed your thighs and snapped the strap of your garters against them.

“kento… ‘ts good, feels good,” you purred. he breathed in the alluring scent of your perfume. he’d have to buy you more. it had him rutting against you desperately. he grunted into your skin.

he locked hands with you against your desk. he wrapped the side of your panties around one knuckle to pull it down. he just needed to hear more of you. he had to hear you beg for more of him.

a rhythmic tapping sound echoed in the room. it only hit twice before kento was off of you and pulling your panties up and skirt down. you worked quickly to button up your shirt again.

“just a moment,” you called with a shaky voice. he smoothed out your hair and fixed any details you might’ve missed. “come in!”

the new intern walked in with some papers for you. his eyes flashed around the room nervously. they landed on kento, his slightly wrinkled shirt and gray pants. then they landed on the matching gray suit jacket in the corner.

— © cythena 2024. do not share on tiktok, plagiarize, repost on other platforms, copy, or translate.

[piper-2244]

goodnight moon

how spencer turns college!reader's bad sleeping habits into very good sleeping habits.

MDNI | smut! word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slightest teensiest bit of overstim, fluff to the moon, spence and reader just being sweet, spence just being obsessed and concerned with every little thing about reader authors note: hiiii. soooo this is TERRIFYING. why is smut soooooo scary and vulgar. but i've been working on this one for a long while and i think i'm happyish with it??? idk. its not really adding anything new or revolutionary to the world but i think its cute!! lemme know your thoughts. i think smut is something i'll get better at writing with time but yk. okay whatever have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy!!

There’s a noticeable tension in your shoulders as you lay down on top of the covers of your bed. Your face crushes into the soft down of many pillows, nose buried into the crevices. You trace out the clean smell of Spencer's shampoo that manages to linger on your sheets even after a week of him being away on a case, the fragrance making your head become even heavier with each deep inhale you take.

You can physically feel the exhaustion clawing at your soul. Eyes shut, blocking out the harsh shine of the overhead light you definitely forgot to turn off, you reach your arm up to work on the knot in your shoulder. You roll it back, feeling an unsettling click that probably shouldn’t be there. 

Spencer would be able to work the knot out like it was nothing, if he were here.

You shift your leg up, thinking. When did he say he’d be home earlier today? You had called him before your final exam this afternoon, for some encouragement and reminders on the principles of astronomy.

The all-consuming fog in your brain prevents you from remembering any of the important details of the conversation, such as when he’d be home, so you choose instead to just replay the soft I love yous he had said into your ear. 

By this point you’re sprawled across a good portion of your bed, back to the ceiling with one leg bent, head turned to the side. Your spine sinks down into the mattress, relieving the aches just a bit, and the sweet, sweet release of sleep ensues minutes later.

Until it gets quite rudely interrupted.

You don’t hear him enter the room. You haven’t even opened your eyes to see him. The only thing you notice when you wake is the feeling that you’re being picked up from your hips and rotated, a complete 180.

“Hello?” you ask loudly even before your eyes open.

When they do open, they see your lovely boyfriend standing above you, grimacing like he’s been caught. Spencer’s hands are holding you mid air, and you look at him, wildly confused, as you blink away the sleep in your eyes.

He’s still wearing his work clothes, the thick sweater vest that you got him last year for his birthday layered over his button-up. He must have just gotten inside, his bag was still crossed over his body. 

“Hi honey. What are you, um, doing?” you ask quietly. His nose scrunches in a cute attempt to push his glasses up his nose without using his already occupied hands.

“Hi. Sorry for waking you up.” He ducks down to kiss your forehead. “You just really shouldn’t be sleeping on your stomach. Bad sleeping posture can actually worsen chronic pain more than any other factor in your daily life,” he explains, setting you down but keeping a firm grasp on your waist. Your mouth forms an awkward little smile, matching his. “I had to intervene.”

“I know. It’s just so uncomfy. But why’d you pick me up? You could’ve just nudged me, or, you know, asked…” you grumble. You make room for him, however, as you speak. He sets his bag down and clambers into bed next to you, body seemingly rivaling yours in exhaustion. He leans against the headboard, turning his head to look at you.

“I wouldn’t normally do that, but I knew you were exhausted, so I figured you’d be less likely to wake up if your body was physically touching fewer things,” he justifies, logic drawing a soft giggle from you. You settle into a comfortable silence, the room still bathed in artificial light and Spencer still in his work clothes.

He eventually breaks the stillness after a minute, turning towards you. “How did your astronomy final go today?”

“I think I did alright. Our study sessions paid off, I think. But it was never my strong suit,” you reply, tracing your fingers over his leg. “I’m so achy now though. It’s strange what four hours of math can do to your body.” 

His hand slides up your arm in response, lightly pressing on the tense spots. 

“It’s strange what four hours of math and sleeping like a contortionist does to your body,” he corrects with his little know-it-all look, fingers circling a bit more firmly into your shoulder.

“I also really, really missed you,” you add, smiling back at him. “So be nice to me.”

“I missed you,” Spencer responds, even sweeter. “And I am being nice.”

You roll your eyes and he reaches over to kiss you gently. “Would you like me to be nicer?” he whispers softly. Your brain is all but short circuiting as you look at him, his eyes flitting between yours like he was searching the stars.

Your head is nodding even before you can actually realize what he means.

Then, his body is gone from yours. You stay silent, trying to regulate your breath, eyes following him as he stands and walks over to turn off the big light. Your eyes flicker to adjust, but with the moon’s gentle shine pouring into your window, it’s absolutely perfect. 

A blush, that you're hoping the new darkness will conceal, creeps up your cheeks when you see the soft outline of Spencer’s back as he takes off his sweater vest and pulls at his tie. He turns back and looks at you, eyes all soft and full of adoration. “Yeah? Not too tired?”

“Nope,” you murmur, convincing yourself as much as him. He finishes getting into his PJ’s and walks back to you. You straighten your back, trying to appear as awake as possible. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says back at you, voice gentle. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” A kiss, this one to your cheek, softens the blow of his words. You shake your head, but he continues. “You were sound asleep not even ten minutes ago, and you’ve yawned six times in the last five minutes.” His hand strokes the side of your waist.

“Spencer. I'm fine,” you huff. He smiles a little and sits next to you on the bed. His mouth is on yours, kissing you firmly, sweetly. 

A hand, always in motion, always calculated, slides up to your nape and presses you closer. The other slides down and thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing lightly over your skin, making it erupt in goosebumps.

His brow scrunches softly. “You’re so worked up.”

You stay silent, begging him with your eyes. He dips down and kisses right where he touched, and your hips lift a bit in response. 

“Honey. Lie back,” he says, and you do so. He readjusts his body so he’s on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. He kisses your forehead, cheeks, nose, and then moves down to your neck. He kisses that one spot beneath your ear that makes you gasp quietly. He then does it again, and again, and again, in that focused way of his. 

Wordlessly, he slides down further. His nose bumps underneath your belly button, in the thin stripe of skin showing where your top meets your panties. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. Please, Spence,” you whimper softly, head feeling like a cloud of gas from the endorphins. He peppers even more kisses there and ghosts his fingers over your hip bone. He slides your panties down an inch and immediately kisses the skin that’s revealed.

“I thought about doing this to you all the time while I was away,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss more firmly on your hips, even closer to your soaked core, sucking gently and leaving a mark. “These should be off by now,” he muses, gently pulling your underwear down. 

His hand is immediately where you want it, two fingers pushing up against your folds, and to your clit. He touches in little circles, sending jolts of pleasure up your stomach, eyes looking up to yours to gauge your feelings. 

You almost hate Spencer for how fucking good it feels. You let out a soft moan, heart pounding. And when his middle finger sinks into your entrance with no word of warning, you toss your head back and close your legs around his hand. Spencer’s mouth twists into that little smile of his, pushing ever so deep into you, and says, “It feels better when you keep your legs open, sweet girl. If you need more, tell me.” You nod immediately, desperately. 

“Yeah. I need more,” you whisper, and he bends down and gives your clit a kitten lick. Your hand goes to his hair, softly pushing him closer. He gets the message and presses his tongue flat against it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so pretty like this, under me. I missed you.”

You really do almost forget just how nice it was to have him on top of you after a week, telling you nice things and making you feel so good. He pushes his ring finger in to match his middle, stretching you slightly and adding pressure to where he knows it feels good. Your eyes screw shut and you furrow your brow in overwhelming pleasure, a soft exhale coming from deep within you.

“This good?” he asks, other hand coming to take care of your clit in his mouth’s absence. You nod frantically, looking down at Spencer. He watches where his hand comes in contact with you, pushing in and out at a steady pace. “You’re not normally this quiet. Is it a lot?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Feel so sensitive.” He presses a soft kiss onto your clit, and you jolt.

“Sweet girl. It’s been a little while, huh? Even right before I left, I didn’t use my mouth." You shake your head in agreement. “You’re doing so well for me though.” 

He resumes with his tongue, working you into oblivion. His free hand holds your hips steady, hindering you from writhing away from the mind-numbing pleasure.

His mouth is occupied and your brain is utterly ruined, so the only noises coming from the two of you are your soft exhales and whimpers, and the obscene sound of his hand pushing incessantly into you.

And eventually it does, in fact, become too much. He sends you into orbit. You lift your hips, practically pushing yourself into his face, pleasure coursing through you.

“Spence, I’m. I-” your voice gets caught in your throat. 

“I know,” he says, calm and collected. A stark contrast to whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now. 

He keeps going in the same way, steadily driving you through your orgasm. You let out one last moan and your body relaxes and limps around him, chest moving up and down rapidly. 

You come back to earth and grab his arm to tug him away. But he stays, pressing kisses all over you, watching you with his imploring eyes.

“You can take it. Missed you so much. Just one more,” he says in broken little sentences, parting with your core for just a second before resuming, hand picking up speed again. But this time, you don’t feel as awake. As alert. Your chest feels heavy, and your eyelids even heavier.

The post-orgasmic haze has settled even more into your bones, pressing you down deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of sleep once again.

The last thing you see before you succumb is the moon casting a perfect glow onto Spencer, still diligently pressing soft kisses onto you, holding your hips still so you won’t roll over in your sleep like before.

[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 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

[atlabeth]

geyser

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy learns about the first girl luke castellan ever loved.

a/n: this is a lil sad. sorry about that. but i really like it and it came out of nowhere in like 2 days so i hope you enjoy despite the sadness. title from the mitski song

wc: 6.5k

warning(s): major character death; not shown but hangs over the whole fic. angst made angstier by fluffy flashbacks. mostly told through percy’s pov but includes luke, annabeth, and reader povs

also if you saw this before on another account DONT WORRY... that account was also me. im just doing some stuff behind the scenes right now as i figure stuff out lol i promise no plagiarism is going on

Percy thought that his head might explode. 

He didn’t know how he was still walking, honestly. His mom died, he killed a— no, the— Minotaur, all the Greek myths were real and his dad was one of them, and now he had to deal with that freak accident with Clarisse and the toilets. 

At least he would be ready next time she tried to beat him up. Percy had been the new kid enough to know there would be a next time.

All he could do was stare at the Minotaur horn in his hands, the only sign that what happened outside the border was real. The horn in his hands and the hole in his heart. 

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d been thrown into the deep end, and the only thing on his mind was when he would start to drown. 

“Hey.” Percy looked up to see the counselor he’d met earlier with Annabeth—Luke. He tossed a ziploc bag at him and he caught it, taking a moment to look at what was in it. 

“I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he explained. “Thought it might make you feel more at home.” 

“…Thanks.” He didn’t know if Luke was joking, but the damage had already been done. And it was the nicest thing someone had done for him so far. He set it down next to his Minotaur shoebox. “Is this the best that it gets?” 

Luke’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “For now. We’re a little crowded, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“Just a little bit.” Percy stood up from his sleeping bag and worked out the knot in his shoulder. “Where’s your bed? Assuming you have one.” 

“I couldn’t wrangle all these cats without some back support,” he said, and he pointed to a bed in the corner. It was the only one on its own without a bunk, and he had a fair amount of decorations. Counselor privileges, he figured. Percy walked over, Luke trailing behind him. 

“Nice place,” he said. Percy picked up the Yankee’s cap on his bedside table and nodded as he looked back at him. “Nice taste.” 

“It’s for Annabeth,” Luke said. “She wanted us to match.” 

Percy nodded again in approval. “Good taste for both of you.”

Luke had various other things around — an alarm clock knocked over next to the baseball cap, a huskie sticker on the wall half-scraped off, a poster for an album he didn’t recognize. 

But the thing that caught his eye was a polaroid hanging on the wall, surrounded by a smattering of others varying in size. 

The first one had to be an old picture—Luke didn’t have his scar, and the biggest smile stretched across his face. He had a girl close with an arm slung around her waist, and she might’ve been smiling even more than Luke. A bright energy emanated around her, something that must have transferred through the picture, because Percy found himself feeling a little better just looking at her. He wondered if she was a camper. 

His eyes flicked to the next picture, which was another one of Luke and that girl. They were both laughing as she tried to put a blue hat on Luke’s head, and he protested with a hand on her wrist. They were in the forefront of a baseball game, Percy noticed.

There were other pictures, too—Luke, a girl dressed all punk, and what looked like a young version of Annabeth, most notably—but a majority of them were either Luke and that girl, or the girl all on her own. In every single one, she beamed brighter than the sun. 

Percy pointed at the picture of Luke and the girl at the baseball game, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s that?”

That seemed to catch Luke off-guard, his lips parting for a moment as if he wanted to say something. It barely took him any time to get back on track, but Percy found himself frowning. 

“That’s…” Luke cleared his throat, wet his lips, shook his head. “A friend. A very good friend.”

“Does she go here?” Percy asked. 

“She did.” 

He frowned. “Where is she, then?” 

“Percy—” Luke’s voice was strained, but he didn’t really notice as he went on. 

“I didn’t see her around,” he continued, “and you look pretty close.” 

Luke blinked a couple times, and Percy swore he could see the telltale glimmer of tears starting in his eyes. A muscle worked in his jaw, and suddenly Percy was worried that he’d said something horribly wrong. He had a talent for that, it seemed. 

Fortunately, he was saved by the bell—conch shell?—and something like relief flooded through Luke’s expression. Tension still coiled in his body. 

“Come on,” he said, that camp counselor smile coming back as he put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and guided him away from the enclave. “That means dinner’s about to start.”

Percy’s frown deepened as curiosity won out again. “Was she your—”

“You don’t wanna be late,” Luke continued, ignoring his attempt. “I assume you’re pretty hungry after two days spent out?”

Well, that only made him want to push harder. But Percy figured he wouldn’t get anything out of him—especially not now. 

“…Yeah,” Percy said. “Starving.”

An odd look flickered across his face, but again, it only lasted for a second before he was back to normal. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Eleven! Fall in!” 

Percy was at the back of the line by virtue of him being the new kid, and he found himself looking back at that picture of Luke and the girl. He didn’t know why, but something drew him to her. Before Percy could think about it more, the line was moving and his growling stomach drew his attention away. 

He would have plenty of time to ask Luke about it later. 

Or rather, ask him and piss off the only person who’d tried to be his friend so far. 

…Gods. 

Maybe he was going to drown sooner than he thought. 

-

“Luke—” 

“No!” 

“Luke, please!” 

“Annabeth will kill me if she knows—” 

“She won’t know!” 

“Alright, alright— stay still, you two!” 

Your mother laughed from behind the camera as you and Luke fought with each other, you trying your damnedest to get your Red Sox cap on his head as he tried his damnedest to stop you. The frantic laughter on both sides made it a little difficult for either of you to succeed in your quest, but eventually, you got the rock up the hill and the hat on his head. 

“Take the picture, Mom!” you exclaimed, pulling Luke even closer by his arms so he couldn’t get it off. “I need the proof!” 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Luke groaned, staring at the camera as you wrapped your arm around his side and leaned into him. He could already imagine your victorious smile, brighter than the sun beating down on them in the stadium, and just the thought of it made one of his own flit across his lips. 

“Oh, shut up, Castellan,” you said. “You chose to come to this game. Everyone’s gonna know you’re a Red Sox fan now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Luke defended, wrenching his arms free of your control to take the hat off his head. “I don’t even care about baseball!” 

“You care so much about it,” you said cloyingly, “and you’re ride or die for the Boston Red Sox.” 

“If you say a single word—” 

“Okay, kids!” Your mother pointed at the seats next to her. “The game’s about to start—you can keep arguing, but only if you sit down so I can see.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” You grinned at her as you pulled Luke over to your seats—they were a step up from nosebleeds, but they were the ones closest to the balcony so you could at least peer over the railing down to the diamond.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She glanced at Luke with a smile, and he could really see where you got it from. “We’ve gotta make him a fan somehow.” 

“I guess I can live with the brand.” Luke set the cap back on your head once you were seated, purposefully pulling the brim a little over your eyes, and he smiled at you. “Even though it looks better on you, anyways.” 

“You just don’t have what it takes to be a Red Sox fan in the heart of Yank territory,” you mused, pushing the hat back up so you could see. “It’s fine.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, but he could hardly bite back his smile. 

“I am glad you came, though,” you said, glancing back at him. “I’m glad you came with me in the first place. This is gonna be the best semester.”

“Thanks for having me,” Luke said. “It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve left camp.” 

“Fingers crossed for no monster attacks, eh?” You held up your hand. “At least, not during the game. I could live with it happening any other time.” 

“Don’t speak it into existence,” your mom said. “We’re going to have a monster-free school year.” 

To humor her, you made a claw over your heart and pushed out. She hummed in satisfaction, and you looked over at Luke. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because two kids like us aren’t gonna draw any attention.” 

“Oh, I know we will,” you said. “But I know it’ll be fine.” 

Luke frowned. “How can you be so sure?” 

You shrugged with a smile. “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, he was thankful for the freakish heat that honestly made no sense in the spring—at least it covered up any sign of what your words did to him. 

Luke thought you were joking when you asked him if he wanted to come back home with you for the school year. He didn’t know why you wanted to go back in the first place, being a Big Three kid that apparently had a death wish, but the thought of him leaving camp was almost inconceivable. 

Even after you assured him you weren’t joking, he still wasn’t sure. He was on the run with you for three years, then… 

Well, he couldn’t think about it for too long. But Luke had been on the outskirts of regular society for so long, doing nothing but fighting for his life, that he didn’t know if he could actually function at a normal school.

But it felt right for you two to get some normal time together after you were separated for so long. It took him a semester to decide, but one day during your usual Iris message conversations, he told you he’d love to spend the rest of the year in Boston with you. Luke still remembered the grin you wore, your disbelieving but victorious cheers, the apology you yelled back at your mother for your noise. 

Luke watched you as you talked with your mom, discussing Boston’s chances and player statistics and baseball jargon he didn’t think he’d ever understand, and he knew he would sit through a thousand Red Sox games if it meant he would get to keep seeing your smile.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you glanced over at him. “Are you okay?” 

Luke smiled. Gods, he was so glad you were here. 

“Never better.” 

-

“That one nearly got me,” Luke said. 

Percy huffed as he picked up his sword from the ground—he was pretty sure he would officially lose his mind if Luke disarmed him with that stupid move one more time. One benefit to the Hermes cabin being too scared to associate with him after getting claimed was that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself in front of other people. 

“Maybe I can only beat you when I pour water on myself,” he said. 

Luke chuckled as he took a bottle from the cooler on the side and held it up. “Wanna try?” 

He shook his head. “I think my arms will fall off if I keep going with you.” 

He tipped his shoulder. “Fair.” 

Percy stared at the ground as Luke gathered himself, trying to put the free range thoughts roaming around his head in order. It didn’t help that he’d gained a million questions after Poseidon claimed him, and it didn’t help that there’s been a newest addition to his dream last night. 

He still felt strange asking Luke about it, but he had to know more about her. Percy didn’t know why it felt like his mission to find out who this mysterious girl was, or why he felt that strange connection to her. Maybe it was the way Luke acted whenever he brought her up, maybe it was that she’d popped up in his dream next to him at the very end, maybe it was just plain old curiosity. 

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Percy said, breaking the silence. “I could die at any time in a bunch of different horrible ways. So will you tell me more about that girl on your wall?”  

Again, Luke seemed to be caught off guard by it. Percy heard the crunch of plastic as his hand clenched ever so slightly around the bottle, and he tried to cover it up with an arched eyebrow. “Why do you want to know so badly?” 

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? 

“I’m curious,” he decided. 

Luke huffed a dry laugh before he took a sip of water, and he stared off into the distance for a while. He did a lot of staring whenever this girl was brought up. They looked like they were best friends in those pictures, but maybe whatever they had ended badly. And if she was a demigod too…

Well, it would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about her. 

“You know that phrase about curiosity?” Luke asked. 

“And how it killed the cat?” 

He nodded, drinking some more. “It goes double for demigods.” 

“Everything else wants to kill me,” Percy said. “So curiosity’s gonna have to get in line.” 

Luke’s laugh was a little more genuine this time, and he shook his head. “I guess I can tell you a little about her. You actually probably have a right to know.” 

“Is she a half-blood?” Percy asked immediately. 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Who’s her parent?” 

Luke capped his water bottle and looked at Percy for a good, long moment. His face glowed in the warm afternoon sun, his scar cast in a softer light than usual. The scar used to unnerve him, but he’d gotten used to it after weeks staring at it during sword fighting. 

“She was a child of Poseidon, Percy,” he said. “Just like you.” 

Percy felt short of breath, like Luke had just knocked his sword out of his hand and shoved him to the ground. But he stood on his own two legs that somehow still worked, and Luke hadn’t moved. 

He had a sister? 

“I have a sister?” 

“…Had,” Luke corrected. “She… she died a few years back.” 

A vice latched onto Percy’s heart. He was still having a hard time breathing. No wonder Luke always used past tense when he was talking about her. 

He had a sister, he wasn’t alone, but he was because she was dead. And if Luke was one of her friends, that meant she died young. 

Gods. 

“What about their oath?” Percy asked, trying to ignore the aching in his chest. “I’m already on thin ice for my whole existing thing. How did Poseidon get away with two kids so close to each other?” 

Luke shrugged. “I’ve never known why gods do things. Her mother was a great woman, though—I could see what drew Poseidon to her against the oath.” 

One half of Percy wanted to ask every question that kept popping into his head. The other side of him wanted to break down and cry. 

“How did you meet her?” 

“We ran into each other when we were both young,” he said. “Both child runaways, both demigods, both New Englanders—we decided to rough it out on the road together. Couldn’t be any worse than doing it on our own.”

Percy tried to imagine it. A young Luke and a younger version of that girl—maybe Percy’s age—living together in the wilderness and fighting monsters. Surviving off of nothing but their wit and skill, facing death each day before they’d even reached middle school. 

“It… it didn’t happen then, did it?” he asked hesitantly. 

Luke shook his head. “Couple years later. All we did was watch each other’s backs out there.” 

Percy couldn’t help himself. “What happened to her?”  

“The same thing that happens to everyone,” Luke said flatly. “There’s a reason I’m the oldest one here.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Percy insisted. “It— it makes it worse, Luke. You see that, right?”  

Luke stared at his empty water bottle then tossed it back into the cooler. When his gaze met Percy’s, he was shocked by how… tired he looked. Beyond exhausted—bone-weary. Percy wanted to say more, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“This isn’t good conversation,” Luke said, “and it’s getting late. You should hit the showers before dinner.” 

The sun still beat down on them, bright and angry in the sky, but Percy provided no argument. He had a lot to think about. 

Before they went their separate ways, Percy stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Luke.” 

Luke’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, his eyes growing glossy. “So am I.” 

-

Percy sat on the floor of the Hermes cabin in the corner that used to be his, staring at his meager belongings. He had to decide what to take on his quest, which was made easier by the fact that he hardly had anything to his name. Things could always be worse, though. At least he would have a change of clothes. 

He should’ve been doing this in his own cabin, but it felt too empty, too suffocating in its silence. Eleven was still more familiar. He heard the door open and saw Luke walk in, and his eyes lit up when he saw Percy. 

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you left. How’re you feeling pre-quest?” 

“Like the world’s about to end,” he said. 

Luke’s lips twitched into a smile as he sat on the bed across from Percy. “Understandable. It kinda is.” 

“It’s just overwhelming.” Percy shoved the unfolded clothes into his backpack. “I have to clear mine and my dad’s names and get Zeus’s bolt back, or else war will start. No pressure at all.” 

“You were chosen for a reason,” Luke said. “You may not see it, Percy, but you’ve improved a lot since you got here. If anyone can do this, I think it’s you.” 

Percy looked up at him, and he was reminded of the way their last conversation went. He was asking before he could really stop himself. 

“I could die on this quest and never see you again,” Percy said. “So could you tell me more about my sister before I go?”  

Luke smiled wistfully and sighed. “You really won’t let this go, will you?” 

“It’s not really something you just let go,” he said. “Besides, I… I saw her in my dream last night.” 

Luke’s smile faded. “You did?”  

Percy nodded. “For a split second, but I know it was her. I felt the same way I did whenever I looked at her pictures. And… it’s the second time she’s shown up.” 

He let out a long sigh and shook his head, his gaze trailing off to the wall. He always looked so much older when he talked about this girl, like he was a war veteran reminiscing on his lost love. And from what he’d gathered, it might not have been too far off. 

“I told you we ran together when we were young,” he said, and Percy nodded. “We were both nine, and it should’ve been terrible, but she had a way of making everything better. Always found the bright side of things, was always able to make me laugh.” 

“She was from Massachusetts—right in the middle of Boston.” Luke chuckled as he looked at Percy. “Huge Red Sox fan.” 

Percy grimaced. “We all make mistakes.” 

Luke smiled, though it faded a bit. “We got separated for a while, but we found each other again when I got to camp. Things were more peaceful than they are now, so she’d been claimed at camp pretty quickly. I figure Poseidon wanted her to have the protection of him openly standing behind her after what happened.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” 

Luke shook his head. “That would be an awful story to send you off on.” 

Percy wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Luke was probably right—Percy didn’t want to make him relive it and then have to go on a death quest right after.

“A happier part, then,” he suggested.

“She ran away from home as a kid to protect her mom, but now that she had an idea of what she was doing, she started going back to school. She invited me to stay with her during the school year one year, and I accepted. That—” Luke’s throat bobbed, and the other hand clenched into a fist— “that was when she died.” 

In his stunned silence, Luke got up and went over to his alcove. He pulled the drawer open on his bedside table and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It must’ve been folded and crumpled a million other times in messier ways by all the creases he could see, but when Luke opened it, he could see handwriting all over the front. 

A letter. 

“We Iris messaged each other constantly while she was at school,” he said, “and we wrote back and forth when we couldn’t. This was the last letter she sent me.” 

Percy’s first instinct was to say he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he realized that he didn’t really care. These were words that his sister wrote—he would sit here the rest of the day forcing sentences to make sense if that was what it took. 

So he took the letter when Luke offered it. 

To the one and only Luke Castellan, 

My mom said yes! After a very long interrogation (she now knows basically everything about you) and a million promises that you would be as careful as possible and that you were good enough at sword fighting to take down anything that could come after us, she said you can spend the year here. We spent a couple hours every day making my mom’s study into a guest room, so you have a place to stay.

I’m an idiot that didn’t bring enough drachmas so that’s why I have to send this letter—hopefully it gets to you soon enough, because we’re gonna come get you a week before my winter break is over. Mom is letting me drive down because she says I have to get my permit soon. It makes sense that my first big test is getting to you. If we don’t make it, it’s because we died in a fiery crash. 

Just kidding. I’m a great driver. But tell me some of your favorite songs when you reply and I’ll burn a CD for the ride—I figured out how to use LimeWire. Oh, and throw in a couple drachmas with the envelope so I can Iris message you next time. I miss your face and your voice, and my hand is cramping up writing all of this. 

But this is so exciting! I can’t wait to introduce you to all my friends at school, and show you my favorite places in the city, and make you into a Red Sox fan. And you can come to my soccer games— I’m the greatest forward there is. 

Jokes aside, I’m going to make sure you have the best time. We’ll spend every second together, Luke. We’re gonna make up for the time we lost. 

I can’t wait to see you again.

Your hurricane.  

It took Percy a long time to get through it with the words swimming all over, and it didn’t help that his vision had grown blurry. 

Tears, he realized as he blinked, and he did it again to make sure they wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Luke, not over a girl he didn’t even know—even if she was his sister. But maybe he was grieving that—the fact that he would never get to know her. 

“God, man. I— I’m sorry.” Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She sounds like she was great.” 

Luke couldn’t even manage a smile this time as he stared at the wall. Percy was surprised he could even talk to him about it. 

“She was,” he murmured. “You would’ve liked her. And gods,” this time, a bit of a smile broke through despite it all, “she would have loved a little brother.” 

“I’m gonna make her proud on this quest,” Percy vowed. “I’m gonna clear our dad’s name for her.”

Something in Luke’s gaze had changed—sadness, almost regret. “You’re a good kid, Percy. I hope your quest doesn’t change that.” 

I hope I come back alive, he wanted to say. But given the topic matter, he didn’t. Percy carefully folded the letter back up and handed it to Luke. 

“Thank you for telling me about her, man,” Percy said. “I… I know it can’t be easy.”

Luke let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the closed letter—Percy wondered how many times he must have sat in this same position, reading her words. “No better way to honor her memory than helping her brother.” He glanced at Percy. “I see a lot of her in you.” 

He’d been wondering if he had anything in common with her. Percy felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him—it wasn’t fair that she was dead. Poseidon was a god, and she was a teenager. He should have saved her. 

Percy’s mouth was drier than a desert. A part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and sob over the sister he never got the chance to know, but the other part of him knew—from what little Luke had told him about her—that she wouldn’t want him to. 

“I should get going,” Percy said, standing up from the floor. “We have to leave for the quest soon, and Annabeth and Grover are probably wondering where I am, and…” 

Percy trailed off, and Luke nodded in understanding. He turned around and took one of the photos off the wall—one of you alone in the middle of a park, wearing a bucket hat and absolutely beaming. 

“You deserve to have a part of her with you,” he said. “For good luck.” 

He felt himself choking up, and he pushed it down as he accepted the photo. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

“Good luck, Percy,” Luke said. “You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”

Percy found himself studying the picture of you once he made it outside, trying to memorize your face. With your wide, infectious smile that emanated pure sunlight, he could have mistaken you for an Apollo kid. But when he looked at you, he got that same warmth that he felt every time he imagined his father. 

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.” 

-

After sleeping in his train seat for half the day, Percy vowed to never complain about his bed in Cabin Three again. He was gonna be going down to the Underworld with permanent cricks in his neck. 

Grover was still sound asleep—Percy envied him for how easily it came to him in the worst conditions—but thankfully, Annabeth wasn’t. Her gaze was focused on the view as their train chugged along. 

Percy cleared his throat in a flawless attempt at getting her attention, and it worked. 

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Unfortunately.” Percy sighed. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?” 

“Another day, at least,” she said. “And we’ve got a layover in St. Louis.” 

“St. Louis,” he hummed. “Nice.” 

They sat in silence for a while—there wasn’t much to talk about when they were coming off of two— or was it three, now?—near-death experiences. But eventually, Annabeth cleared her throat, taking a page from his book, and it worked again. 

“There— there’s probably something you should know,” Annabeth said, and that worked even better than clearing her throat. “You’re not the only Big Three kid to come through Camp Half-blood lately.” 

“I know,” he said. “Grover and Luke explained it.” 

Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned forward in her seat. “Luke did?” 

“…Yeah. You all already told me about Thalia.” Percy glanced away, suddenly feeling a chill in the train car. “Luke told me about my sister.” 

Annabeth went silent. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of annoyed Luke until he told me. Doesn’t really seem like a subject people at camp like to talk about.” 

“I’m just surprised he did,” she murmured. “They were… they were close, Percy. Her death destroyed him—Thalia and your sister. All of it’s complicated.”  

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I got some of that.” 

“I only knew her for a year at camp, but everyone loved her,” she said. “She was nice. Popular. Always helped when she could, always had the biggest, most infectious smile on her face.” Annabeth looked down at her hands. “She didn’t deserve the fate she got.” 

Percy didn’t think he’d ever grieved so much for someone he never knew. “But her and Luke—were they…?” 

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, “they were a thing, later on.” 

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the matter. Percy decided not to push. 

“How did you meet her?” he asked. 

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I met her on the day I thought I would die.”

-

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase couldn’t think. 

It had all happened so fast. One second she was running with Luke and Thalia and Grover, praying to her mother and any other gods that would listen to make the horde of monsters let up even a centimeter.

The next, she’d collapsed on the ground, never so grateful to have grass and dirt and dust in her face. But she could hear Luke yelling, barely able to make it out in her delirious state—she didn’t know when she’d last had a sip of water, and they’d been running for at least three miles—but he sounded hysterical. 

She remembered her last clear thought: they weren’t going to make it. 

But they had. They had, so why was Luke losing his mind? 

Annabeth pulled herself up from the ground—how long had she been bleeding out of those slashes on her arm?—and looked for the rest of her friends. Luke wasn’t yelling anymore, instead arguing with someone she didn’t recognize in a bright orange shirt. Grover’s furry legs trembled as he stared down the hill they’d just gotten up, completely silent, and Thalia— 

Where was Thalia? 

Annabeth tried to get up but her legs gave out almost immediately, and steady arms caught her before she could fall to the ground again. Kind eyes served to ease some of her panic—she was older than Annabeth, maybe around Luke or Thalia’s age. 

Thalia— 

“Hey, you’re okay,” the voice said, and Annabeth’s attention was drawn back to you. “I’ve got you.” 

“Where’s Thalia?” she blurted out, because now she couldn’t think of anything else. 

Your brows creased and you glanced back down the hill—Annabeth did too, and she saw Grover and Luke arguing with each other. Or rather, Luke was yelling at him as Grover anxiously hooked his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t know,” you said, “but right now, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt?” 

Annabeth absentmindedly held up her arm, but she was only focused on her friends. Why wasn’t Thalia with them? Why was Luke so upset?

You cursed under your breath in Ancient Greek as you cradled her arm, and you looked back down the hill. Annabeth could see at least half a dozen other kids. 

“We’ve got two half-bloods and a satyr, one injured!” you yelled back. “Get Molly and Brayden!” 

“Three,” Annabeth found herself saying. “There’s three half-bloods—” 

“Annabeth!” 

Her head shot up at the sound of Luke calling her name as he bounded over, and her eyes widened at the blood steadily spidering across the fabric of his shirt. 

“Luke, you’re hurt—” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s fine.” 

“We have Apollo kids coming,” you said, looking up at him, still cradling Annabeth’s arm. “We’ll get y—” 

Your sentence stuck in your throat, and Annabeth could see tears welling in your eyes as your brows furrowed. She thought Luke’s eyes might burst out of his skull as he stared at you, his lips parted but nothing coming out. Neither of you were able to form words. 

When he finally did get something out, it was a single name. One Annabeth knew by heart, one that he’d mourned for years. 

“Luke?” you whispered. 

Before he had the chance to do anything, two teenagers got over the hill and called out your name, the same one Luke used. He always said you were dead, but you clearly weren’t dead, because you were here and you had her arm in your grasp and while your hands were cold, they weren’t cold enough to be dead— 

“Molly’s gonna take care of you,” you said, looking back at Annabeth and cutting off her inner dialogue. “She’ll get you to the infirmary and heal you up, okay?” 

“My friends—” 

“They’re gonna be okay too,” you said. “I promise.” 

Annabeth looked up at Luke, and he nodded. “We’ll be with you soon, Annabeth. We— we have to talk about some things.” 

So she went with Molly down the hill, and Annabeth put pressure on her bleeding wound when she told her to—it had started to sting like hell now that her adrenaline was fading. 

She looked back just in time to see you and Luke share the tightest hug ever. 

The hug of two people who realized they weren’t seeing ghosts, Annabeth thought. 

-

You bolted up in bed, eyes wide and your chest heaving as you rapidly sucked in air. Your fingers found purchase in your bedsheets, desperate for something familiar—it took a second for you to recognize your surroundings, that you weren’t in an endless void, but your childhood bedroom offered little comfort.  

You ran a hand over your forehead, damp with sweat, as you tried to calm down. Your breathing slowed, but you couldn’t shake that awful feeling that hung over you in your sleep. 

Your nightmares were getting worse, you knew that much. That raspy, demented voice used to be a rarity, and now it appeared every night. You could usually deal with your nightmares, but the sense of absolute dread that voice and the pit fostered in you was too much. You hadn’t managed to sleep through the night once since you came home for the school year.

You could deal with the monsters—to you, this was the worst part of your godly blood.

A knock rattled on the door out of nowhere, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The only thing that calmed you down was the thought that monsters didn’t knock. 

“Come in,” you croaked, your throat drier than a desert. 

Thankfully, a monster hadn’t come to make your night even more miserable. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyebrows creased in concern, messy curls hanging just above his eyes. He wore the Red Sox t-shirt you’d bought for him at the game you dragged him to, and in your addled state, you didn’t even think to tease him about it. 

“Are you okay?” He should’ve been as disoriented as you, but his alerted eyes told a different story. 

You could only think of one thing. “How did you know?” 

Luke’s lips parted for a moment, as if he hadn’t even considered it. “I could just feel it.”

You managed a smile despite every atom in your body screaming at you. “I think that means you can come in.” 

He closed the door behind him, and you shifted over in your bed to make room for him. There wasn’t much in a twin, but you made it work. Luke’s weight pressed into the mattress, making you adjust your position, and it was more comforting than any amount of blankets. 

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, laying the back of his hand against your arm. “How do you live like that?” 

“Blame my dad,” you said. “I’ve got water in my blood.” 

“I think that’s probably a bad thing,” Luke said, and you knocked your shoulder into his with a huff. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Luke let his hand fall back in his lap, and as you brought your knees up to your chest, you pulled the covers with them. 

“So,” Luke said, glancing at you, “what’s got you awake at the witching hour?” 

“The usual,” you mumbled. 

“Nightmares that might be prophetic?” he asked. 

You made a lazy gesture with your hand. “Bingo.” 

“The worst sense of dread imaginable?” 

“Bullseye.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” 

“You don’t always have to put on a front, y’know,” Luke said. You felt his eyes on you. “You don’t always have to be strong.” 

“I’m naturally strong,” you said with mock austerity. “Comes with the god for a dad.” 

Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured. 

You leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck. Luke wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh. 

That voice in your nightmares seemed so small when you had Luke. 

“Can you stay?” you asked softly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” 

“Just like old times,” you whispered. 

“Just like old times,” he agreed. 

Luke ran hot, and you’d never been more thankful for it as you fully settled into his side. Icy blood ran through your veins, and you let out a shaky sigh. You could hear his steady breathing, feel his heartbeat through his chest, and the anxiety from earlier began to steadily fade. You never felt safer than when you were with Luke. 

There was something between you—you weren’t that stupid—but you hadn’t talked about it. With you and Luke, it was just… you and Luke. You didn’t have to put a label to it. 

How could you put a label to your relationship, when you’d spent your first few years together fighting for each day, and then the next few thinking the other was dead? 

Maybe someday, you would talk about it. But for now, this was more than enough. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured in your ear as your eyes began to droop. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

And by the gods, you believed him. 

[uzurakis]

hi :D can you do jjk boys doing like a tiktok prank and telling reader to shut up but they've a really bad day and either get mad/really sad? angst with or w/o comfort plz

CAN YOU SHUT UP FOR A SEC?!

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. some comfort and some w/o comfort lol. thanks for the req babes, not breaking my angst writing stride. if you could understand why i wrote gojo like that, then you paid attention to s2. enjoy </3

GOJO SATORU. you dropped your bag by the door and took a deep breath, hoping to find some comfort in his presence; finding your boyfriend lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to the tv screen.

“satoru,” you said, voice tinged with fatigue. “i had a really bad day today. the higher ups are a fucking pain—“

“shut up, babe, i’m watching tv. see?” without looking away from the tv, gojo cut off your words.

you froze, the sting of his words hitting you harder than you expected. you stared at him in disbelief, feeling a mix of hurt and anger rising within you. “wow. thanks for that. really needed it today,” you said laced with passive aggression.

gojo finally turned his head to look at you, but it was too late. you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, and you didn’t want him to see you cry. you pivoted and exited the living room, displacing him in the process.

as you retreated to the bedroom, you could hear the faint sound of the tv continuing in the background. the reality of the situation settled in, and you felt the tears spill over, silently streaming down your face. you sank onto the bed, burying your face in your hands.

moments later, the sound of the tv stopped, and you heard footsteps approaching the bedroom door. it opened slowly, and gojo stepped inside, looking all confused and a tad concerned. “babe,” he said softly, “seriously, what’s going on?”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. “can’t you see i’m busy? can you shut up for a sec?”

you froze, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. your shoulders slumped further, and you felt a knot form in your stomach. “i don’t need this today. just leave me alone,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading towards the door.

megumi’s head snapped up as he realized something was wrong. “wait, hold on,” he called out, but you didn’t stop. “hey, i was just joking. come on, talk to me.”

your pace quickened as you left the dorm room, but you remained silent. you needed to leave before you totally lost it because you could feel the tears starting to burn in your eyes. megumi's voice could be heard calling after you as you went down the corridor; growing more concerned with each attempt.

“please, wait!” he shouted, tone now filled with worry. “fuck, i didn’t mean it like that! it’s a tiktok prank, babe!”

you kept moving, the door closing behind you as you stepped outside into the crisp evening air. you leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. the last thing you needed was more pain on top of an already unbearable day.

ITADORI YUUJI. anger flared within you and your eyes widened. “why would you say that to me? what’s wrong with you?” you snapped, voice sharp as a knife.

yuuji’s gaze moved to look at you, and he immediately saw the pain in your eyes. his expression shifted from surprise to regret. “wait, wait, baby, i’m so sorry! it’s just a tiktok prank. i swear i didn’t mean it like that. please, forgive me.”

“a tiktok prank? do you think this is funny?”

he scrambled off the couch and came over to you, face earnest and pleading. “no, no, it’s not funny. i thought it would be harmless, but i can see now that it wasn’t the right time. i’m really sorry…”

“forgive me, please?”

you took a deep breath, trying to calm down. the sincerity in his voice and the worry in his eyes made it hard to stay mad at him. “yuuji, i’ve had a really bad day. the last thing i needed was for you to tell me to shut up.”

your boyfriend nodded vigorously, looking like a guilty puppy. “i know. i messed up big time. can we start over? we’ll order your favorite takeout and watch a movie? my treat!”

GETO SUGURU. your frustration, already simmering beneath the surface, boiled over. “excuse me? you don’t get to talk to me like that, geto suguru. especially not today!”

“whoa, hey, calm down. it was just a tiktok prank. i didn’t mean it seriously.”

“and you think that’s funny?”

the guy stood up, hands raised in a placating gesture, trying to approach you cautiously. “okay, okay, i get it. not funny. i’m sorry. how about we forget about it and i make it up to you?”

you could see the genuine concern in his eyes, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet. “you really don’t understand how bad my day has been, do you? and you choose today to pull something like this?”

suguru sighed, taking a step closer to you. “i do understand. i’m sorry i made it worse. i was just trying to be playful. let me make it up to you.” he dropped his voice to a softer, flirtatious tone, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “you know i can’t stand it when you’re upset with me.”

“you damn flirt,” you huffed, trying to maintain your anger, but the familiar charm in his voice made it difficult. “you can’t just flirt your way out of everything, geto suguru. i’m still mad.”

he stepped closer, gently taking your hands in his. “maybe not, but i can try. let me make it up to you tonight. we can do whatever you want. i’ll be on my best behavior, promise.”

@uzurakis

[pasukiyo]

HANDLE IT

mike schmidt x f!teacher!reader word count; 2,417 warnings; once again, no plot, just porn <3 summary; mike has a look. that's never a good sign.

 “Follow Mrs Davis and her class for lunch!”

 Mike watched from his seat behind the teacher’s desk as his girlfriend saw her class out the door, hand on the handle and pulling it closed behind them, making sure to twist the lock while she did. The corners of his mouth twitched as she sighed and fell back against the door, blowing a strand of loose hair out of her face. 

 “Long day?” Mike asked and she narrowed her eyes over at him, her lips quirked in a tired grin. “Don’t even get me started,” she grumbled as she pushed herself off of the door, heels clicking against the tile as she made her way back to her desk. 

 “Abby hasn’t been a problem, I hope?” Mike cocked an eyebrow to his hairline as she leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, settling herself down in her chair. She rolled her eyes at this, “you always make it seem like she should be causing trouble,” she tittered. “No, Abby’s always great.”

 She watched as Mike reached for the floor beside him, a plastic takeout bag in his hand and she grinned, wiggling in her seat as he began to unravel the knot in the handles. “Sooo… what did you bring me?” She asked, letting the smell of what she swore was tomato sauce waft through her nostrils.

 “New Italian place opened in the mall. Figured we could try it out,” he replied as he handed her one of the takeout boxes in which she ripped the lid off of, grinning over at Mike. “Spaghetti with meatballs. You know me so well.”

 She leaned forward as he handed her the plastic fork to press a kiss against his lips and Mike smiled, practically chasing after her mouth again when she pulled away. He watched as she spun the spaghetti around her fork, as she took a bite and moaned at the taste. 

 Suddenly, Mike’s jeans felt very tight. 

 “What is this place called? It’s amazing,” she moaned, chewing behind her fingers as she turned to glance over at Mike. “Ten out of ten. This might even be better than your spaghetti and meatballs.”

 Mike, although distracted by something else entirely, furrowed his brows at this, tossing his hands up. “Hey,” he said. “Thought you loved my spaghetti and meatballs.”

 She shrugged, “they’re alright.” Mike playfully shoved her shoulder and she tried to bite back a chuckle, glancing back over to him. “Hey, I don’t see you eating spaghetti and meatballs, why don’t you try and find out?” She laughed, taking a bite from a meatball as Mike pressed his lips together, curved into a grin as he shook his head. “Nah, I’m not that hungry right now.”

 She raised a brow and tilted her head to eye the other takeout box in the plastic bag. “Mike, you haven’t even touched your food,” she tittered, eyeing him incredulously. She narrowed her lids, “you have a look.”

 The corner of Mike’s mouth twitched— she was catching on. “I don’t have a look.”

 Her face fell and she dropped her fork in the to-go box, eyebrow cocked. “Yes, you do.”

 Mike leaned back in his seat and locked his fingers together on his lap, shrugging as he turned his head to face her. “Enlighten me, what look do you think I have?”

 For a fleeting moment, her gaze lowered to the very evident tent in his jeans, her thighs subconsciously clenching together at the sight, cheeks growing warm when he chuckled. She looked away, soothing her palms up and down the length of her skirt and Mike watched, teeth sunken into the inside of his cheek. A scenario played in the forefront of his mind, fantasizing about ripping the skirt clean off her legs and taking her right there on top of her desk had him balling a fist, squeezing his thumb so tight, it almost felt like it’d pop. 

 “Mike…”

 “What?” He murmured, leaning in closer, brushing away the hair curtaining away the side of her face back behind her ear. She melted like wax at his touch, as if her fingertips were flames. Her skin burned so hot now, she feared she actually would melt into a pool of magma on the floor below. 

 “Here?” She whispered as he rolled his chair closer, his breath a phantom looming over her flesh, sending shivers slithering down the coil of her spine. Mike peered up into the sides of her irises, “why not?”

 His lips pressed against the delicate skin just below her ear and she trembled, panicking eyes darting to the door she had thankfully locked. “I’ll give you a million reasons why not,” she murmured as his kisses trailed down to the curve of her shoulder, the scruff on his chin and just above his lips deliciously burning her skin. 

 “I can be sneaky,” he whispered against the valley between her neck and shoulder, his lips a crescent against her skin when he playfully nipped her flesh between his teeth there. She jolted and hissed, clenching her thighs together once more as the familiar slick of warmth burned the pit of her belly. “If somebody walks in, we’re both dead,” she murmured as his palm gripped and soothed down the length of her thigh, kneading at her knee, teasing her, taunting her. 

 “Relax, babe,” he breathed a chuckle against the crook of her neck. “I just want a taste, that’s all. Wouldn’t want you to get all fucked out before the day is over.”

 His low, raspy words had her reeling, her head in a frenzy and teetering on the edge of a mindset she knew she was at risk of falling down into. “Screw you, Mike,” she muttered through gritted teeth as he grinned, placing one last kiss against the breadth of her shoulder before sinking down to his knees on the floor, hanging his head so that he could fit beneath the desk. 

 Her heart drummed against her chest as he slithered his way between her legs, hands on her knees as slowly he parted them, as if he were unwrapping a present on Christmas Day. Through heavy eyelids, she peered down at him just as a silent curse fell from his mouth, teeth burrowed into the plush of his bottom lip as the pads of his thumbs rubbed circles into the inside of her knees. 

 “You’re soaked clean through your panties,” he chuckled and she burned brighter, sweat already beginning to bead at her hairline and her chest heaving to the unsteady beat of her heart. His name fell from her lips in a whispered sigh as he reached forward with his right thumb, pressing the fat of it straight onto her clothed clit, her back arching up off of her chair as he traced an agonizingly slow and painful circle against it, sighing at the way her slick showed through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

 “Fffuck,” he grumbled beneath his breath, hiking the skirt that hugged her curves until they pooled at her hips, pushing her knees further apart until he had full access to everything. His gaze was like a laser, burning through the damp fabric of her panties straight through to her pussy. He eyed her like he was starved, like he’d go hungry if he didn't get himself a taste. 

 Mike hooked his middle and forefinger around the hem of her underwear and tugged, although with some resistance with how wet she was. She gasped when the fabric unstuck itself from her arousal, Mike’s lips falling agape as he tugged her panties all the way down her legs until they hooked around one single ankle. He pressed himself closer, wrapping his arms around her hips and with his palms to her ass, drawing her in even closer until she sat on the edge of her seat. 

 “So fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled at the sight before him, admiring every single inch of her as if she were an artifact. She shuddered beneath his stare. “Mike,” she mewled through a shaky breath, “please.”

 With those deep, rich chocolate brown eyes, he glimpsed up at her and she gazed back, wondering when his pupils ended and his irises started. His eyes glimmered with longing, with desire, with lust. She thought she’d come from just his stare alone. 

 “Have to stay quiet, hm?” He nodded up at her, maintaining eye contact as he pressed a kiss just above her clit, feeling it throb against his chin as she writhed, trying to suppress her mewl. She nodded, pressing her lips together as she briefly glanced up at the door then to the windows— she was so grateful she’d drawn the blinds earlier. 

 Their gazes never leaving one another, Mike carefully leaned down to press a tender kiss on top of her aching bud, her toes curling in, back arching off the back of her chair. One of her hands flung to the mess of dark tendrils atop his head, the other gripping the armrest of her desk chair. Mike pulled away again, the makings of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” He asked and she whimpered, nodding, every ounce of dignity in her body long gone, thrown somewhere far away from right there.

 “Just… please, Mike,” she whined, trying to keep her voice on the low as she gripped the roots of his hair tighter, inviting him back into her warmth, his arousal like a gloss on his lips. The crescent shape of his lips fell back against her clit as he pressed another kiss to it, electricity flowing through her body and making her jolt once more. 

 Mike eyed her through hooded lids as he licked a stripe all the way from her entrance back up the underside of her clit, relishing in the way she’d tremble and press her lips together in a desperate attempt to silence her whimpers. The delectable taste of her arousal coated his tongue and simmered on his taste buds as if she were his ambrosia, and he hummed as he licked another line up her slit. 

 “Taste so damn good,” he practically growled against her cunt as he plunged his face back in, his lips around her clit and tongue swirling against the sensitive nub. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face now as she threw her head back, using every last ounce of strength inside her body to will her moans to stay at a minimum. All she could do was pray that nobody would come knocking on her classroom door now. 

 A string of curses, his name among the mix, tumbled from her lips as he sucked her clit, every swirl of his tongue coaxing her closer and closer to the edge. She was balancing on a tightrope now, teetering on bliss as his tongue trailed down to her entrance, slow but firm as it pushed its way in. Her fingers tightened in the mess of hair on his head, pulling harder, making him surge into her. 

 She could feel every inch of his tongue inside of her and he was so close, the bridge of his nose pressed deliciously down on her clit, sending her down into a spiral of pleasure. She squeezed her eyelids together so tight, she was seeing stars, a shimmering backdrop of glitter as he swirled his muscle inside of her, humming into her at her taste. 

 “Sh… shi… shit, Mike!” She gasped as he nodded his head, tongue swirling inside of her, the bridge of his nose rubbing up and down against her clit. Her eyes were rolling into the back of her hand, every move his tongue made and every bit of pressure his nose applied to her clit added more rubber bands to the ball pressing down against the pit of her belly, dangerously close to erupting. “I’m… I’m gonna come if you don’t… if you don’t stop.”

 Mike blinked up at her and pulled away for breath, every inch of his face from the bridge of his nose down slick and shiny with her arousal. She felt herself clench at the mere sight as his chest heaved, chasing air back into his lungs, a smug smirk on his face. “I’m betting on it, babe,” he chuckled before diving back in, her pussy empty one moment and nearly full of his tongue the next. 

 His eagerness almost had her screaming, her nails scraping so hard against his scalp, somewhere in the back of her mind, she feared she’d draw blood. Mike hummed against her— he didn’t seem to mind so much. 

 Oh, how could he when he could sense she was so close? He could practically smell her orgasm, using every ounce of skill in his body to push her even closer to the edge, to knock her unsteady on top of that tightrope until it snapped below her altogether. 

 With her hand not tangled in his hair, she sank her teeth into the side of her hand to muffle the scream that ripped through her body, squeezing her eyelids shut even tighter as her body spasms, bones rattling in her release’s wake. Her orgasm thundered and cracked through her body like an earthquake, the sheer power of her release like a tempest. Her thighs squeezed around Mike’s head and he palmed at the sides of them as he swirled his tongue inside of her again and again, making sure not a drop of her went to waste. 

 He was practically drinking her, slurping every last drop until there was none left to be had. And only when that moment came did he pull away, breathless as he sat back on his heels below her desk, swiping at the slick dripping down his face with the back of his hand. 

 Mike gazed up at her curiously, her head still thrown back over the back of the chair, chest heaving up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. He chuckled as he pushed himself out from underneath her desk and up so that he could stand beside her, a palm cupping her cheek, the other aiding her head to sit normally on her shoulders. The pad of his thumb soothed over against her cheek, coaxing her out of her bleary state, her vision slowly beginning to clear again. 

 Mike tried to bite back his smile, “doing alright there?”

 She huffed as her cheeks burned, “shut up, Mike.”

a/n; i ended up writing up this one in like 45 minutes while sitting in the bathtub LMAO y'all went absolutely crazy with the last mike fic, you literally broke my tumblr notifications 😭 glad to see so many others horny for josh in this movie too

TAGLIST !!

@bxbyyyjocelyn

[ghostfacd]

I’M A JEALOUS, JEALOUS, JEALOUS, BOY. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. after gaining massive popularity, you star another show where you have to kiss your co star, which tom isn’t exactly happy about

AUTHOR NOTE. Two posts in one day? Who am I??anyway! This was self indulging because I love Steven Conklin and nobody writes for him 😔 As always, reblogs and comments make me more motivated to continue this series :)

installment of this au | the reader plays fictional character “ella fisher” in tsitp!

Tom wasn’t a jealous guy, at least, he didn’t think so. He was very secure in your relationship, always making sure he didn’t let his emotions get the best of him.

Like when you told him you had gotten the role of Conrad and Jeremiah Fisher’s sister in The Summer I Turned Pretty, and how you were Steven Conklin’s love interest, he congratulated you with a big hug.

He knew who was playing Steven—Sean Kaufman. There was no doubt that Steven was a very charming guy.

“You’re here!” You say giddily, engulfing your boyfriend in a hug when he approached you. “Daisy was just patching up the last of my concealer. Did you get any food?”

Daisy was your makeup artist—and one of the sweetest girls you’ve ever met in your life. She knew the cast pretty well, so when you first got here, she helped break the ice between you and them.

“You know I did,” Tom says, placing the paper bag down on your table. He opened it up, retrieving an iced matcha latte and a poke bowl. You squealed in delight, excited to eat after filming for so long.

“So how was your day?” You say, cheekily grinning at him as you ate your bowl.

“Tiring? I did a photo shoot, it was fun. Then I went home and took a nap, and then I drove to buy you food.”

“Well thank you babe,” you say. “Today was such an exhausting day, so much retakes cause of all the sand. But God do I love this show to death. It’s so much all at once but in a good way, you know?”

“Well I’m just excited to see my girl on the big screen,” Tom smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“YN! Time to film again!” The voice of your director calls out, making you shove your bowl into Tom’s hands and rushing over to the cameramen.

Tom carefully places your bowl down, walking over quietly behind the cameras to watch your scene up close.

He watches as you talk to Lola, who plays Belly, about your plans after high school, and how you wanted to apply for Princeton just like Steven. She rolls her eyes, saying how she doesn’t get how you and Steven get along so well.

Later in the scene, you and Sean sit close together in front of a campfire. Tom remembers vividly of you telling him there was a scene between your character and Steven where the two of you would get extremely close. Tom feels his breath hitch when he sees Sean make you laugh. He knows that it’s just acting—that your character and Sean’s character are love interests in the show, and that it means nothing in real life.

But he just feels so weird. His stomach is in knots, and it feels like his mouth is dry.

“You know,” Sean begins, leaning in close to your face. “I know Belly doesn’t want me liking any of her friends, and your brothers would totally kill me if they knew; but you’re making it so hard.”

“Really Steven?” You fake giggle, leaning closer to his touch. “Well they don’t have to know.”

Sean laughs at your comment, his head falling against your shoulder, something that Tom had always done with you.

And then he sees the director cue the cameramen to zoom in, and then there it is. — You and Sean kiss, and Tom feels his feet move away from the scene without even realizing.

“And… cut!” The director says, clapping. “Good job Sean and Y/N! You really captured the tension between Steven and Ella. That’s a wrap!”

You hug Sean afterwards, the two of you laughing about how stupid the kiss must’ve looked but you knew the viewers would eat it up once the episodes aired.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” Gavin asks, suddenly showing up behind you and Sean.

“Gavin!” You say, putting your hand to your chest. “Way to scare a girl to death!”

Gavin laughs, poking at your sides teasingly. “Just kidding, I know where he is. Stormed off where Lola and Christopher are standing.”

“Storm off?” You say, confused.

“Seems like lover boy wasn’t too keen on you kissing our Sean over here.”

You quickly make your way towards where Lola and Christopher were standing, and just like Gavin had said, Tom was standing behind them. He didn’t look too happy.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, pulling the boy away for some privacy.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh c’mon,” you scoff. “It can’t be nothing. Gavin said you stormed off earlier.”

Tom sighs, clearly wanting to drop the topic. But one look into your genuine concerned eyes makes him crack.

“I was jealous.” He admits, biting his lip back in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

You bite back a smile, arms linking with his. “Awe babe, it’s okay. Just acting. Just like how you kissed Rachel in the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighs, bringing your body close to his. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have felt that way.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smiling brightly. “Feeling jealous is bound to happen with our job, as long as we communicate about it, everything will be fine.” You hug his side, snuggling your face into his coat. “Plus, you know Sean has a girlfriend, right?”

“What?” Tom seems baffled, but he quickly covers it up. “No, yeah, I knew that.”

“Uh huh,” you tease, “don’t worry Tom, I love you the most.”

He leans down, making eye contact with you. “Well I sure hope so, because I love you the most as well.”

And everything was perfect until Gavin lets out a fake barf, telling the two of you to “get a room”.

“Oh get out of here Gav!” You say, shooing him away.

“Yeah Gavin, let the couple have their moment!”

That makes everyone laugh, and you swore you never felt happier than you did right now.