#accidental knotting au

[bottom-lexa]

The accidental knotting part of the fic is done. Now onto the very awkward conversation/snippy argument while they are stuck together.

[witchywithwhiskey]

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were. 

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved. 

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him. 

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside. 

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart. 

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door. 

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume. 

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent. 

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit. 

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help. 

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up. 

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you. 

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup. 

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come. 

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged. 

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing. 

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him. 

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat. 

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve. 

The alpha next door was just so…sweet. 

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor. 

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet. 

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together. 

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard. 

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous. 

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun. 

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct  sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body. 

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically. 

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve. 

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due. 

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you. 

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it. 

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock. 

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!” 

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more. 

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun. 

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway. 

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve. 

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength. 

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together. 

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes. 

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands. 

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges. 

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you. 

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his. 

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy. 

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped. 

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you. 

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound. 

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole. 

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body. 

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy. 

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?” 

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot. 

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach. 

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in. 

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.” 

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot. 

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it. 

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door. 

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible. 

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment. 

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words. 

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed. 

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt. 

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!” 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.” 

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast. 

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver. 

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet. 

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips. 

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer. 

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot. 

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr. 

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him. 

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness. 

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him. 

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.” 

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.” 

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate. 

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

[gorejo]

▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU. - forbes gojo!au

synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.

content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.

The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.

“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror. 

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.

Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.

“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.

“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment. 

“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.  

“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.  

It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.

College reunions, who looks forward to that? 

There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.

One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project. 

Poor kid was fired the next day.

The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened. 

No wonder it was so fucking loud that night. 

Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital. 

Never in hell were you going to show up alone. 

And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.

&lt;< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!! 

Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.

Maybe it was an excuse? 

Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it? 

But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world. 

Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”

Was that already eight years ago? 

But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…

… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.

“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.

Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.

Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.

“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.

“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”

“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”

“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”

“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.

“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging. 

“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”

“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.

“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed. 

Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?” 

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.

“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off. 

“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.

“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”

“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”

“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back. 

“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?” 

“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.

“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.

Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”

“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.

But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”

“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”

“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”

“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.

“You think so?” 

“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”

“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers. 

“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.

“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”

Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”

“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression

“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.

“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.

“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”

Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”

Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.

“But would you look at that,” humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.

“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.

“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.

“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”

Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”

Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat. 

“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko, 

<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.  

Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”

— 

Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours. 

They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.

But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.

Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career. 

He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish. 

When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied. 

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam. 

With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.

And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl. 

Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”

“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”

“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”

“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes. 

“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”

“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”

“Yea, why so?”

“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!” 

Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you. 

For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you. 

Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number. 

And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.

“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”

All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes. 

But with him, you experienced all your firsts.

Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled,  “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream. 

You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day. 

Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?” 

Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you. 

Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity. 

To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.

He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart. 

Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.

You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him. 

So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it. 

And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.

From: Mom.

>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled. 

To: Minako.

<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako? 

From: Minako.

>> Whenever! I can meet now!

>> Is this about our potential engagement?

To Minako.

<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.

You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.

The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.

You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”

how long was this going on for? 

Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?

Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved? 

Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?

The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.

... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day. 

Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”

“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.

The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb. 

After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”

Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.

“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”

“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”

“Says who?” the man challenged. 

“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”

“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.

"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking. 

“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”

“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”

Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.

After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him. 

To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience. 

To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.

—-

“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head. 

Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.

You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl. 

Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him. 

But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.

Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way  —

Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor. 

“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?” 

You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice. 

Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered. 

“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving. 

You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.

“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.

Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week. 

“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.

Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws. 

Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs. 

“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?” 

“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot. 

A ring? you wondered.  

“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.

“Had no excuse not to come.”

“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”

“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.

Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”

Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes. 

Since when did he have that ring? 

Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.

Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —

“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.

“What?” you whispered.

“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”

Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”

Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.   

Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”

“What are you talking —” you stammered.

“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat. 

“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.

“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”

“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?

“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”

“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.

“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.

All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong. 

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.

“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”

“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”

"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.

"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.

"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"

" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.

"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.

"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"

“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?” 

“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.

“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.

“Y-your drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.

His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"

“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.

You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore… 

“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.

The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.

“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair,  his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.

“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.

“… I love you,” you confessed.

Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”

...

You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.

Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.

Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.

“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.

Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring

“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.

“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again. 

“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.

“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.

Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.

Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile. 

And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.

“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you. 

Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."

At least for this night, he was yours. 

You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.

And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip. 

Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed? 

“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.

“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.

“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.

"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.

“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum. 

His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.

Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.

“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”

You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.  

“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.

And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.

“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.

“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured. 

“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head. 

Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.

Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.

“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.

Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.

“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.

… 

How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago. 

“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?” 

Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.

“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”

Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.

“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”

“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.

“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”

“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.

“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.

Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.

"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."

"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.

“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.

“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”

Seven.

He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,

“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out. 

You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.

“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.

“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.

"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms. 

—-

Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.

Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.

Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.

Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.

His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.

His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.

Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing. 

Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.  

Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night. 

“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.

“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.

You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.

And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,

“I’m sorry…”

—- 

It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel. 

You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.

Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.

You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.

You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.

You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.

And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,

“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”

“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.

Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.

You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish. 

But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.

Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.

Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.

Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?

“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.

Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.

“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.

“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”

“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked

“Well, she did ask about us."

“And… did she threaten you or anything?”

“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled. 

Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."

And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.

“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.

"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”

"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.

"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."

“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.

“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.

“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.

“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”

Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”

“B-but you came late to the reunion.”

“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.

“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.

“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."

"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."

"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”

“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.

“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.

“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.

“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”

"I'd like that," you whispered.

“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”

“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes. 

And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,

“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”

author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells

again, i hope you enjoyed it!!

p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:

[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

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Among Strangers | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: A handsome stranger takes it upon himself to take care of you in a crowded subway as you try to evade a man that had been following you after a night of drinking.

•Pairing: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, stalking, public unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, crowded area, sex with a stranger, biting, possessive chan, brief mentions of bondage and claustrophobia with a surprise ending. (I think that's everything)

an: This was first posted on my Wattpad but it was pretty ass and didn't do well so I fixed it up a little bit (a lot... Like it was so bad lol) and figured maybe it would be better appreciated here.

Part II

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After a chill hangout at the bar with some friends from work, you all decide to head home. It's been a chill night with not too much drinking. Since you live close by, walking home seems like a good idea for some fresh air. But as you split from the group, you realize you're not alone. You start to get this eerie feeling like you're being followed. Looking over your shoulder you see a hooded figure and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight up. At every turn there he is, shadowing your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

Nervous about the idea of him following you home, you hop onto the subway thinking you could hide among a sea of people. With the size of the crowd there's no way he could find you. You're confident it'll work as you weave your way through the crowd, tripping over your own feet in a rush to lose him. You aim for the door at the end of the car on the other side just to create some distance between you and him. You steal a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding, checking if the man is still behind you. But in a rush, you accidentally step on someone's foot, sending a jolt of embarrassment through you.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, cheeks reddening. “I'm so sorry.”

When your eyes meet the stranger in front of you, you're met with kind gentle brown eyes belonging to a beautiful man with dimples and perfectly styled hair buzzed slightly on the sides.

“No worries.” He smiles sweetly showing off his perfect dimples while his velvety Australian accent engulfs you and calms down some of the panic in your chest.

Looking over your shoulder again, you catch sight of the man coming into your view. His gaze meets yours, and a smirk plays on his lips before he casually looks away. Panic surges again, your moment of peace gone, sending your heart into overdrive and your eyes to widen in alarm. The handsome stranger in front of you notices your reaction and follows your line of sight to the man in the black hoodie, mirroring your concern.

"Hey, you okay? That guy giving you trouble?" His voice cuts through the chatter of the people around you. His voice, laced with a hint of concern and tinged with something darker, making you snap your attention back to him.

The dim subway lights overhead cast shadows across his young face, highlighting his handsome features more rather than diluting them. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach realizing just how worried for you he is. He glares at the creep and the muscle in his jaw ticks once.

“He’s been following me since I left the bar. I was too afraid to go home so I tried to make a detour to shake him off but he's fucking relentless.” you explain in a quiet hush.

The creep looks over at you again as if to make sure you're still in his eyesight and looks away quickly to not draw attention to his shady acts.

“Maybe he'll back off if he thinks we're together? He looked away pretty quick when he saw me. I'll stay with you for however long you need. Just to be sure that you're safe.” The stranger beside you says sweetly.

You felt fucking lucky to have run into someone willing to help you, to keep you safe. You could've ended up locked in some damp dark basement if not for this man you thought to yourself. You can already feel the mild tipsiness from the alcohol wearing off and you feel more alert and aware of your surroundings.

“Thank you so so much.” You reply and the man holds his hand out for you.

“I'm Chris.” He gives you an award winning smile that lights up his whole face and yours.

You mirror his smile and take his hand. One shake and you gasp at the sudden static shock that you feel spread throughout your whole body rather than just your fingertips. His hand is soft and warm and your body suddenly feels hot all over as if you drank a lot more than you really did.

“Y/N.” You introduce yourself timidly and he gives a small nod of his head.

The train rattles to a stop and opens the doors behind you and Chris, letting on more people eager to get home after work. It becomes increasingly crowded and you're forced even closer to Chris. So much closer that you have to take a couple of steps back in an attempt to have some space, only for your back to hit the glass window of the other doors. Another stop and more people push in, bringing the creep closer to you and forcing Chris's chest to push into yours. He apologizes, placing gentle hands on my arms.

“If you get uncomfortable let me know. I'll try and make space.” He tells you, placing a hand above your head as the train rumbles along.

“Y-yeah okay.” You mutter, feeling the hard muscles underneath the white button up shirt he's wearing.

With the alcohol completely gone from your system now, you realize that the situation you're in is beyond embarrassing. Your breasts are rubbing against his chest with every rock and shake of the train in an almost lewd way. Granted you are thankful that he's keeping you away from being pressed up against some weirdo or worse the guy following you but still, It's awkward. There's no way he can't feel your heart beating so rapidly. The train makes a sudden bump and your bodies are pushed together even more.

“Sorry.” You whisper when your hands instinctively go around his middle. He chuckles and you feel it vibrate through your chest, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter awake.

“It's okay y/n. You give great hugs.” He says, the butterflies go mad and your face grows warm.

He's so sweet and so good looking there's no way he was flirting with me just now. No way, he's just a really sweet guy. Yeah… he's just being nice.

As the train continues to go on you feel eyes on you, burning a hole straight into your skull. Looking around Chris's muscular frame you see the creep, staring, lewdly licking his lips and undressing you with his eyes, no doubt. You squirm to try and get out of eye sight but Chris's strong hand holds you still.

“What's wrong?” He whispers. His voice makes you shiver against him and his fingers tighten on your arms briefly.

“That creep is staring at me.” It makes you feel disgusted. Your skin crawls the way his eyes slide over your face.

Chris curses under his breath and pauses. “I'll push up to give you enough space to turn around so he can't see your face. Maybe once these doors open we can quickly get off and lose him then.”

You nod at his idea and he pushes on the door, putting an inch between you two. It's not a lot of space to move but you try your best, turning around facing away from Chris and the creep. Now, at least like this, your breasts aren't crushed into him. Only now, your ass is pressing against his front. From one awkward situation to another…. This is what I get for going out after work on a Wednesday. You think to yourself. I should've gone straight home or at least changed.

The skirt you decided to wear to the office today is now hitched up just barely covering your ass. If you can just keep still maybe he won't notice and the situation doesn't get any more embarrassing than it is.

“So uh what do you do for work y/n?” Chris asks and clears his throat. You can feel every word against your back.

“Uh, I work at CBO. I'm an editor over there.” You feel him nod behind you slowly.

“I heard they're supposed to get a new CEO. Some big shot is what the news is saying.” He responds but you shrug. You haven't heard much about the new CEO except for that he's the son of the previous CEO as well as the new owner now that his father is retiring.

“I'm sure he'll be a great boss. I actually haven't met him yet. I don't even know what he looks like” You utter softly sounding uncertain. Would he be a great boss? Would he take care of you? Who knows he could change everything with just one hand.

══════════════•✦•✦•══════════════

The train enters a tunnel and you watch the lights outside in the darkness flick and zip past in a blur before noticing Chris's reflection. His eyes are on you, studying your face in the glass of the door. Your eyes meet in the all the air gets sucked out of your lungs like a sudden punch to the gut. His gaze is smoldering, far too hot to be on the receiving end of such intensity. No one says a word although his lips slowly form a sexy coquettish smile.

“Do you need me to stay with you when we get off while you call your boyfriend?.” He whispers.

You shake your head no, eyes still on his reflection. “Don't have one of those but I can call a friend to pick me up.”

As you're about to open your mouth again to thank him for the hundredth time, the train comes to a screeching stop and the lights in the car go out. Men and women grumble and some even scream. The force causes Chris to slam into you and your skirt bunches up further about midway up your ass. In a panic you tell him and he curses under his breath.

“I'll try to fix it but I have to touch you, y/n. Is that okay?” Him asking for consent to touch you makes him that much more attractive.

“Yes, please.” You say, just as a voice is heard over the speaker.

“Passengers, please be patient there seems to be some debris on the tracks that is blocking our route. They're already taking care to remove it. We'll be moving on shortly.” The voice is replaced with calming elevator music playing loudly.

That's a smart way to keep everyone calm so that no one panics. Only one panicking right now however is you. The feel of Chris's fingertips against your bare thighs is driving you insane. His touch is hot but you shiver like his fingers are made of ice. Why is it turning me on so much when he's just trying to fix my skirt?. The move is too slow to be legal that's why. His movements feel so sensual.

“Sorry, I'm trying not to draw attention.” He explains as if he can hear your thoughts.

Shit you want to stop him. To say never mind and to leave it as is and pray that the train will be stopping soon to let some people off… but you don't. Instead you hold your breath and squeeze your legs together. Your arousal grows to an unbearable high. It's just a simple touch. Why is it driving you crazy? You aren't inexperienced at your age by any means. You've had lovers before but this man's fingers, they burn wherever he touches.

“The material of your skirt seems to be stuck on my fly.” He says and the urge to crawl into a hole is strong. “I can fix it but I'll have to lower my zipper. Tell me what you're comfortable with y/n.” He whispers leaning closer to your ear.

Loose tendrils of your ponytail flutter around your ear from his breath and you mentally remind yourself to breathe. Would it be selfish to ask him to lower it? What if he's uncomfortable with that? This isn't just about you now.

“I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

He places his palm flat against your thigh comfortingly. “Whatever you decide, I won't be uncomfortable. As long as you're comfortable y/n, then so am I.” The conviction in his voice calms you and you give him a curt nod once.

“Lower it please.” You whisper, your voice sounding small with embarrassment.

His hand moves again from your thigh to your ass and you bite your lip hard. His knuckles graze the bareness and you unexpectedly feel him stir from inside his black slacks. Seems like I'm not the only one turned on by the other. Slowly and agonizingly, he lowers his zipper to not be heard over the piano and violin playing through the speakers.

“There. Are you okay?” You don't feel okay. You feel like you’re on the verge of dying from embarrassment and horniness. You can feel the opening of his pants against you and his growing erection pressing into your ass.

“I'm okay.” You lie. “Thank you Chris.”

Out of habit whenever you're riddled with anxiety, you shift your footing which only makes your ass rub against his erection more. “Shit. I'm sorry, I move around when I'm in an embarrassing situation and this takes the cake for me.”

He chuckles softly. “It's okay. I uh, I can't really control it unfortunately. Not when I've got such a beautiful woman like you in my arms. You make it… difficult to say the least.”

You rest your forehead onto the cold glass feeling the blush take over your whole face and he chuckles again.

“If I knew my evening would be like this I wouldn't have gone to happy hour with my co-workers.” Your sad confession fogs up the glass and you close your eyes.

He places a comforting hand on your hip. You're so packed he can't seem to stand the way he was before. His arms are restricted from raising any further than your hips now.

“It's okay y/n it's not all bad. We got to meet after all.” He says, making you smile.

“That's true. I don't know what would've happened if I didn't run into you.” His hands linger and you get so used to the heat that when he finally does move them away you feel cold and shiver under him. He groans softly, sending something like an electric current to the space between your thighs. That sound… you want to hear it more. Biting your lip you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Y/n…” Chris quietly says, sounding amused. “What are you doing?”

You shake your head feigning innocence. “My feet. It's these heels, I'm sorry.”

Why did I do that? I've seriously lost my mind but why do I want to do it again? The feel of him hard against your ass must be making you certifiably insane. This isn't right. Your better judgment screams at you. It's just your hormones getting out of hand.

When he places both hands on your hips and leans in, you expect for him to call you out on that blatant lie but instead he whispers, “Do it again.” All while slowly playing with the hem of your skirt.

You stifle a silent gasp, jaw dropping in disbelief, yet you obediently follow his instructions moving your hips just slightly. When you do, his left hand grips onto your hip tight and he sighs. His erection, that's fighting itself to stay inside the confines of his briefs, jerks forward against the fabric. Before you can shift again, his right arm wraps around you and his fingers find the wetness of your panties.

“So I'm not the only one fighting temptation I see.” His warm sweet breath fans across your cheek and your body sags a little in his arms when his fingers begin to dance.

Focusing on your breathing is all you can do so you don't faint from his touch. And trying to stay quiet now becomes a struggle the more his fingers move.

“Is this okay y/n?” You can only nod, too afraid of accidentally moaning and embarrassing yourself anymore today. He just chuckles and stops the torturous tango that his fingers were doing. “Use your words baby girl. Tell me if it's okay or not.” he instructs.

“Yes. It's okay, more please.” You hoarsely whisper, voice thick with lust.

Chris doesn't move, doesn't make a sound for what feels like minutes rather than seconds. Afraid that he might not have heard you, you open your mouth to repeat yourself when his fingers slip under the satin of your thong and into your slick folds.

“Good girl.” He says, his voice dripping with sex.

You lay your head back onto his shoulder as he works you just barely over the edge. Long fingers slipping in and out, massaging your thoroughly drenched cunt with ease. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and everything around you begins to blur. Lust, that primal urge, it ignites like a flame inside you, pulsating with an insatiable hunger that courses through every fiber of your being. You're so close to cumming around Chris's fingers, soaking his hand with your desire. You want to tell him just how close you are but if you let up on the hold your teeth have on your bottom lip you won't be able to control the sounds you'll make.

The lights come on just as you're about to come undone and he quickly removes his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them. The train begins to move again and you squint at the sudden light overhead that blinds you, breathing heavily. Before your eyes can adjust to the light and before your core begins to crave Chris's touch, you feel him fumbling behind you freeing his cock and distracting you from the frustration of your denied orgasm.

“Is there anything I should know?” He inquires, sounding like he's in a business meeting.

You don't need to ask what he's referring to. The real question though is do you really want to do this here, with someone you just met? What if you get caught? You both could get arrested. You could get fired. But there's no room in your mind for logic right now with the thrill and your need to cum clouding you. Fuck it.

“No nothing, I'm good. This is what I want.” You see his reflection smile.

“Good. Now, keep your eyes on me y/n.”

You feel the tip of him, covered in precum pressed firmly on your ass and his hands slide under your navy skirt pushing it up further. He hooks his thumb under the string of your thong and pulls it to the side. Your eyes never leave his face.

“No noise.” He warns, situating himself behind you, lining his cock up just right.

His cock feels thick and hot slipping between your thighs. You're so wet that there's little to no resistance as he pushes further and further until he's fully inside you. You let out a shuddering breath and your eyelids flutter close, feeling his warmth.

“No noise, remember? Look at me y/n. I want to see you when you cum on dick.” He tells you quietly, his voice more quiet than a whisper.

Your eyes fly open and stare at his reflection in awe of how gorgeous and composed he looks. He looks calm, like he's doing nothing other than waiting for his stop but his hands tell you otherwise. You feel it in the way he's gripping you to steal himself and to keep from bucking his hips into you at full force like he wants to. Like you want him to.

Instead he has to go at such an aching delicious slow pace so that the people behind him or next to you both aren't aware of what's going on. Your fingers long to hold onto him, to anything really. You're stuck standing still with your palms flat against the glass in front of you. Your breathing begins to fog the glass but you keep your focus on Chris and notice how his eyes go half lidded.

The brown seems to have gotten darker than the warm milk chocolate from earlier. One of his arms snakes around you and he presses his hand flat on your belly giving him more leverage. When he starts to move just a tad faster your heart rate skyrockets. The fear, adrenaline and lust mixing together creates an intoxicating concoction. Every glance, every touch, becomes charged with an energy that enthralls you. Your pulse echoes in your ears, drowning out all rational thought.

Chris's thrusts are covered up by the rocking of the train as it speeds down the rails. Your orgasm isn't far at this rate. Like a slow burn you feel it building up. A simmering that starts deep within your core, radiating up and outward. You're struggling to stay standing, to stay quiet now.

Your breathing comes out in ragged pants and your knees threaten to buckle the closer he brings you to ecstasy. You aren't the only one struggling, Chris's breathing is just as shaky and primal as yours and you hear him whisper something in another language before he murmurs “Fuck.” Into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. When your walls tighten around him he curses again and his gaze looks wild.

“Why do you feel so good around my cock y/n?” He asks but you don't dare respond. He smirks, grinding himself into you. “You take directions s-so well. So… obedient.” He whispers.

You can hear how he's losing his control. His composure has melted away and he no longer looks calm and collected. He looks like a man high on sex and chasing the release that's within reach.

“Y/n… fuck. Tell me, can I cum inside you? Will you let me fill you? Use your words beautiful.” He nips your neck just below your ear and you tremble.

“Yes. You can,” You bite your lip again to hold back what would've been a loud gasp when the train jerks Chris forward causing his cock to slam into your sensitive cunt. “You can cum inside. I'm so close Chris.”

“Then cum baby. Fucking cream on it y/n. Shit, so good.

Hearing him lose himself like that is your undoing and you're falling apart around him. The air becomes heavy with the heady scent of arousal, thick and intoxicating, swirling around you and Chris like a seductive veil. Each breath is laced with the taste of pleasure. Time seems to stand still as you stare at him. Eyes wide as you breathe through your nose squeezing your lips shut tight desperate to make no sound at all. Your cunt convulses around his cock begging to milk it of every drop.

The aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you as he continues to thrust deeper and deeper. His own orgasm right at the edge. His arm tightens around you, hugging you closer to him. his breath becomes shallow and erratic as he reaches his climax.

“Fuck, fuck.” He whispers and he bites down hard on your neck over your fast pulsating pulse, sucking your flesh to keep himself from telling you how you belong to him now.

He bites you to keep the grunts and praises from tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. Because something about you makes him lose control. He doesn't do shit like this. He's careful, always planning and thinking things out. He just doesn't do spontaneity. He didn't plan this, it just happened. You just bulldozed into his life and he can’t get enough. What is it about you that makes him desire this cunt he's currently filling to the brim that he craves to make sore and swollen with his cock until the sun rises? Whatever it is, he's already addicted. He needs you in his own space, tied up nice and pretty like a gift only for him to unwrap. Fuck. He's already thinking of all the positions he'd have you in if you were at his place.

You watch in awe at how intense and irresistible he looks while he spills himself inside of you. His eyes hold so much power over you. You feel the weight of his possessiveness in his unwavering stare and it excites you immensely. You find yourself thinking of asking him to come back to your place where you'd be free to move around, cry his name out without anyone around. You're curious how sex with Chris would be in a more relaxed setting. If this orgasm was intense you can't imagine how it would feel when he isn't holding back.

He slowly pulls out of you, fixing himself as best as he can and then fixes your skirt back in place. He places a sweet kiss to the back of your head, chest still rapidly rising and falling. When you blush he chuckles.

“You're a cutie y/n. After all that, you blush from a kiss. So adorable.” He murmurs and you shift your feet. “If we don't get off soon I'll end up going for another round if you keep that up.”

You giggle and look back at him, “Sorry, I'll behave.” You sweetly say.

“What if I don't want you to?” He says instantly.

You blink at him, your face reflecting shock in the glass, and he chuckles. “To be honest with you y/n, I'd love to see you again if you'd let me.”

“Me? Seriously?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Of course. Preferably somewhere less crowded. I think after today I'll be just a little claustrophobic.”

You laugh and even after what just happened you can't believe how incredible of a guy he is. He wraps his arms around you, hugging you while you laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh y/n?” He whispers and you shake your head. “Why does something as simple as hearing you laugh make me so hard? What have you done to me?”

A shiver of pleasure runs through your body and he exhales quietly.

“I'd fuck you again right now if we weren't about to stop.” He tells you followed by the robotic female voice informing everyone to wait until the train comes to a complete stop and the doors open.

As the subway doors slide open, Chris grabs your hand and pulls you through them, dodging the rush of commuters that are eager to go home. With ease he leads you away from the hooded creep that's desperate to find you, vanishing into the shadows behind a massive pillar. You peek out from behind Chris who scans the area cautiously. When the man doesn't see you he hops back on the train, disappointment evident on his face but relief floods over you. Glad that's over.

"Thank you Chris." you say, sending a quick text to your best friend for a ride. “For saving me I mean.”

"It was my pleasure, y/n." he replies smoothly, grinning at you, his gaze lingering on your lips. His thumb brushes your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Anytime you need saving, or anything really just give me a shout, yeah?" He hands you a sleek black business card with fancy gold letters.

Maybe you will call him, because you really can't imagine that you'll get the memory of how he felt inside of you out of your mind. Besides, he made it very clear he wanted to see you again and how could you turn a man like Chris down?

After saying goodbye when your bestie arrives, you watch Chris walk away in the side mirror as the car eases into traffic. Glancing at the card in your hand, you see it reads "Chris Bang, CEO and Co-owner of CBO," and you feel a wave of shock and mortification wash over you.

“Who was that hottie?” Your friend asks bobbing her head along to the radio when she stops at a red light.

“My new boss…” You say, still feeling his warm cum still inside of you.

“Also... what the hell happened to your neck?”

[sp4ceboo]

Maniac: OT8!Stray Kids x Reader

genre: a/b/o au, omegaverse, medieval au, ot8 x reader, pack dynamics, afab!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: you're your pack's only omega - when your alphas are taken from you, you refuse to rest until you're reunited with them

A/N: i loved writing this so come get your food i hope u guys like it <33

tw: 18+, a lot of smut (p in v, bath sex, knots and all that a/b/o shit, mentions of breeding ofc, 1 accidental pass out, oral - m&f recieving, face fucking, so much cum oh god, crying during sex, bit of mxm at points, somno but not much, lots of praise, one instance of finger sucking, manhandling, overstimulation, a spank, no mentioned protection because sorry it's medieval times, back scratching and biting, creampie, reader basically gets run a train on, a few 3some type things, dw there is also soft smut, guys please pee after sex), gore, blood, death, fighting, evil creepy dude, mention of past trauma, swearing, mistreatment of omegas, half assed editing, porn plot 50-50 split i reckon

wc: 12.98k

The moment the heavy wooden door of the smithy splinters and gives way, you bolt upright. Minho is already out of bed, the sheets still warm from where he was lying beside you, and you catch the glint of steel in his hand as he stands by the window, peering out at the street below; Seungmin is gone, his side of the mattress cold. Your heart stutters, and you stiffen at the all too familiar musky scent that permeates the air, rising up from between the rickety floorboards.

‘Goemul?’ You ask.

Minho nods grimly. ‘Who else?’

‘Fuck. He won’t leave me alone, will he?’

‘We won’t let him anywhere near you,’ he replies, voice low and full of anger.

You squeeze your eyes shut when Minho tucks an arm around your waist and presses you to him, pushing your nose into his neck; breathing in his scent - rain and sweet vanilla - you allow yourself a moment of comfort in his strong embrace before breaking away. A crash sounds below, and you grab your staff.

Jisung bursts in. You smell the fight on him before you see the bruising blooming across his face; there’s adrenaline spiking his scent and blood splattered across his front - not his, you note with relief. There’s a wild look in his eyes, the same look you saw the first time Goemul came for you.

‘He’s back, and with more troops,’ he gasps. ‘Chan says - ’

A chilling battle cry rings out, cutting him off.

Ice skitters down your spine. None of your pack are arrogant enough to have a signature war cry - there’s only one person that could be. Minho visibly bristles, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword before he shoulders open the bedroom door and you hear his footsteps pound down the stairs. You move to follow, but Jisung grabs your wrist.

‘Chan says you have to go. You need to run.’

You scoff. ‘Absolutely not. This is my pack.’

An edge enters Jisung’s voice. ‘And you’re our omega.’

You give him a look and he can see there’s no way he can convince you - you sprint down the stairs, him hot on your heels. Immediately, the smell of the fight overwhelms you as your feet hit the floor: at least twenty other alphas versus your eight, and a few betas fighting amongst the enemy too. Face twisted fiercely and teeth bared, Hyunjin barrels by, slashing at a stocky, snarling alpha with a rusted sword. It’s one of the ones Felix had scavenged for melting down, and you can see the wooden hilt is rotting.

Without hesitation, you raise your hand, and the attack runes painted there for an occasion just like this glow azure blue, so bright they’re almost white, and the alpha collapses, his heart ruptured in his chest. Panting, Hyunjin glances up and gives you a nod before diving back into battle, aiding Jeongin with the two betas tag teaming him.

You thrust yourself into the melee, fighting with both a sword you snatch off a fallen knight and your runes and staff. Energy begins to flow from you, leaking from your soul each time you use your runes - you’re careful to rotate your usage of the different ones inscribed on your skin, making sure you don’t tire a specific one, yet still you feel the itch of their overuse, and the knights pouring in aren’t thinning.

You catch sight of Goemul through the grappling bodies, and a flash of pure fear rivets you to the spot despite yourself. He’s locked in combat with Chan, but the spike in your scent catches both their attention, Goemul’s roar piercing through the sound of clashing blades. Chan hands seamlessly over to Changbin, and you feel his gaze pinpoint on you as he cuts through any attackers that try to stop him as he approaches.

You try to ignore his insistent stare, instead whacking one of the intruders over the head with your staff and forcefully bringing your knee up into his stomach. Chan is sweaty, his shoulders heaving from the fight, and guilt stings your chest - if it wasn’t for you, Goemul and his pack wouldn’t be here.

‘I thought I told Jisung to tell you to run.’

His voice is rough, raspy no doubt from shouting orders to the boys, and nearly drowned out from the din of the fight, yet you hear him clearly, attuned to the sound of your pack leader’s voice.

‘I wanted to stay and fight. It’s my fault, anyway.’

‘This is not your fault,’ Chan snaps. ‘We all knew Goemul would come after you.’

‘And yet you took me in anyway,’ you mutter.

He gives you a sharp look. ‘You need to run. We’re not going to last much longer. We’re tired, and we weren’t expecting it. We need you to break us out when they take us prisoner.’

You don’t think about the other option, the option that doesn’t include taking prisoners and includes death, instead breathing out an anxious: ‘What if I can’t?’

‘I know you can. I trust you, omega.’

Even in the midst of a fight, Chan knows what to say to put you at ease. He knows what is needed to look after his pack, and you know that he knows this, without doubt. You can see that your alphas are tiring, can see that this attack came as a surprise - Changbin is fighting with a hammer used for shaping swords, for fuck’s sake.

You swallow thickly. ‘I love you, Channie. Keep them safe, please. Keep yourself safe.’

Curtly, he nods. No promises. You turn on your heel and run.

You’ve been told all your life that omegas don’t fight, that omegas aren’t fierce. Omegas don’t retaliate, and they take whatever they’re given by their alphas without complaint.

Too bad that’s all been proven official bullshit.

The night is hostile. Clouds scuttle across the sky, polluting the moon’s pure silver light, and the soggy leaves beneath your feet muffle your footsteps - it’s cold, dark, damp, but you’re kept warm by the hot fury that you’ve been nursing since that night, knotted in a ball nestled right beside your heart.

Leaves are flattened beneath your boots. Wind weaves its way thinly through the tree trunks, singing lowly to itself. The stars are blotted from the sky, the moon a thin, faltering sliver. You walk onwards, staff sturdy against your palm.

Tonight is a perfect night for revenge.

Tonight you’re going to make sure Goemul leaves your pack alone for good, and tonight you’re going to make sure that you’re reunited with your alphas. It doesn’t matter that you’re an omega - you will fight. You can fight.

Your staff is testament to that. So are the attack runes painted in practised calligraphy on both your hands, the black ink winding up your forearms - you’ve added more since your alphas were taken from you, enough to extinguish the possibility of exhausting all of them. There are runes to boil a man’s brain in his skull, runes to explode his lungs even as he draws breath, runes made so you can protect your pack.

You are also half feral with the beginnings of your heat.

Blood rushes through your body, your heart pumping so hard in your chest you think it may punch through your ribs; your pupils are fully dilated, anticipating the fight. There’s a roaring in your ears, and intertwined in the thunderous, earsplitting noise of it is an insistent whisper: protect, protect, protect.

There’s no preventing this timing. Every second you spend without your pack, they could be hurting, bleeding, worse. All the preheat does is give you a vicious edge - the desperation of a cornered animal, the strength of one who has nothing else to lose.

You think this is what your ancestors must have felt, back when there were no cities, no castles made of rock, no swords or books, just the primal urge to hunt and fight and protect. You wonder if they smile down on you. You wonder if they slip silently across the narrow path before you, guiding you with ghostly hands, spurring you forward, closer to your pack, closer to the keep.

Closer to Goemul.

Once, he owned you. Owned you, because he does not believe omegas can belong - they can only be owned. You would spend nights curled on the stone floor, trying to rid yourself of his awful scent, nights where you would stare up at the pitiless rafters - even they smelt like him, wishing you were anywhere but where you were.

And then came Seungmin, carrying with him the scent of warm embers and freedom.

Somehow, here you are again, back on Goemul’s territory. You knew he wouldn’t let you go easily; you are proof to those he crushes beneath his boot heels that there is an escape.

There are two knights posted outside the keep’s wide wooden doors - thankfully ones that won’t recognise you. Faintly, you can hear the sounds of a feast within, yellow light spilling out into the night. Overhead, the clouds coalesce, and something in the air sharpens - the first patter of rain hits the tree canopy, muting your footsteps as you step forward.

‘Halt,’ one of the guards commands. ‘State your purpose.’

‘I’m just a blacksmith, sir,’ you reply meekly. ‘Looking to sell my wares to the lord and his men.’

The other guard grunts, sending a nod to the one who spoke, and swings open a hatch set in the big doors, the hinges groaning in protest. Ducking your head, you step into the great hall: it’s a huge, cavernous room made of rough, dark granite with flaming sconces fixed to the walls and violent tapestries hung between them; it’s where Goemul receives his guests.

Just the sight of the place makes your stomach turn, but it’s the heavy stench of musk that forces you to hide the shaking of your hands in the folds of your cloak. The musk in Goemul’s scent is heavy and suffocating, like a dirty, soaked blanket dumped discourteously over one’s head - nothing like Chan’s.

You glance around the hall. There are about three alphas to every omega in the room; the latter are interspersed throughout the former, either chained or collared - something that you remember all too well. Two lounge on the podium beneath Goemul’s chair, which is really more of a throne with its gaudy ornate carvings, their hands on him, their eyes brimming with fear.

You remember that, too.

And there, in the corner, you see them. Your nails dig into your palms. Your pack. Your pack. Crammed in a tiny cage, chained to a ring set in the wall, curled against each other. Nothing can hide the anger that rises in your scent when you see that Chan has pushed his way to the front, protecting his boys, bruises flowering across his face and neck and arms, dried blood smeared on his tattered shirt.

You know Goemul. You know that the cage is purpose built to hold prisoners used for entertainment.

Unmistakable now, fury soars on you, permeating the smell of the feast, permeating Goemul’s pungent musk.

Slowly, heads begin to turn. They don’t recognise you - you’ve masked your scent with runes scrawled down your collarbones and ringing your wrists, written over twice to hide the smell of your preheat. Still, they stare, with a sort of reluctant curiosity.

‘A blacksmith, my lord,’ one of the guards announces from behind you.

Goemul narrows his eyes, trying to see your face from the shadows of your hood. ‘What for?’

‘Looking to sell her wares, she said.’

He guffaws, and the sound of laughter ripples through those sitting at the banqueting table even though they don’t know what’s amusing him. Slowly, he gets to his feet, the two omegas scrambling to give him space - you see the glint of a chain pulling tight, fixed to the base of the podium. The guard beside you shuffles his feet nervously. Somewhere within the darkened cage, you swear you see someone stir.

‘What wares, guard?’

Gleefully, Goemul inhales like he’s feasting upon the guard’s fear as he realises you carry nothing, just the staff in your hand. You hear his muttered curse, the whoosh of air when he takes in a hurried breath, preparing to spill out apologies, not knowing how this has raised his lord’s wrath so intensely but knowing that he needs to beg and scrape if he wants to live.

‘Leave.’

Goemul’s voice hasn’t even finished ringing through the hall before the guard is tripping over himself to slam the hatch behind him, not waiting to see if his lord will withdraw his mercy. Slowly, Goemul settles back down on his throne, the omegas assuming their previous positions, their hands running over his legs as if to appease his anger.

You let your cowl fall back, revealing your features.

A murmur ripples through Goemul’s men.

He waits until they’re quiet. Around the room, the omegas watch you with wide eyes - you know they recognise you, you know they’re wondering why you would ever choose to return to this cursed place. Nearest to you, one jerks his head a little, as if to tell you to run.

‘I knew you’d come crawling back, my omega,’ he grins, smiling with too many teeth. ‘Although, I guess I do have something of yours, don’t I?’

‘I am not yours, Goemul,’ you hiss.

Lightning flares outside, followed by a strident clap of thunder.

‘Your pack is, though,’ he chuckles. ‘We had so much fun together, little omega. Channie and I are well acquainted now, since we had our nice pack leader to pack leader conversation.’

‘You keep his name out your mouth,’ you snap.

‘He bled a lot, though,’ Goemul muses, faking thoughtfulness. ‘I can’t seem to understand why.’

His dark eyes bore into yours, waiting to see your response. You can tell that he knows his goading is getting to you - he’s smiling that infernal smile, the one that makes you want to peel his skin from his bones and force it down his throat with a dagger.

Outside, thunder growls, low and furious.

You raise your staff. ‘You leave me no choice.’

Eyes locked on his, you bring it down. The oakwood hits the stone floor with a sound far louder than it should be, as if the very rock beneath your feet has split, rended apart down to the Earth’s very core. A muffled whoompf follows, and one by one, the torches in the sconces are snuffed out by an unseen force. Darkness descends.

All around, you sense scents spiking - they may be Goemul’s men, but they still feel fear; you doubt any of them have met someone who wields sorcery, let alone an omega. A hush falls over the hall, loaded with the anticipation before a fight.

‘A little bit of shadow won’t scare us, omega,’ Goemul calls.

You don’t reply. You’re busy stalking silently across the room, a key in your hand. It doesn’t matter that it’s not the one from the ring on Goemul’s belt - it’s covered all over with unlocking runes moulded right into the metal, something you forged yourself.

There’s a tinge of wild anger in Goemul’s voice when he speaks again. ‘Omega?’

When you reach through the bars of the cage, a warm, calloused hand is already waiting. Now that you’re close, you can smell their individual scents, the hurt and the exhaustion on them. Your eyes have adjusted to the gloom just enough that you can see Felix curled against Changbin, and although they’re both smiling proudly at you, eyes fierce, you can see the pain in their faces too. It sets bitter anger roiling within you, as deep and wrathful as the storm outside.

You know Goemul is listening. You hope he is, as the sound of a key in a lock and the clatter of chains rings out through the room. You hope he feels the control slipping through his desperate, clawing fingers as nervous whispers riffle through the great hall, as alphas reach for their swords, disbelieving that Goemul failed to make a single, lone omega submit to him.

And then, low and menacing and crystal clear, Chan growls.

You feel everyone in the hall freeze at the sound. There are no words to the deep rumble vibrating in his chest, just the white hot, primal fury of a leader whose pack has been hurt. Simply the tone of it roots half the men in the hall to the spot, the hairs on the backs of their necks rising, their palms slick with sweat as they stare wide eyed into the darkness.

‘Goemul,’ Chan snarls, stepping from the cage. ‘I swear I will not rest until you are dead.’

The last part comes out as a roar, and with it, chaos descends.

Before the echo of Chan’s voice has even died down, air whooshes past you - what must be Changbin and Minho shooting out of the cage. A strangled cry sounds as they finish off the closest two alphas, wrenching their swords from their belts to fight with. Someone’s hand brushes your waist as the rest of your pack members swiftly exit the cage: Felix, by the gentle scent of violets that washes over you, and yet on it you can almost taste the yearning to fight.

Your alphas are not vengeful. Protective, however, is a different story, and as each of their unique scents spread out across the room, meeting Goemul’s alphas that slash out blindly with their swords blow for blow, you know each of them are thinking of what all of you have gone through under Goemul’s orders.

Above it all, Goemul’s battle cry rings out, but you don’t flinch, don’t bat an eyelash - you’re ready for him this time, fresh runes all over your skin. Your alphas may be injured, but they’ve been cooped up in a too small cage for almost a week and they’re sure as hell fucking angry.

A feverish, clammy hand grabs your wrist. Hot air laced with the stink of ale puffs against your cheek. ‘Witch.’

You take a step forward, stabbing out with the butt of your staff and catching your attacker in the stomach. A throng of them have formed around you, angry and growling and still reeling that one omega has caused this much havoc, their movements uncoordinated and laced with more fear than any of them would ever admit.

Under the low illumination of the lightning strikes, you can just about see they’ve made a ring around you. Maybe they think that their numbers will prevail over your sorcery and they’ve got a quick kill, because some of them are smiling as if the fight’s already over. You almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

As you strike out with your staff, you think of Chan, welcoming you into his pack, back when all you could do around alphas was flinch - patient, soft spoken Channie, bloodied by Goemul and his men from shielding the boys with his body, half conscious from the violence.

You think of Minho as you break a man’s nose, Minho who said little to begin with but would always be silently checking on you, making sure you were comfortable, leaving you an extra blanket in winter before he eventually slept by your side, his body warm against yours, currently with a split lip and cracked ribs.

You knock a man’s sword from his hand, catching it in your own, and think of Changbin, always there to make you smile and feel safe with his big arms and tight hugs, always acting tough but in truth all soft and gooey on the inside, his knuckles now bloodied and face twisted in pain.

While you cut down another alpha that runs at you, you think of Hyunjin, who calls you his muse, who crafts the most beautiful ornate daggers back at the smithy, and who gave you his favourite one with a sweet kiss on your forehead and a promise to never leave you, painted with bruises that spread wide over his back.

Your stolen blade clashes against an attacker’s as you think of Jisung, your Jisung who never fails to make you laugh, never fails to wrap his arms around you from behind when you need it most, beaten until he blacked out, his eyes almost swollen shut from the bruising.

The runes painted on your palms glow bright while you think of Felix, who baked you sweet treats and wiped your tears every day that they fell, who healed your soul with his sunshine smile, nose bloody and near broken from repeated blows.

Fatigue makes your arm tremble as you swing your sword, but you fight on, thinking of Seungmin, who was the first to find you, the first to plant the seed of hope, always the one who dispels your doubts with the sureness of his words, his head now bowed and teeth gritted to fight to keep down the cry that builds within him from the pain.

Your blade gets stuck between an alpha’s ribs, so you whirl your staff in your hands and think of Jeongin, sweet, sweet Jeongin who would hold your hand after the nightmares, whispering reassurances and holding you until you could fall asleep again, his big hands carding through your hair, bloodied and beaten for nothing but sport.

You fight, and as you do, you think of your alphas. You let the insistent whisper from before rise to become a roar, rise to drown out the sounds of the battle: protect, protect, protect. It burns like liquor as it rushes through your veins, and you find it strengthens you, even as the energy spills from you through the usage of your runes; it guides your blade, guides your staff, ensuring your strikes hit home.

And then, all of a sudden, no one’s attacking you any more.

No one is running at you with swords, derisive words on their lips, no one is throwing punches at you or trying to sweep your legs out from under you so they can kick you when you’re down. You sway a little, half expecting someone to appear out of nowhere, but all the remaining alphas subservient to Goemul are fighting elsewhere or have fled - they weren’t prepared, instead lulled into a false sense of safety within their own keep. There’s a ring of bodies slumped on the floor around you.

Something wrenches in your gut, twisting. A warning: your heat will be upon you soon - the longest you have left is a few hours. Sweat suddenly pricks at your body. You need to finish this, and quickly.

Chan blurs by, exchanging hurled punches and vicious kicks with Goemul. You’re leaning against your staff for support, catching your breath, but as three alphas dive into the melee, clawing at Chan’s back and hauling him off Goemul, and as you spot the two omegas, still chained to the podium and cowering under a half collapsed table, unable to escape, you find you aren’t really that tired after all.

You’re on Goemul within seconds.

He grins. ‘Hello again, my little omega - ’

You punch him across the face. Hard. His head snaps to the side, and you grab his shirt, slamming him once, twice against the hard, unforgiving floor of his great hall, savage red fog hazing your vision, not letting up even when you feel the crunch of his nose beneath your knuckles.

‘You’re stupid, Goemul,�� - you spit the name he’s created for himself - ‘for underestimating omegas. You think you’re destined to lord over us all, when all you are is a fucking scared little pup clinging to control and power you don’t deserve.’

Despite it all, he laughs, and blood glistens on his teeth. ‘You’re driving yourself crazy, little omega. I can smell the heat on you - you can’t kill me if your body needs my knot. All you need to do is to ask for it, sweet thing, and I’ll give it to you.’

Your grip on him falters, and he flips you, pinning you to the floor beneath him. Struggling against his grip, you thrash, your careful runes long forgotten, crimson rolling in like mist over the hills, and something wide and primal yawns open within you - your lips pull back, and you bare your teeth at him, pupils dilating as you lurch your head forward, snapping at his throat.

Goemul dodges just in time, holding you at arms length even as you claw at his face and neck. All you can hear is protect, protect, protect and the hidden voice beneath it saying kill him and end it, make him pay, do it for the pack, for your alphas.

His eyes widen. ‘You’re a maniac.’

You look up, over his shoulder, past him, your laugh chilling. ‘Yes.’

Impossibly, his eyes open further, bulging, and a low, strained gurgle sounds from deep in his throat. Trembling, one of his hands comes up to his chest, and he looks down, surprise and fear contorting his features as his finger gets sliced open on the tip of the blade protruding from between his collarbones.

Goemul’s eyes roll back, and his body slumps over you, deadweight. Dazed, you gaze up at Jeongin, admiring his handsome features, albeit splattered with gore from the fight and covered with a look of disgust as he places a foot on Goemul’s back and wrenches his sword out. It makes a wet, sucking sound as it goes, and your alpha dumps the sword on the floor in favour of heaving the cooling body off you and pulling you into his arms.

Mint and lavender, clean and fresh and soothing, rush at your senses as you take a deep breath in. You’re clinging onto Jeongin so hard that it must be hurting him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding you just as tightly to him, burying his face in your neck, his nose right against your scent gland as he just inhales.

Eventually, you jostle him, your senses coming back to you. You need to grab your staff; you can still fight, even though the ink of more than half of the writing on your hands and wrists has flaked off, the exhausted runes leaving light burns in their wake.

‘Where’s my staff?’ You mumble, wriggling in his grip. ‘I can still - ’

A hand smooths over your hair, someone coming up behind Jeongin so they can look you in the eyes from where you’re peeking over his shoulder, searching for the familiar oakwood. You blink. It’s Minho, his eyes soft, hair a mess.

‘It’s over, jagiya,’ he murmurs. ‘You don’t have to fight any more. We’re safe now.’

Eventually, his words echo in your head, beginning to register - over, safe now - and you go limp in Jeongin’s arms, burying your face in his shoulder and letting out a damp, shaky breath, hands fisting in his shirt. Your impending heat burns at your core, pulling you this way and that, but the nearness of your alphas grounds you, keeps you tethered to them.

You have just the presence to reach out to Minho, fingers brushing over his side as the healing runes written around the tops of your forearms flare to life, their glow different from the ones intended for attack - they’re the orangey pink of a rising dawn, like tiny suns pulsating beneath your skin. They begin to burn, uncomfortably hot as you heal Minho’s cracked ribs, then Felix’s nose and Han’s swollen black eyes, followed by all the injuries of your alphas that you can with the energy you have spare.

You’re panting by the end of it, drained. You’ve still neglected some of the less serious flesh wounds, but the well inside of you that was full to the brim with potency when you first entered the keep has run dry. If it weren’t for your heat fast approaching, you might have more energy, but you don’t, so that’s what you’re forced to settle with as you close your eyes and try to stop yourself from wriggling too much in Jeongin’s grip.

‘I’ll take her,’ someone says, and you’re being transferred into another’s arms.

Clean linen and cinnamon, crisp and familiar, crashes over you, and you nestle into Jisung’s arms, trying to absorb his body  heat as he kisses your face - the urge to nest is beginning to grow stronger, now that the adrenaline from the fight is leaving your system, and he’s so warm.

Somewhere far away, you can hear Felix’s low, comforting voice as he talks to Goemul’s omegas, and Chan’s too, instructing them and pointing them towards the east wing of the keep - you know at some point, they’ll want to talk to you, but for now you rest your chin on Jisung’s shoulder, closing your eyes and leaning your weight against him. Some of them remain in the hall, putting the bodies in neat piles up against the wall to be buried later or tending to anyone with injuries.

‘We’re going to find somewhere for you to nest now, baby,’ Jisung says into your hair. ‘Hyunjinnie is going to take you while we look.’

Another set of arms wraps around you, lean and wiry and smelling like roses and grapefruit but mainly roses, achingly close, strong enough to make you want to cry. He nuzzles at your neck, his long hair tickling your face and collarbones. Part of you is singing, happy only now that you’re surrounded by your alphas, happy that -

Hyunjin’s tongue flicks over your scent gland.

You know he doesn’t mean to set off anything - he does it a lot, just to calm you or show affection, but you’re teetering on the brink, hanging in the balance, and this is what tips you over. Just like that, your first wave of slick comes, and all of a sudden there’s an insistent ache between your legs. You stiffen in his arms.

‘Alpha,’ you whine, voice small.

Around you, you hear rather than see the boys pause. No doubt their instincts are kicking in, already perked up at the heady spike in your scent, telling them to look after their omega and knot and  breed and give you pups. There are the other omegas in the room, too, but even they freeze, affected by the possessive twang rolling off each of your alpha’s scents.

Hyunjin shifts just a little against you, and you feel his hardening cock heavy against your hip. A gasp escapes you, and it’s like the sound of it jolts your alphas back up to the present, because they’re moving again, hurrying, in a slight frenzy as they continue to help move the bodies and organise the rest of the omegas.

The fog of your heat is descending, and the rational part of you hates this timing - you need to look after your alphas, tend to their wounds that you couldn’t heal, but the animal part of you clamours over it, making you squirm uncomfortably, pushing Hyunjin away as you spin around, searching for a place to nest. You breath comes out in gasps: you can’t have your heat without a nest, but you don’t know if there are rooms free, if -

A firm hand sweeps up your back, landing on the nape of your neck and holding it, not quite scruffing you but breaking through your rising panic, making you listen. The scent of cocoa and gentle musk overcomes you, and when you look up at Chan, his dark, authority filled eyes pinning you down, another round of slick gushes out of you, and he smiles a little at your response to him.

‘Pack leader,’ you yip, ducking your head. ‘L - leader, alpha - ’

‘You’re going to be okay,’ Chan soothes. ‘Your alphas are here, okay? We’re going to get you to the bed Changbin and Jisung have found for you so you can nest. Just hang in there, omega.’

‘What about the other omegas?’ You ask, struggling to meet his eyes.

‘They’re in the other wing,’ he replies, then preempts your next words. ‘We’ll find new packs for them; we’re not going to replace you, sweetheart. Just let your alphas take care of you, yeah?’

Gently, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb along the scent gland at your wrist. A quiet, needy noise tears itself from your throat, and suddenly your legs are buckling - Chan catches you and scoops you up, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carries you through the passages leading from the hall and into the guest wing.

You’re lowered onto the softest mattress you’ve ever felt. It’s funny how all your time trapped in this keep, you never slept on anything but the cold stone floor - but now, your alphas are here, either still in the great hall, here with you or in what you understand is the bathroom next door, and Goemul’s dead, and you’re safe.

Chan kisses your crown and leaves you be for now as you hurriedly arrange the blankets. The bed is huge, wider than you are tall, yet you still crave your nest at home, items of clothing hoarded from your alphas tucked neatly amongst the bedding you’d padded it with - the sheets here are clean, but devoid of smell. It doesn’t compare.

You sit back on your heels. ‘The nest, it’s nowhere near good enough.’

Seungmin appears by your side, rubbing his thumb over the scent gland in your neck, his lips in your hair. ‘No, omega, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.’

The praise relaxes you, calms you, and you melt into his touch, leaning against him and pushing your face into his side, resting your cheek on his bare skin - like the others, he’d surrendered his shirt for your nest without complaint. His touch is feather light as he strokes your hair, and your eyelids droop a little.

Seungmin pecks your lips. ‘You need to sleep now, before your heat fully hits. We’ll all be here when you wake up.’

He watches you lay down, perching on the mattress so you have an alpha close to you while you fall asleep. Yawning, you curl up close to him. This will be the last proper rest you get until the end of your heat.

You close your eyes, the scent of warm embers washing over you.

You wake up sweating.

The ache between your legs has spread upwards and outwards, and you curl into a ball from the pain of it, eyes blurry as you blindly reach your hands out, searching for an alpha. You can hear yourself babbling, begging for a knot, begging to be filled up, because they’re all right there, curled up on the mattress, surrounding you, but they’re all asleep, all eight of them leaving you here in heat on your own, without a knot, and you can’t think beyond the need; you’re going to implode if someone doesn’t -

Sure hands unfurl you, flipping you so you’re spread flat on the mattress. The weight of one of your alphas traps you in place, and you moan, back arching when a hot tongue slides along the column of your throat, halting at your scent gland and sucking the sensitive skin there.

Sweet vanilla rolls over your senses. His teeth bite and suck at your collarbone, and you groan, head all jumbled with need, your body still locked up from the cramps as you fumble with his boxers, urgency rendering you clumsy.

Mercifully, one of your alphas has stripped you down to your underwear while you were sleeping, and you find you don’t even have the time to take them off, instead hooking your leg around Minho’s hip and grinding your throbbing core down on his hardening cock. Lightning pulses through your cunt at the way his lids half close in pleasure, filling you with the need to please your alpha, to be of use to him.

He tears your underwear off with a flick of his wrist. Your pussy is only getting wetter.

Dipping his head, Minho claims your lips, and the brush of his tongue against yours makes your head spin faster than it already is, your hands coming up to tangle with his hair as his hips roll to meet yours.

‘F - fuck,’ you choke out, jolting when Minho sinks two fingers inside you and scissors them.

His lips travel lower to trace down your sternum. ‘Gotta stretch you out for the boys, jagiya.’

You find yourself squirming a little; his fingers are curling, pumping in and out of you at exactly the pace you normally like, but your body is working itself up to the wild throes at the peak of your heat and you need more, so much more. You tell him so, and he chuckles, kissing you again like it’s going to distract you from the way he’s lining himself up at the entrance of your cunt.

Barely the tip of him is in before you’re clenching hard, painfully hard, scrabbling at the bedsheets and crying his name so loud it’s a wonder the boys don’t stir. He licks and sucks at your scent gland, relaxing you until your muscles ease up and he can move - despite all your slick, you still feel the burn of his cock. He’s stretching you out, just like he said he would.

Agonisingly, he pulls out, just to slam back in again, balls deep, punching the air out of your lungs. Minho fucks you roughly, like you need at the start of your heat, his cock reaching so deep inside you you think he might be in your guts - he’s not fast, just so intense that tears are forming on your lash line and you’re panting, fighting for breath.

Then, he’s forcing your legs up onto his shoulders, and the new angle makes you wail, because he’s destroying your cunt in a way that has your thighs shaking and your chest heaving, pleas for more spilling out of you uncontrollably.

Minho has a way of wringing pleasure from you, fucking you so good that you can’t do anything but repeat his name over and over; you feel yourself suspended on the edge, fire licking up your sides, so close, so close, so close -

Mid-thrust, he pauses.

‘Alpha,’ you scream, voice breaking pitifully. ‘Alpha, please - ’

There’s something half sadistic in his eyes when he looks down at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, teasing as he enjoys the way you struggle, bucking against him desperately, begging like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

‘Sungie’s woken up from all your noise, omega,’ Minho remarks impassively. ‘Maybe you should give him a hand.’

No sooner has he finished speaking than an achingly hard cock makes its way into your palm, and you cast your teary eyes upward, only half there as you witness Jisung’s head fall back in pleasure when you begin to jerk him, because thank all that is good, Minho’s moving again, tearing you apart and putting you back together with those powerful thrusts of his hips.

He’s hitting that spot inside you, and each time he does, paralysing bolts of pleasure shoot down your spine. Your orgasm crushes you with its magnitude, whiting out your vision, and through it, you blindly beg for his knot, beg him to fill you, beg him to stuff you with load after load.

‘That’s right, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let it all out for me.’

Tears finally spill over, trickling down your face, the pleasure leaving you rapt, brows drawn together and mouth hanging open, and still he fucks into you; you can feel the slight burn as his knot begins to engorge, and you know he’s so close, so almost filling you up.

Your thoughts grow indistinct the moment Minho spills hot inside you, his knot popping into place and locking you together. Jisung comes not a moment later, letting go with a short cry all over your chest, and if you were not full and happy with Minho’s knot, you’d be fretting about the waste. Instead, you close your eyes and murmur a pleased ‘alpha’, fingers brushing lightly over a bandage on Minho’s arm as the two of them begin to lick the come off you.

You must drift off, because when you resurface, Jisung, Minho and his knot are gone, most likely to the bathroom, and instead you can feel Seungmin’s long fingers working lazily between your legs, just enough to take the edge off the bite of your cramps. He’s got your back propped up against his chest, and you wiggle, bucking your hips up into his touch, inhaling the smell of warm embers.

‘What do you think you’re doing, omega?’

You freeze at the dominance in his tone. Remaining silent, you gaze up at him, wide eyed and head full of cotton as he pins you beneath him, the ravenous look on his face making your neck and cheeks flush. You can feel his cock against your thigh, but he doesn’t allow you to move, doesn’t move himself, just stares down at you, waiting.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable expanse of your throat - a display of utter submission. A low whine escapes you when his breath caresses your skin, his nose brushing against your jugular as he inhales your scent.

‘Good omega,’ Seungmin murmurs. ‘Our omega.’

‘Yours,’ you echo, and this time, he lets you buck against him.

Another hot rush of slick leaves you at the friction of his clothed cock against you, and you gasp his name, rubbing your cheek all over his neck and chest, trying to cover him in your scent. He allows it, letting you press yourself against him, desperation soaking your scent, your hands roaming his body urgently, trying to tell him that you need his knot because all your mouth can seem to do right now is say ‘alpha’, again and again and again.

In one smooth sweep, Seungmin gathers your wrists above your head and pins them there. A sound leaves you, so eager and pathetic that your cheeks flush and you struggle half heartedly against him, but he’s yanking off his boxers and running his fingers through your folds to transfer your arousal and make sure his dick will be wet enough. If you stay still, you think you might die.

Yet another round of slick is pouring from you. He chuckles, seeing your cunt clench as he spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock - you know he’s doing it to taunt you. Whoever goes first always makes sure you’re prepped.

‘Ready for my knot, omega?’ Seungmin coos. ‘Think you can take it?’

‘Yes,’ you whine. ‘Yes, alpha, yes, give it to me, I can, I can - ’

Your mouth snaps shut when he thrusts into you, your eyes widening and back arching as thrill after thrill races up your spine, making your cunt bear down on him, squeezing him tight and  greedily sucking him in further. The moment he starts moving, you know he’s not going to go easy on you.

Seungmin is going to make you earn it.

He releases your hands, letting you grab onto him as he fucks into you, fast, unrelenting. Almost sly, his fingers drag down your stomach so he can rub them over your clit in tight circles - your pussy flutters in response, clamping down on him. A muttered curse escapes him; you can feel every muscle of his back taut under your grip, the vein in his neck beginning to strain, yet all he does is go harder.

Something within you buckles. Not a second later, you come, clenching around his cock, squeezing him so tight he’s forced to grind into you further, your cunt refusing to let him pull out. You expect him to ease up, give you a moment to rest but he continues the moment he can, unforgiving.

Overstimulation sears at you, cutting through the cloudiness fogging your brain, and you yawp, scrabbling at Seungmin’s back, thighs jumping with every drag of his cock against your walls as you rake your nails against his skin in a way that must be hurting his battered, not quite healed body, but he doesn’t shake you off, doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Stop thrashing if you want your alpha’s knot,’ he snarls.

‘W - want it,’ you babble, trying to stay still for him. ‘Need it so bad, alpha.’

‘Then take it.’

He punctuates his words with deep rolls of his hips, and this time you can’t not move, because the pads of his fingers are back on your clit, torturous, creating friction so impossibly blissful that it hurts, and he’s hammering his dick into you, so quick that you can’t form words any more, and then - and then -

Once again, you come, and he slams his knot inside you.

Your back bows, your fingers twisting into the sheets until someone grabs your hand and squeezes it as tightly you are squeezing theirs. It’s not Seungmin’s, you realise - his are too busy propping him up, holding him above you. Turning your head to the side, you smile: it’s Minho, half asleep with his eyes almost closed and a silly little grin on his face.

Huffing, his breath ruffling your hair, Seungmin pokes at your face, bringing your attention back to him. You tip your head up and fit your lips to his, a warm, happy buzz engulfing you now that you’re full, and he lowers himself on top of you so you can lie there together, joined by his knot nestled inside your sated cunt as sleep tugs you both under.

You wake up to cacao and musk, lips closed over your scent gland, gently sucking. Whatever Seungmin’s knot and the orgasms he plucked from you did to appease your heat have worn off, and fast, because you’re sweating all over, hips moving against the firmness below you and you don’t know where you are, just that there are hands on your body and a mouth on your neck keeping back the flames.

‘Leader,’ you mewl, half crazy on his scent. ‘Alpha, need your knot,’

‘I’ve got you,’ Chan croons. ‘Alpha’s got you.’

It begins to dawn on you that you’re straddling his lap, grinding down frantically on his thigh, his hands cool where they coast over your burning skin, smoothing circles over your back. Taking your chin in his fingers, he tilts your face up until you’re looking at him. The moment you meet his eyes, you still, hips hovering over his.

‘You going to behave for me, omega?’

You nod so hard it hurts your neck. ‘Yes, alpha, so good, so good for you. Promise.’

‘Sweet girl,’ he coos. ‘My omega.’

Leaving trails of goosebumps behind, Chan’s hands slide down your torso, down to caress the curves of your hips, down to right where you need him. There’s a moment where he just holds your cunt, fingers pressing between your folds until you break and rock against the heel of his palm, chasing away the building pressure between your legs in favour of momentary relief, wobbly voiced pleas rushing from you as your slick soaks him to the wrist.

Nosing at your throat, he laves his tongue over your scent gland, one hand coming round to grip your ass as he positions you closer to him. When he looks up at you, you see the same haze that blankets your mind clouding his eyes - you must be nearing the peak of your heat for your scent to affect him so. He’s barely holding himself back.

‘Okay?’ He verifies. ‘Can take it?’

‘Y - yes, yes,’ you reply, grinding your hips down despite his steady grip on you, searching for his cock.

That’s all it takes for him to lurch upwards, sheathing himself in your heat like it was made for him. The remainder of the sentence on your tongue dissolves into a keening moan, your lips falling open, eyes unfocused and rolled back; he gives you barely a second to adjust to his thickness before he’s pounding into you, holding you in place above him with his nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

You grab at his broad shoulders, needing something to anchor you with the way he’s jerking your whole body up and down with every punishing thrust. Chan’s fucking up into you like he wants you to forget your own name, like he wants you to forget everything but the surge of his cock through your spasming walls; he’s got you dumb, mouth agape, the sounds that leave you wordless but pleading.

It’s as if your senses have narrowed to the giddying scent of your alpha and the promise of his knot in the snap of his hips against yours - you can’t think of anything else.

Dimly, you realise he’s speaking between the sloppy kisses he adorns your neck and chest with, groaning and mumbling against your skin as his teeth nip at your scent gland, stimulating you in a way that brings century old instincts to the surface - it has you shuddering, nails buried into the meat of his biceps as you twist your head back to bare your throat to your alpha.

‘Good omega,’ he’s gasping, words slurred, reaching so deep inside you all you can do is take it. ‘Made for me, omega - fuck, fuck, squeezing me so well - gonna give you my knot, sweetheart, give you my pups, gotta breed you, gonna - ’

Chan moans so loud it’s almost a howl, slamming you down on his cock to the hilt one last time, fingers furiously working your clit. The hot spill of his seed yanks you unceremoniously over the edge, and you feel your pussy constrict around his knot - he hisses at the feel of it, his chest, mottled with bruises, heaving as he comes down from the high, eyes beginning to focus on you.

Fuck, he looks good, all sweaty and panting and still a bit dazed, his curls ruffled and a dumb little blissed out smile plastered on his face. Tugging you close, he lets his forehead fall against your collarbones, pushing his face between your tits - you giggle as he sighs happily into their plushness, tucking your arms around him and holding him close, sated and so incredibly, wonderfully full.

‘So good for me, sweetheart,’ he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You preen at his words, and his hands move up from where they were splayed out on your back to stroke your hair, smoothing it down and untangling some of the knots with his fingers. Curling up as much as you can in this position, you lean your head on Chan’s shoulder, basking in the reassuring presence of your alpha.

Something warm presses against your leg, and you look down to see Jeongin, balled up facing Seungmin with his back pushed up against the length of your thigh, his angular face softened in sleep. Grinning, you brush a hand over his cheek, and he stirs, humming drowsily before settling again.

A hand rubs at the small of your back, and you turn to see that Felix has woken up. Despite the fact that his blonde hair is mussed and he’s squinting against the light of the torches in the sconces on the walls, he’s smiling sweetly at you, gaze bright and soft.

‘Felix, please could you grab that for me?’ Chan’s gesturing to a small platter on the bedside table.

Clambering over a slumbering Minho and Jisung and almost tripping up on Changbin’s outstretched leg, he retrieves it and hands it to Chan, who supports you with a hand on your waist so you can sit back and tuck into the slices of bread and cheese on the plate. You hadn’t realised how hungry you were until now - your stomach rumbles at just the smell of the food.

Through a mouthful, you beam. ‘Thanks, Lix.’

He leans over Changbin to kiss you sweetly, filling your nose with the scent of violets and sunshine. ‘Once Chan’s knot goes down I’ll take you to the bath, okay?’

‘Yes, please,’ you reply. ‘I’m all sticky.’

‘My bad,’ Chan chuckles, rubbing his hands up and down your sides and making your brain all fuzzy.

By the time you’ve finished the food, Chan’s knot has come down enough to slip out of you - both of you groan when he pulls out, his come rolling down your thighs. You glance over at Felix and see him watching, and when you look down you can see he’s semi hard and sending you a sheepish grin.

A great yawn splits your face in half, and you stretch your cramped legs as you shuffle awkwardly off the bed, pausing to give Chan a kiss before he scoots down and tugs the blanket over him, nuzzling close to Jeongin. Lifting you up, Felix carries you to the bathroom - Hyunjin looks up from where he’s perched on a rickety wooden stool in the corner, holding something delicately in his hands and smirking.

‘That cavewoman omega in you really likes it when Chan fucks you like that, huh?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Go on and pretend you weren’t hard.’

‘Why are you holed up in here, anyway?’ Felix asks as he helps you into the wooden tub.

‘Changbin was rolling around in his sleep,’ he shrugs. ‘Didn’t want to stab him.’

Proudly, Hyunjin holds up the piece of wood he’s been whittling - it’s a lovely piece of limewood, light and creamy in colour, and it must be a maquette for a sword hilt he’s planning on making, because it’s carved with whorls and flowing arches, as if the wood itself is malleable clay in his skilled hands.

‘I like it,’ Felix says as he helps soap your back. ‘It’s pretty.’

Hyunjin gives him a look. ‘Of course.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, Felix, when did he ever make something that wasn’t pretty?’

‘Hey, what about that time when - ’

‘No, it was pretty, you just - ’

Closing your eyes, you listen to the two of them bicker playfully, relishing the warmth of the water and the way it eases your sore muscles - you want to enjoy the momentary lucidity. You’re still somewhere in the highest intensity of your heat, and soon your body is going to want a knot again, even after having Chan’s so recently.

Right on queue, as if just thinking about it sets it off, your scent spikes, and you feel a wave of slick spill from you - it goes straight into the water, but both Hyunjin and Felix fall silent anyway, sensing your need from a mile away.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Hyunjin drags his stool closer to the tub.

Without further delay, Felix shucks off his boxers and climbs in. The water swills but doesn’t spill over, and he takes your chin and kisses you softly, careful not to lean too much of his weight on you; the moment he pulls back, Hyunjin is there, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth, and you moan around him when you feel the nudge of Felix’s cock head at your entrance.

All three of you groan when he slides in, and you turn your head to the side, unsurprised to see Hyunjin’s slender fingers curling around his cock, his carving abandoned to the side - your eyes glide upwards, locking on his as you suck on his thumb, still resting against your lips, and he visibly picks up his pace, face twisting in pleasure.

Hiding his face into your damp neck, Felix groans, low and deep, thrusting his hips forward until they kiss yours, so close that his pubic bone grinds over your clit. He fucks into you slowly and tenderly, and as he does, Hyunjin hooks his thumb under your chin and crams three of his fingers into your mouth up to the knuckle, grunting when your tongue swirls over them.

You’re still sensitive from Chan, maybe even from the two orgasms Seungmin coaxed from you, and the way Felix’s cock drags through you is driving you insane - almost as much as the praise they’re both showering upon you and the pump of Hyunjin’s fingers in and out of your mouth. Water is sloshing over the sides of the tub with each movement, and it’s as if you’re floating aimlessly, muscles lax and surrounded all over by this warmth.

Hyunjin comes first.

It’s Felix that sets him off: kissing you over the fingers buried in your mouth, his tongue sliding over them before he licks at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and suddenly Hyunjin’s coming with a gasp, wrenching Felix off your front by his shoulder so he can spill over the part of your chest that’s above the water.

That’s what makes you come.

The sight of Hyunjin bent double over you and Felix, jerking himself until he’s spent and then some to overstimulate himself, the hand that had been in your mouth gripping the side of the tub so hard his knuckles run white - it’s too much. Your pussy convulses around Felix, and only then do you find your words, gasping that you need a knot, begging for his come.

It’s all too easy for him to give you what you want - more water splashes out of the tub and straight onto the bathroom floor as he seats his knot inside you, plugging his seed in so not a drop is wasted. He flops over you, panting.

‘I didn’t expect it to come back so fast,’ you remark as the three of you catch your breath.

‘So much for the bath,’ Felix laughs. ‘Maybe we should draw another one.’

The next time you open your eyes, it hits you full force. The ache in your core is so intense that all you can do is flail, thrashing and writhing and crying, all tangled up in the blankets which are soaked with your sweat and twisted around your legs, all tangled up in the consuming flames of your heat. There are warm bodies all around you; you can hear their breathing, but none of them are responding, and fuck it hurts -

This can’t be happening again -

You squeak in alarm as someone manhandles you onto your front so quickly that your head spins, holding your arms down so you can barely move - you’re grinding desperately down on the mattress, and you can feel the sheets beneath you grow wet with your slick.

‘Stay still, omega,’ a voice growls. ‘You’re going to push someone off the bed if you don’t.’

‘Alpha?’ You whimper, rubbing your thighs together. ‘It’s not enough, please - ’

‘Binnie’s here,’ he soothes, tone gentler now. ‘Binnie’s going to take care of you, okay? Hands and knees for me, omega.’

Tears of relief trickle down your face and seep into the cloth beneath you - Jeongin’s shirt. You scramble to obey your alpha’s command, only halting when Changbin pulls you in for a quick kiss that leaves you dizzy, as if he sucked the air from your lungs and replaced it with pure, unadulterated need. Squeezing your ass, he fucking bullies you into position, manoeuvring you until you’re face down, ass up.

You fist the sheets in your hands, trying to stay still but he’s taking his damn time. Arching your back, you push back on him, feverish, reduced to the urges of your idiot omega brain that you can’t ignore for the life of you. Your thighs are trembling as he lines himself up, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

With a harsh stab of his hips, he ploughs into you.

You wait for him to move, wait for him to fucking destroy you, but he doesn’t; he just holds himself there, infuriating, playing with you, and you’re wailing and trying to push back onto him more but he’s got you in his iron grip and then he’s cracking a hand down on your ass and you howl and finally -

Finally he’s moving.

Changbin is railing into you, unrelenting. You’re clenching so hard around him, desperate for his knot that your vision keeps blanking out, your voice breaking as you call his name, and surely it’s waking up the boys, but you don’t really care because you need him, need -

‘Need it, alpha,’ you sob, ‘Need it.’

‘I know, omega,’ he grits out. ‘Let your alpha take care of you.’

And then he gives you all you ask. He gives it to you, alright. He gives it to you so that the slick is running out of you and down your twitching thighs, he gives it to you so you’re hoarse from screaming his name - he gives it to you until you feel all limp and boneless beneath him, and still he draws you out, drilling into you like he was born to do it.

Just when you think he might be satisfied, Changbin hooks a hand under your arm and pulls you upright, pinning you against his chest and hitting a new, cataclysmic angle inside you; roughly, he bites down on the spot where you shoulder and neck meet, and his hands come up to cup your tits, pinching your nipples and sending jolts of pleasure through you. He’s fucking up into you endlessly and you can’t even remember if you came already because he’s got you drowning in ecstasy, losing yourself in it.

And then his fingers are on your clit.

You can feel his knot, pressing against your core, so close, so close.

Inside your stomach, something pulls up tight, and you come so hard everything goes black.

You come to about half a minute later, cradled against Changbin’s chest, his knot safely within your cunt, satisfying you, and he’s hugging you to him, kissing every inch of your sweat coated skin that he can reach. He shifts against you when he senses you waking, nuzzling against your scent gland as he kisses a hickey on your neck - most likely from Minho.

‘Are you okay?’ Changbin asks. ‘Did I go too hard?’

‘No,’ you reply drowsily. ‘Was good. So good.’

Your hand meets his, and you smile a little as you twine your fingers together. The scent of roses and grapefruit fills your nose, and you close your eyes at the feel of Hyunjin nestling closer to you, sandwiching you between him and Changbin, your breathing slowing as you drift off.

You’re woken by a puff of air against your clit. Hyunjin chuckles when the muscles in your thigh jitter at the feel of it, looking up at you from where he sprawls between your legs, grinning like he wants to devour you. Whatever you’re lying on rocks to the side, and you bleat in alarm and narrowly catch yourself, glancing over your shoulder to find that your head was  resting on Jeongin’s chest, who is now smirking at you, eyes glittering mischievously.

The feeling of two alphas looking like they might eat you does something to your cunt that has Hyunjin transfixed. He licks his lips and you get the distinct sense that he might accidentally pop a knot too soon if he isn’t careful.

‘You two look like you’re plotting something,’ you mumble, trying to ignore the attention your pussy is demanding.

‘Yeah,’ Jeongin confirms casually. ‘Hyunjin’s going to go down on you and I’m going to fuck your mouth.’

‘Oh,’ you say, and this time you can’t ignore the way you clench around nothing.

Hyunjin groans, and you feel the mattress dip a little as he grinds into it. He buries a finger into your fluttering heat, cursing under his breath, and your eyes widen as Jeongin props your head up with a pillow and straddles your chest, his flushed cock nudging your lips. Your tongue darts out, flicking against his head, and he adjusts himself so he’s kneeling over you.

Opening your mouth, you take him as far as you can, and almost like he’s rewarding you for it, Hyunjin’s lips close around your clit. Surprised, you yelp around Jeongin’s length, hips bucking into Hyunjin’s face of their own accord; in response, another finger is eased into your core and you suck in a sharp breath of air.

That’s the moment Jeongin chooses to thrust shallowly into your mouth. You gag and get embarrassingly close to coming - Hyunjin lifts his head, feeling your weeping pussy seize his fingers.

‘She liked that,’ he remarks.

You don’t even get to reply because there’s an alpha cock fucking itself down your throat, surrounding you with the scent of mint and lavender. You’re not sure when you moved your hands but now they’re curled under the backs of his thighs, your nails sinking into his skin as he uses your mouth, and he’s got your hair fisted in his fingers for better leverage - even through the haze of your heat you can see his knuckles are still swollen and cut up from the fight.

He must have been pretty wound up because you can feel him tensing under your palms, curses flowing from his lips as he wrenches himself out of your mouth and basically shoves Hyunjin out of the way. There’s a moment where you’re painfully empty, bereft of Hyunjin’s nimble fingers, and then Jeongin slams his cock inside you, rutting into you once, twice, before he comes, his knot swelling within you and filling you up.

‘So good for us, omega,’ Hyunjin coos, appearing at your side.

Cupping your chin, he kisses you and you can taste yourself on him as he licks into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. Jeongin pushes him to the side, grumbling and barging him with his shoulder so he can press his lips to your scent gland, sucking a love bite just below it, his teeth grazing over your skin. You giggle at the look on Hyunjin’s face, cute and pouty despite the fact that you can feel his cock, stiff and leaking precum all over your thigh.

While you wait for Jeongin’s knot to go down, the two of them take turns kissing you, Hyunjin sometimes sneaking kisses to Jeongin too. It’s like you’re in heaven: stuffed full and content, with two alphas paying their utmost attention to you.

Finally, Jeongin eases out, and you feel the hot spill of his come - and maybe some of Changbin’s too - ooze from your stretched out pussy. He scoops up as much of it as he can and pushes it right back in, licking his fingers after: your body is wracked by a shiver at the sight, cunt aching to be filled again.

‘Need another load?’ Hyunjin teases, seeing the hungry look in your eyes.

‘Get on with it already, alpha,’ you snark back.

Eagerly, Hyunjin slots himself between your legs, gliding his cock head through your folds a few times before he plunges in. It shuts you up, fast. Throwing his head back, he groans, just a little louder than the wet, sucking sounds your pussy makes as he begins to move; there’s come slopping out of you with each thrust, smearing over the tops of your thighs and his, and he fucks it right back into you until you’re keening, bucking into him.

‘Shit,’ he moans. ‘Keep on fucking doing that, sweet omega.’

Breathless, you obey, rolling your hips to meet his so fervently that your muscles begin to burn, but it’s the good kind, the type of sensation that comes before your legs lock up, trembling uncontrollably as pleasure hits you so hard you go limp.

Pinching and rubbing at your clit in a way that is glorious, Hyunjin dips his head, giving you another kiss that tastes like you, and suddenly, at the touch of his lips to yours, you’re coming, shaking so hard that you’re shaking him. He groans your name, hands tangling in your hair to hold your face to his, and he travels a little lower to mouth at the hollow of your throat.

‘Taking me so well,’ he rasps. ‘Fitting around me just right, omega.’

A little jolt of lightning shoots through you as he lurches a little further into your cunt, coming, and there’s already so much seed inside you that a little bit seeps out around his knot, fat drops slipping down your skin. Sighing contentedly, you stretch your arms above your head as Hyunjin rests his head on your chest. You can feel the dull pain of your heat receding, giving way to a hint of lucidity, and now that the adrenaline is leaving your system, you start to feel aches flaring up all over your body.

Lifting your head, you keep a hand on the back of Hyunjin’s head so he doesn’t slide off you as you search for the familiar scent of clean linen and cinnamon, craning your neck as you twist to check he’s not among the boys dozing on the mattress around you. Just before you call out his name, the door to the room opens, and he walks in, cheeks full with some food he must have raided from the keep’s storeroom.

Jisung sees your face and immediately strides over. ‘Feeling okay, omega?’

You nod. ‘I think it’s almost passed.’

A stab of guilt punches through you. Jisung’s waited his turn, and there’s a chance that if you fall asleep now, you’ll wake up and find your heat has broken. He must smell the worry on your scent, because he leans forward and tucks some of your tangled hair behind your ear.

‘It’s okay, jagi,’ he reassures. ‘This is about you. Rest now.’

You’re already dreaming by the time he finishes his sentence.

‘Are you sure?’ Jisung clarifies again, even though you’re certain he can still smell the lingering honey of your heat on your scent.

‘Yes, alpha,’ you huff, unable to hide the petulance in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Please,’ you whine. ‘Need your knot, Ji, please, alpha.’

‘Okay, but you tell me if you’re too sensitive, alright?’

You nod, already bucking your hips which succeeds to do nothing but drag his cock head through your folds. You’d woken up surrounded by Jisung’s crisp linen and cinnamon scent, the low burning need for a knot clawing at your insides, subdued at least by the seven other knots you’ve taken but still insistent enough that you needed Jisung inside you.

A wretched cry leaves you as he seats his cock inside you - he pauses, throwing his head back, biting his lips to stifle a moan - and you feel him twitch from within your squeezing walls. You’re not surprised; he’s been stuck in a keep with his omega’s scent rubbed all over him, the mattress and his pack mates, driving him crazy.

‘Fucking hell, omega,’ he mumbles, nuzzling at your face before he kisses you. ‘Don’t know how long I’m gonna last.’

Jisung begins to move, slowly but deep, a little smile pulling at his lips as he looks you right in the eyes, lacing his fingers with yours where they rest on the pillows beneath your head. He’s gentle, aware that you’re sore, pressing feather light kisses to the hickeys decorating your skin - some of which you don’t even remember exactly who gave to you, your memories clouded by your heat - and slowing his pace if your face screws up or your fingers tighten too hard on his.

Wrapping your legs around his trimmed waist, you pull him closer, crossing your ankles at the small of his back. His hand trails down and begins to rub steadily at your clit, and you feel the stirrings of heaven beginning to rouse within you: your toes curl, and a drawn out whine escapes from your throat, urging him onwards.

Jisung’s fingers speed up on your clit. ‘Come for me, omega.’

You keen as shockwaves run through you, leaving you spent, out of breath, pussy raw. Fractionally, Jisung slows the pace he’s thrusting into you, whispering sweet nothings onto your lips like prayers - your fingers sweep through his soft hair, the rest of your body limp against the mattress as you gaze up at him, eyes glazed.

‘Alpha,’ you whimper - it’s all you have the energy for.

‘Shit, omega - ’

Jisung cums with a gasp, knot locking into place as he trembles above you, trying to control the way he rocks his hips , grinding himself impossibly deeper into you. A tear slips down your cheek and he licks it off, the tender look in his eyes leaving you all melty in his arms.

Your pussy flutters around him, constricting around his knot as he carefully rolls the two of you over for you to lie on his chest, legs curled up either side of him so you can soak up the feel of his skin against yours. His arms wrap around you, and another hand, calloused from hours working in the smithy, brushes over your back before lips press against your shoulder blade.

‘How’s she doing?’ Chan whispers.

‘Good,’ you hum, answering for Jisung and cracking your eyes open a millimetre. ‘Really good. Really tired, too.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m not surprised, sweetheart.’

Minho speaks up, saying something that makes Jisung’s wide chest vibrate beneath your ear with a quiet laugh, but you don’t really hear it at all - your brain feels like it’s made out of cotton, and your limbs feel light and airy, Jisung’s skin so soft it’s as if you’re floating on a cloud.

‘Love you, alpha,’ you murmur.

You don’t clarify, and they don’t ask, but they know you mean each and every one of them.

When you next rouse yourself, you’re fully lucid, and Changbin’s shouting at someone from inside the bathroom. Groaning, you rub your eyes, and a low, tired throb emanates from between your legs - solid proof that your alphas took care of you through your heat, like they always do. You remember it: most of it vividly, some of it in flashes.

Flopping your arms out, you’re met with unpleasantly cold sheets. A frown furrows your brow and you lift your head - now that you’re shaking off the last dregs of your heat and the long sleep that has left a small bit of drool on the pillow beneath your head, you can faintly hear your pack’s voices. From what it sounds, most of them are in the corridor or the great hall, and you can just about pick up other voices too: the omegas you rescued.

You can also hear Changbin, clear as day, muttering grumpily to himself. Snickering, you listen closer, catching something about Seungmin, that little shit and damn towel. You open your mouth, ready to call out to him -

‘Seungmin!’ He yells, so loud you jump. ‘I know you can hear me! Where’s my towel?’

With a groan, you heave yourself upright and pull on the first shirt available: immediately, Jisung’s scent wraps tight around you. Choking on a laugh that you fail to stifle, you shuffle to the edge of the bed and climb off, taking pity on Changbin, while - rolling his eyes so hard it looks like there’s someone behind them pulling them with strings - Seungmin bursts through the bedroom door.

Just in time to see your legs buckle.

He darts across the room and manages to break your fall as you crumple to the floor, muscles protesting. Unfortunately, you manage to take him down with you and he laughs, loud enough for Changbin to hear it and think he’s the one getting made fun of, but with a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes that you know is aimed at you.

‘You’re acting as if you didn’t contribute to this,’ you retort, attempting to pull yourself up.

There’s a steady burning in your thighs, and once you’re upright, you’re wobbling like a newborn calf. Seungmin snorts, knocking you backwards onto the bed and kissing you, fending off your hands as you attempt to punch him in the ribs. Eventually, he lets up, mostly because Changbin has started screeching threats from inside the bathroom that can be heard over your giggled protests.

He sorts out his mussed hair. ‘I don’t regret contributing whatsoever. In fact, I enjoyed it.’

‘You’re always so smug after knotting me, huh?’ You send him a rude gesture.

‘As if you didn’t - ’

‘Seungmin, I swear - ’

Both of you giggle, and Changbin splutters, hearing your laughter. Still chuckling, Seungmin scoops you up in his arms and retrieves a towel that’s been stowed behind one of the pillows, taking his time to open the bathroom door and hand it back to him. Seeing Changbin, his damp hair hanging over his eyes as he grumbles at the two of you, unable to fulfil his threats with Seungmin using you as a human shield, sets the two of you off again.

The sound of your laughter attracts your other alphas. They file into the room, and Chan smiles fondly as he sees you Seungmin’s arms. Jeongin walks over and nuzzles his face into your hair, kissing your earlobe and pausing there.

‘Legs out of commission after being fucked too good, huh?’

‘Jeongin,’ you hiss, slapping his arm. Seungmin has the audacity to high five him.

Chan attempts to hide a laugh. ‘I’m going to ignore that.’

‘Well, you better not ignore Seungmin stealing and hiding my towel,’ Changbin mutters.

Seungmin laughs again, and you get passed to Jeongin while he wards off Changbin, who is still clad in just a towel. Warmth fills you - it’s good to have your boys happy and playful after seeing them taken and hurt by Goemul. You’re whole again now that you’ve got them back.

Eventually, the two of them calm down, and Chan smiles at you in a way that makes your heart swell and overflow in your chest.

‘Ready to go home, omega?’

taglist: @0bticeo @hyunjinsjeans @sleepyleeji @milkslovehotel

fyi: goemul = monster in korean

[wttcsms]

i wanna brag about it (i wanna tie the knot) ; choso.

pairing choso x f!reader word count 2.6k synopsis overworked, stressed, and in need of relief, choso comes home to the sight of you looking all pretty and sweet. it's been a long time coming, and tonight is the night where choso finally gives in to his deepest desire: fucking a baby into you. content contains babysitter!au (babysitter!reader), ceo!choso, half-brothers!choso & yuuji, toddler!yuuji, implied age gap, breeding kink, obsessive + possessive!choso, housewife kink, misogynistic ideals, wet n messy, size kink, belly bulge, bro is literally so in love with you and dreams abt starting a family with you

Choso could use a drink right about now.

He’s rummaging through his fridge, more than happy to grab one of the many bottles in the back (he doesn’t want Yuuji accidentally grabbing one by accident — not that it would happen, thanks to your supervision), but he startles away from the fridge when a voice fills the silence of the kitchen.

“Late night?” You tease, giving him that sweet smile of yours that has the stresses from today lifting from his body, easing the weight on his otherwise tense shoulders. 

Fuck. 

Proof that today was a major shitshow is evident in the fact that Choso has forgotten all about you. Staring at your body clad in nothing more than one of those skimpy cropped-cami-and-boyshorts matching sets you always favor, he finds it hard to believe that he could ever forget about you. The refrigerator light bathes you, envelopes you, casts a warm glow on your soft skin and makes it look like you’re an angel radiating some bright aura. A subtle glance at your entire body allows him a glimpse of two, tiny peaks poking through the thin material of your top. You like keeping the house cold. He swallows hard, finding the willpower to focus on your face.

Not like staring at your face is enough to stop his cock from twitching in his work trousers. In fact, he probably gets even harder looking at you, especially when he can tell you’ve probably just finished your very sacred and meticulous nighttime skincare routine, your face glowing. Seeing you all clean and fresh, savoring the domesticity of you washing your face in the same bathroom he brushes his teeth in, salivating over the way you look standing in his kitchen (it could be yours, too, if you would let him give you everything he wants to) wearing nothing but your pajamas — it all makes his hindbrain want to take over. He’s spent the last fourteen hours stuffed in a boardroom or his office, and your simple existence is enough to soothe his soul and send him spiraling, all at the same time.

Choso could really, really use a drink right about now.

“Sorry, I meant to call to tell you—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile at him goodnaturedly, like you’re not still in college with much better things to do on a Friday night than wait for him to come home. 

He should be thankful that you’re so sweet to him, but just the idea that you did have plans tonight makes a hot coil of jealousy tighten in his stomach. 

Choso knows that he shouldn’t be feeling this way; he shouldn’t even notice you as much as he does. It starts out with the little things, first, like making sure his assistant gets your favorite snacks restocked during his usual weekly grocery delivery. He asks you about your schoolwork, and then finds himself filing away people he knows in your major’s industry. It’s good to have connections, he tells you, giving you the number to a good business acquaintance of his who’s looking for an intern in the near future. And of course, he’s hyper aware of the fact that you are a very beautiful girl. Unfairly so, with the curve of your lips and the slope of your nose; every time he sees you, he plays a game with himself. Tries to notice something new about you, a beauty mark, a new haircut. If he had the time, he’d probably try to get an exact count of your eyelashes. 

And now, he’s noticing too much of you. The way the fabric of your tiny matching set seems to accentuate every aspect of your body. How he can smell the sweet scent of your body wash and lotion. The way you’re staring at him, so innocently, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts that run rampant in his mind every time you have him cornered like this. 

Some nights, it’s almost too much to bear. 

It’s been a tough day, though. Week. Month. Endless meetings, negotiations that never result in any firm solutions, just more addendums to contracts. He hasn’t seen much of anything besides his office and the boardroom; what’s the point of having an office with a skyline view if he’s too busy staring at spreadsheets and emails to even enjoy it? 

Tonight, Choso realizes, is the night where he snaps. 

He says your name in such a low register, you almost don’t pick up on it. You’re in the middle of telling him a cute story about what Yuuji did during recess with his pre-k class, but you pause.

Maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like something in the air has shifted. The way your tummy’s butterflies seem to be in overdrive is only proof of this. 

You’re used to the perpetual tension between you and Choso. Filthy rich, successful, always in a nice, tailored suit — looking purely on the outside, who wouldn’t want to get fucked by him? The more time you spend with him, the more time you fill the role of mother over just babysitter for little Yuuji, which gives way to deeper observation of Choso. He works incredibly long hours, but still has time to stay updated on all of Yuuji’s comings and goings, accomplishments and awards. He doesn’t have to; it’s not like he’s obligated. After all, Yuuji is his half-brother, a byproduct of his father’s mistress. He didn’t have to take him in, love him with his entire being, but he does, and this makes you fall for him only more. 

Then, there’s the fact of how he makes you feel. Every time his hands will brush gently against yours, innocently and so quickly, you swear you’re being electrified. The way he says your name, the way he tells you anything, in that low voice of his is enough to get you squeezing your thighs together. But most of all, it’s the way he looks at you. At first, you thought it was because of your crush, but the longer you work for him, the more you realize that Choso will occasionally stare at you when he thinks you won’t notice. 

But how could you not? How could you not detect the feel of his dark eyes scanning your figure, taking in your features? How could you not detect the way his eyes will darken over in lust when he watches you lick sweet cream off your fingers from an explosive can of whipped cream? How could you not catch the barest trace of a smile as he watches you interact with Yuuji at a park, willing to get your hands dirty to appease the toddler while Choso watches over the two of you from his seat on the bench? 

How could you not fall deeper and deeper into his spell when the threads of lust continue to spool, tightening over your body, practically choking you with desire. 

You don’t even realize how big Choso is until he’s standing so close to you, towering over you. So much bigger than you to the point where if you look straight ahead, all you can see is the rise and fall of his chest through his white button down (the one you ironed for him this morning). 

His hands curl into fists, like he’s restraining himself. “Tell me now,” he breathes out, words coming out tight, like speaking to you civilly is proving to be a strenuous task for him. “Tell me that I shouldn’t fuck you tonight. That I can’t.”

Is he joking, or are you dreaming? You’re hyper aware of your breathing now, of the way you reflexively lick your lips, of the way your nipples are pressed taut against the thin, cotton fabric of your cami. You’re also way too aware of him, with the lustful expression in his eyes that give way to something more, as if this request of his means something more. Most men his age and in his powerful position have a wife or a girlfriend by now. As long as you’ve known him, Choso hasn’t been with anybody. 

The stress, the agitation, that annoying, persistent feeling of constantly being pent up — all of it has been building up inside of him. Whoever is going to be on the receiving end of it will be lucky if they’re able to walk the morning after.

“But you can.” You say softly, almost scared that this is some elaborate trick, a means to see if his brother’s babysitter is to be trusted. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

There’s something animalistic in the way he takes you. When he kisses you, it’s hungry. Open-mouthed. Sloppy. It would be invasive if you weren’t so eager to let him, to allow his tongue to hit the roof of your mouth, to swap saliva in the messiest manner possible.

But there’s something gentle there, too. The way his hands cup your face, or travel to rest on your waist. He’s sweet, taking his time to help you slip out of your pajamas, and sweeter still — he lets out an appreciative hum as he takes in the sight of you bare, naked in the kitchen. Fuck a drink, Choso thinks as he takes in your nude body. You’re the only stress relief he needs. 

He whispers the nastiest things to you as he gets you to sit on the kitchen island. He asks you to please spread your legs so he can see that pretty pussy of yours, and when you comply, he takes in a sharp breath before running a single, cold finger against your wet folds. He makes a crude, appreciative comment, asking you are you really this wet, baby? All of this because of me? For me? 

You can’t answer him, of course. Talking is hard when he’s using two fingers to fuck you open, get you ready to take his cock. He’s knuckles deep, and when he curls his fingers right there, the only thing you’re capable of saying is a squeal of his name. Your juices are pooling into a puddle on the counter, the same counter where you served him breakfast so many hours ago. 

He loves watching you. Choso could watch you every second for the rest of his life and still never get his fill of you. He only catches you during particularly chaste moments, moments where you’re humming in the kitchen or playing with Yuuji. He loves those scenes; it feeds the archaic, masculine ego inside of him that tells him he needs to make life easier for you. That you shouldn’t have to worry about school or work, about money or other frivolous things he has an abundance of. He wants to take care of you. 

Seeing the way you lose control of yourself from the work of his own hand has him getting unbearably hard in his work slacks. He loves watching you, and he knows he’s going to love watching you get all depraved and drunk on his cock. 

When Choso first tries to ease just the tip in, you have to curl your fingers over the edge of the counter, trying to steel yourself. With how wet and willing you are, it should be an easy enough task, but it’s made difficult by the fact that he’s just too thick. 

Tip red and angry, leaking with pre, wide — just the sight of Choso’s cock is enough to get you even wetter, more pliant for him, but even the first stretch still has you hissing. 

“S’okay, baby.” He groans, one hand on your waist, trying to steady you, keep you still so he can keep on pushing himself deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.” 

You certainly don’t feel like you’re doing much of anything. It’s hard, when you can’t stop your walls from clamping down on his cock, making it harder for him to move or even think. When he fully enters you, your mind is already too dizzy with pleasure to think straight. You think he says something, but you’re not sure what, and you try to focus on his words, you really do, but then he starts thrusting, and you think it’s powerful enough to tilt the axis of the earth. 

Oh, so this is what sex is supposed to feel like. He redefines everything you thought you knew about it. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, the way the slickness and heat of your pussy seems to keep motivating him to go harder, the way if you look down, you can spot a tiny bulge every time he hits as deep as he can go — all of this combined marks the height of pleasure for you.

“You’re so perfect.” He grunts out, relishing in the way you tighten up at his words. Your eyes are a bit glazed, almost like you’re struggling to focus on what’s in front of you. He doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, there’s pride settling inside his gut as he realizes that he’s the one fucking all the sense out of you. “Let’s do this every night, baby. Do you like the sound of that? Of being my stress relief?” 

He knows that you’re too far gone, too deep in the haze of pleasure, to process his words, to answer him. 

“I wanna fuck you forever, baby. Make you my pretty, little wife and have you waitin’ at home for me. How does that sound?”

He assumes when your pussy tightens up that that’s a yes. 

His hand finds your own, and he interlinks your fingers together. He might be fucking you all messy on the kitchen counter, but he still holds an overwhelming amount of affection for you. Of course he would want to hold your hand. 

He traces your ring finger, feels the familiar sensation of his release building up. So close, he thinks to himself. He’s so close to getting everything he wants.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum right. In. Your. Fucking. Pussy.” Each word is emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, and this — him saying that — is what your sex-addled mind registers. You’re vaguely aware that this could be a bad idea, but you’re too addicted to chasing after your high that you don’t put a stop to it. “Gonna give you a baby.”

“Please.” You moan out, the word coming out ragged and strained. Speaking is difficult, so so difficult. He’s happy to hear your beautiful voice, nonetheless.

“Atta girl. I knew you would understand.” 

As if confirming to him that the two of you are meant to be, you both cum at the same time. You feel weightless and drowsy, too out of it to even process how sloppy and wet the mess in between your legs is right now. If Choso pulls out, his cum and your juices would make the counter even more slippery. 

But Choso doesn’t pull out. His cock stays nestled in your wet heat, and he admires your fucked out form. You look a bit different from the fresh and clean girl who greeted him when he came home, but that’s okay. He loves you for you, every iteration you have to offer. He’ll carry you to the bedroom, where he can fuck you nicely, sweetly. Maybe he’ll try his hardest to not go too hard when he has you in a mating press. And after getting his fill of you, after the stresses of work disappear from his mind completely, then he’ll take you to the bathroom and get you all nice and clean. 

He’ll even be a gentleman, showcase what a great husband he’ll be, by letting you sleep in while he cooks the family breakfast.

[vilsoo]

‎ 𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺𝑶𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺…

‎ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 ‎ ‎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧… 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫!

‎ 𖤐 ORDER YOUR TICKETS HERE 𖤐 ‎ ֺ [ taglist ]

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘; 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘… Inspired by Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights, indulge in sex and horror galore at our premiere Kinktober event, HORRORLAND! Would you dare venture our haunted houses, experience our exhilarating attractions, and uncover the scandalous, deadly mysteries of Horrorland?

fandoms: jujutsu kaisen, spiderman atsv, fnaf, re4, codmw2.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

ㅤ ↓ 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 (𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓) ↓

FRIDAYS🩸 we welcome our fellow monster fuckers into this territory! deadly creatures preying on their victims, serving their lustful fantasies with wild, animalistic urges! your arousal and fear may provoke them further, so beware of the woods…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟒𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ❞ starring GHOST!LEON KENNEDY (re4)

who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead… and ghosts?

⚠︎ CW: mentions of stalking, slight ooc leon, angst, hurt/comfort, haunted vacation home, voyeurism, paranormal activity, sex with a ghost, gentle → rough smut, mirror sex, switchy!leon, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring WEREWOLF!MIGUEL O’HARA (atsv)

during the bloodmoon on halloween, your werewolf boyfriend feels a rapacious urge to knock you up.

⚠︎ CW: established relationship, miguel in heat, rough sex, soft sex, marking, biting, possession, breeding, knotting, impregnating, degrading/praising, power struggle, multiple orgasms, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 ❞ starring RYOMEN SUKUNA (jjk)

a camping trip you planned with your friends turns out to be a total nightmare, all caught on camera…

⚠︎ TW: suspense, horror/thriller themes, gruesome murder, gore, ritual sex, demon sex, satanism, sadism, betrayal, teratophilia, size kink, double penetration, plot twist, ib the blair witch project (1999), 1980s setting.

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SATURDAYS 🍷 the depths of hell fall on this dark and gloomy city bound to corruption and sin, known as the devil’s playground! lurking within the streets beholds the prurient reigns of terror that which may also arouse parkland guests…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ❞ starring NANAMI KENTO (jjk)

with you and your boyfriend being a regular at this fancy restaurant, the owner became very fond of you…

⚠︎ TW: cannibalism, chef/restaurant owner nanami, poisoning, murder, infidelity/cheating, eventual smut, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, jealousy, dark obsession, slight stalking, gore, mutilation.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟐𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 ❞ starring WILLIAM AFTON (fnaf)

as the new intern and your boss developing a dark obsession over you, he feels the need to corrupt you…

⚠︎ TW: dubcon, mind control (glitchtrap virus), sadism, murder, psychological abuse, manipulation, predator/prey dynamic, implied age gap, degradation, eventual rough smut, mentions of vanny mask.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟔𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring CHOSO (jjk)

accidentally bringing a girl back from the dead may have been horrifying, but falling in love with her..?

⚠︎ CW: horror/romcom themes, implied necrophilia (NO intercourse), college au, accidental ritual, romance, mentions of murder, suggestive smut, inspired by lisa frankenstein (2024) and corpse bride (2005).

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FOR OUR HALLOWEEN SPECIAL . . . not only are you immersed into the stories of our attractions, you get the real experience of being a parkland guest having a fun time at Horrorland with friends! but as thrilling as it all sounds, there are many scandals and articles of what really goes down…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟑𝟏: ❝ 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋? ❞ HEADLINE: PARKLAND VISITOR CAUGHT HAVING INTERCOURSE WITH A SCARE ACTOR!

flirting has become a common fear response when encountering hot masked scare actors chasing you at halloween events. this scandal covers a parkland visitor fawning over the hot scare actor in the Deathgasm haunted house, König, resulting in them flirting and sneaking off together…

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⚠︎ 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ⚠︎

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. please do not steal my kinktober prompts/works/themes! reposting any of my works outside tumblr that minors can access is strictly prohibited. will be cross posted on my ao3 soon.

[wheeboo]

hi (i love you) | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you take a trip through random glimpses of your growing relationship with minghao. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader (ft. a mention of jihoon, and gyu and seokmin very briefly) GENRE. fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, established relationship, college au WARNINGS. hao is a year or two older than reader, drinking and reader getting drunk, kissing, terms of endearment at the end, the last scene is a lil suggestive WORD COUNT. 5.5k

notes: yes. this is literally just a compilation fic of them saying hi. ty zanna @slytherinshua for reading this over for me <3 there's like significant time skips between each section - just a lil sum to keep in mind cuz i dont wanna cause confusion or anything 😭😭😭 i find hao the hardest member to write for, so i hope i was able to characterize him well here!

i. "hi." (fallow is the colour of dryness to my mouth when your eyes met mine.)

There's no way in hell you're going to let yourself be lost on the first day of university.

It's embarrassing enough accidentally waking up past your alarm and having barely any time to freshen up as much as you would like, so right now, you couldn't afford another disaster.

Taking a deep breath, you double-check your schedule and the layout of the campus on your phone, trying to match it with the signs around you. The different buildings and hallways of the campus seem like a maze in of itself, and you can feel the slight panic course up your veins. A sea of students rush past you, seemingly confident in their strides towards their own classes. A defeated sigh leaves you.

All you had to do was find the stupid art hallway.

You clench your phone tighter, your iron grip practically burning a hole through the screen. The campus map app wasn't making any more sense now than it did a minute ago. Frustration stings painfully at your eyes, but begging the earth to swallow you whole wouldn't get you to class any faster, so you force yourself to scan the crowd. There's bound to be at least someone who knows where it is and is willing to help you.

And so, your eyes catch sight of the first figure appearing conveniently in your peripheral vision𑁋a boy, dressed in a casual fallow-coloured flannel with a backpack casually slung over one of his shoulders, earphones in his ears, and peering down at something on his phone just like you were doing minutes ago (though he seems to be having a much better time than you)𑁋which was somehow enough for your feet to bolt you towards as if it had a mind of its own.

You feel the root of your nerves creep up your legs and branch up to your neck as you approach him, realising at this point, there's no turning back now. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, bracing yourself for a possible eye roll or annoyed sigh.

His eyes widen in surprise before settling on you, and at that moment, something strikes hard at whatever rehearsed lines you had in your head. It was all gone in a simple snap, from a simple look from him𑁋soft yet sharp brown eyes framed by dark lashes peering at you with a hint of surprise, fluffy dark hair showering down his neck and forehead a little, a dainty pair of silver earrings glinting at his ears. His whole face seems to hold a warmth that somehow eases a bit of the knot in your chest, but certainly not the one in your throat.

You open your mouth, but all the words die on your tongue. The air hangs heavy with a sudden awkwardness, and you can practically feel your cheeks burning. Maybe you should just turn around and pretend this never happened.

But then, you notice the way his lips lift up just slightly, and it makes your stomach do a flip. He glances down at his phone for a second, takes off his earphones, then brings his attention back at you.

"Hi," is all he says, and maybe, just maybe, your heart stops a little bit. It's just a simple word, but the way he says it𑁋all soft, quiet, a tad bit hesitant𑁋makes the fabric of your shirt feel tight on your body.

You didn't notice you were clenching your fists until you force them to relax at your side, clearing your throat in the process.

"Hi," You manage back nervously, surprised at how breathless you sound. "Sorry, I-I don't mean to intrude. It's just... Do you happen to know where the art hallway is? I'm trying to find my photography class."

You watch the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, unveiling more of a view of his piercings. He gazes briefly behind you at the clusters of other students gradually spilling into different hallways, hushing the space where the two of you stood. Then he returns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

"You're not that far off," he comments, seemingly amused. "I was just heading there myself too."

"Really? That's a relief. The campus map is awful and confusing, and I swear this place was designed on purpose for you to get lost in, you know? And being lost on the first day is just..." You quickly shut your mouth up from your rambling, letting your voice fade into an embarrassed chuckle instead.

Your gaze falls to the ground for a moment, and when you pick your head back up to look at him, you catch a glimpse of the small curve that he has at his lips, barely a hint of a smile playing there. It's a small detail, but suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world, and it throws your train of thought completely off track. He doesn't seem bothered by your little habit of rambling (admittedly, because of nerves), thankfully. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh, the sound washing over you like a warm summer breeze.

You can't help but sheepishly grin back, feeling a certain lightness bloom within your chest that probably has nothing to do with the weight of your backpack suddenly seeming lighter as well.

"It's okay," he reassures, voice as quiet and gentle as his gaze. "Everyone gets lost here sometimes. I've been there."

He starts walking, and you hesitate for a second before falling into step beside him. There's a small part of you urging to get to know him, as if this was the only opportunity to do so, but all the words you want to say sound clumsy and loud compared to the easy peacefulness that surrounds him.

And honestly, it feels... nice.

The hallway he leads you in is perhaps more than just a simple art hallway, the intoxicating scent of oil paint and clay blend together in the air. Paintings by students and faculty of every style imaginable line the walls, some bursting with vibrant colours, others muted and contemplative. Sculptures poke out from odd corners, and bulletin boards are overflowed with announcements of upcoming exhibitions and workshops, even though the year just started.

"Welcome to the art hallway," he beckons you casually and welcomingly, as if only this portion of the campus was a separate entity than others.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding in. "Thank you so much. Wow, this place is, um..." You stop yourself from continuing on, zipping your mouth shut. "I owe you. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. If there's anything I can𑁋"

"There's no need." He waves a hand dismissively at your offer, and for a second you feel something inside you sink, but the small hint of a smile to his face chases that feeling away just a little. "And it's Minghao... yeah. I'll see you around."

Before you can say anything more, you watch as he turns himself around and swiftly enters inside the room standing right behind him. A painting class.

(You are eight minutes late to class when a near-clear picture on the wall catches your gaze. It looks like a picture of Minghao standing next to a particularly vibrant painting of abstract art, and your heart swells just a little bit more.)

ii. "hi." (laurel is the colour of the grass that you lay on with me, gazing up at the same sky together.)

There was a time during Minghao's first year of college where a friend of his𑁋Lee Jihoon is his name𑁋called him crazy and bonkers for spending majority of his day outdoors rather than inside. Obviously, Minghao didn't exactly care, nor was it insulting in the slightest knowing Jihoon's stubbornness and tendency to stay holed up in his room buried under piles of music textbooks.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the outdoors more than anything else, like from the way the sun kisses upon his skin, the gentle breeze that caresses his face, and the colours of nature that found him at his lowest times. Minghao thinks that's how he got into painting and art in the first place, though he didn't dwell on it too much. It all just came natural to him. He likes to think it that way𑁋that it found him instead.

The scenery of the campus is his oasis. He can do his own thing while others are walking through their own lives. He can sit outside for as long as he wants until dusk settles in and paints the sky with hues of orange and pink, or until the stars twinkle above and remind him that he's just an utter speck in the universe.

Today is no different.

Minghao finds himself sprawled out on the grass near the art building, sketchbook propped up against his bent knees, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the way the afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves of a nearby tree in his line of sight.

A low breeze runs through the air, stirring a few strands of hair across his forehead. He brushes them back absentmindedly, just as a sound cracks into the quietness.

"Hi!"

Minghao shoots his eyes up, slightly startled from the unexpected greeting. He catches sight of you slowly approaching up to him, a hesitant smile gracing your lips as you stop a few feet away.

"Hi," he replies, voice soft as he notices the way you're fiddling with something behind your back. "Vending machine did its ol' thing again?"

"Can you always read my mind?" You murmur, teasing annoyance biting at your words, but you can't contain the smile to your face either way. Maybe he can read your mind, but he's just skimming over it instead. "I can take it if you prefer to die from dehydration."

Minghao chuckles lightly. He glances down at the water bottle in your hand, then back at you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. There's a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, but also a hint of something𑁋maybe surprise, mischief, or perhaps a touch of shyness.

(You don't catch the way he subconsciously pushes the other water bottle he had stashed earlier deeper into his backpack.)

"Thanks." He accepts the water bottle from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a second, and takes a quick sip to cool his slightly parched throat.

Then he sets the water bottle down beside him, patting the grass next to him invitingly.

Without a word, you take a deep breath and lower yourself down onto the grass next to him. You catch the scent of the fresh paint lingering on his clothes and blending with the earthy aroma of the grass beneath you. The sunlight catches on the side of his face, highlighting some strands of hair flying in the breeze and the silver earrings reflecting in his ears.

There's a small groan that leaves you when you get yourself to lay fully down on the grass, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. Minghao just peers in your direction curiously, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you settle in.

"You know," You sigh, letting out a contented breath as you spread your arms out a little, fixing your eyes up towards the sky. "This is actually really nice, hanging outside and all, but I am so out of shape. You pick the worst spots."

Minghao's smile widens a fraction at your words. He shifts his own gaze to the sky, observing as the clouds drift lazily overhead, fingertips kneading at the laurel-coloured grass below. The soft yet vibrant green reminds him of a new set of paints he recently bought.

"I think you'll survive lying on a patch of grass, Y/N."

"Not if I get up and there's a goddamn earthworm crawling in my ear, Hao."

"Just don't fall asleep, and you'll live."

You let out a giggle, though you wouldn't be lying if you said that the warmth hitting your body was making you feel just the tiniest bit of drowsy. "No promises there."

The silence that lingers between you and Minghao isn't uncomfortable, but it's not exactly filled with chatter either. It's a comfortable silence, with the distant sounds of other students laughing like white noise and the occasional rustle of a breeze flying past your ears.

It's always like this when you're here together, a quiet that feels more familiar than the few months you've known him. Whether it's your little study sessions at the library, or when you hang out with him after hours in his painting class, it's familiar being around him. The thought settles around you like a well-worn blanket, a comfort you didn't know you craved until you found it here.

You glance over back at Minghao, who seems to be focused back on his sketchbook. He taps his pencil against his bottom lip in concentration. There's a small smudge of charcoal on his nose that you pinpoint, just hardly noticeable, but it makes you want to reach out and brush it away with your thumb.

The bold thought makes your stomach churn.

"Lay down with me, Hao."

The words leave you before you can stop them, surprising even yourself. A blush creeps up your neck, warming your cheeks as you continue watching Minghao. He's still focused on his sketchbook, but the tapping of his pencil against his lip has ceased. He looks down at you, eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening into a gentle smile.

"Lay down?" he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Y-Yeah," You stammer, suddenly wishing you'd phrased it differently. "I mean, if you want. The sky looks better from here, you know?"

Minghao just tilts his head to the side as if in contemplation, before closing his sketchbook and shifting his position. He tosses his backpack right next to yours, laying himself down on the grass and stretching his body in relief. The grass crinkles softly beneath him, his arm briefly brushing against yours, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he settles in, peering up at the sky with you.

He's painted the sky many times, but for some reason, it feels different looking at it right now, and he isn't entirely sure why.

"What's the weirdest colour you've painted with?"

The sudden question makes Minghao sit up slightly, leaning on his elbow to face you better. The corners of his lips are pulled up in the hint of a smirk.

"Goose turd green."

His eyes detail the way your face contorts in slight disgust, before nothing but laughter tumbles out of you, and Minghao thinks he'd never get tired of hearing that sound.

iii. "hi." (vermilion is the colour that seeps through my cheeks when the alcohol beats me and i think about you.)

"Y/N𑁋jeez, how much did they drink tonight?"

"I don't even know𑁋woah, hey! Hold them steady, wait..."

"I'll take them back to their place," Minghao tells the other two boys struggling to keep you from falling over in their hold.

Mingyu and Seokmin stare at him for a second, exchanging a glance with each other before guiding you into Minghao's hold carefully. Minghao secures an arm around your waist, loosely at first, before tightening instantly because you're just about to fall out of his grip. He bids the other guys goodbye, then sets off with you towards your dorm.

"Are you alright?" he asks, even though he knows the answer already. "I told you before that you should know your limits."

You giggle, a wobbly, off-key sound. "Oh, I feel peachy, thank you so much."

Minghao just sighs, shaking his head slightly as he adjusts his hold on you, making sure you're steady on your feet.

The walk back to your dorm is painfully slow. Streetlights cast an orange glow on the sidewalk, painting long shadows that seem to dance alongside you. You lean heavily against Minghao, head hanging down to the ground, your footsteps unsteady. The world seems to tilt and sway with every giggle that escapes you.

Your vision is a bit blurry when your dorm comes into sight. Relief washes over you, and you lean even heavier into Minghao, practically melting into him by the time you reach your door and it swings open.

He steps you inside, moving you past the shoe rack by the entrance and towards your bed, and you flop down on the plush mattress with a low groan, nearly dragging down Minghao on top of you.

He catches himself just in time, a hand landing on the mattress beside you with a soft thud, and suddenly he's hovering above you, his breath catching with the sudden closeness of his body pressed up against yours. However, it just makes a laugh bubble out of your throat from deep within your chest, and with half-lidded eyes, you find yourself staring dazedly up at him.

"Wow, hiiii, you're like..." You drawl your words and tap aimlessly at his shoulder. "You're like... so pretty, you know? Have I told you that before?"

Heat creeps up Minghao's neck. He blinks down at you, eyes trailing over your face and cheeks which were stained a soft shade of vermilion from all the alcohol earlier. A small, surprised airy laugh escapes his lips.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. And even after pulling away from you, you continue, voice thick with inebriation.

"And your smile? Oh, don't even get me started," You slur, a goofy grin plastered on your face. "Those big, cute eyes you have? They, like, make the whole world look... sparkly."

"Y/N, you need𑁋"

"And whenev... whenever you paint," You continue, voice trailing off away. The world seems to be spinning a little slower now, the grin to your face faltering for a moment, replaced by a furrowed brow as you try to focus on the thought. "Yeah, whenever you paint... you get this... this really focused look on your face. Like the world fades away and all that's left is the canvas. It's kind of... hot."

Minghao could simply only stare at you. He knows he should probably get you settled into bed and leave, but his feet seem rooted to the floor below. His gaze flickers up and down your face, then back up to your eyes, searching for any sign of what you just said being a joke. But all he sees is a genuine, albeit slightly hazy and inebriated, fondness.

"You think so?" he finally manages to ask.

"Yeah," You mumble knowingly as if instinctive, eyelids drooping closed a little further. "Makes you look, uh... determined. Like you could𑁋like you could paint the stars out of the sky or something."

Minghao cowers his head down for a second, before looking back up at you, crossing his arms together bemusedly. "Do you want me to paint the stars for you?"

You give a dreamy nod. In your cloudy mind, the idea sounds incredibly romantic, like something out of a dream.

"I think..." You start once again. "that would really make me like you even more."

Minghao feels his lips twitch, somewhat hopeful yet also reluctant, before letting out another sigh.

"You need to go to bed." He walks back over and helps pull the covers over you. "I'll leave you some water and meds to take in the morning, okay?"

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as he pulls away, a sleepy pout crossing over your features. You watch him with heavy eyelids, the room tilting ever so slightly with each passing beat of your heart.

"Wait," You murmur, grabbing weakly at his sleeve.

Minghao turns back around. You're looking at him, eyes a little more focused now, a hint of a playful smile on your lips, and shooting him a look that means business.

"Don't forget the stars, okay, mister?"

iv. "hi." (pewter is the colour of the clouds when the earth can't hold it in much longer, and the words burst all at once.)

It hits you on a random Wednesday near the end of the month during an exam on English Romanticism that you simply can't stand this anymore.

You're avoiding Minghao, purposely attending more study sessions that your classmates offer and taking up more shifts at the small café across from campus that you applied for a while ago to make some extra bucks. You know you're avoiding him, and he probably knows it too, and it's all your fault𑁋you're letting him get away and slip through the cracks between your fingers.

Minghao's art had been selected for a prestigious exhibition out of town, and he was set to leave at the end of the month for this internship just as summer is starting, and the thought of him being gone brings a hollow ache to your chest. It's becoming unbearable each passing day, each millisecond that passes knowing you've been so stupidly immature to push him away when he's quite literally been the best thing that has happened to you.

You may never understand how Xu Minghao𑁋this sophisticated, well-mannered, and endlessly talented artist𑁋had managed to wriggle his way into your heart so effortlessly, but there he was, occupying every crevice and corner with his gentle smiles and soft laughter that seem to flip the world over. He was just this sentient, living breathing form of peace that you can’t seem to let go of.

When another boom of thunder shatters outside, you think, screw this.

Screw avoiding him. This wasn't how this story was supposed to end.

You're quick to shove your belongings back in your bag the moment your class ends. The rain has calmed down a little when you step outside, which only seems to fuel the determination within you.

With a deep breath, you pull your jacket tighter against your body, and start to spring across campus. The rain might be getting heavier with each passing minute, but you don't care. All you care about is getting to Minghao before the storm within you bursts too.

Reaching his dorm building, you're merely a shivering mess, hair damp and plastered to your forehead and clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You barely have the breath to push open the heavy doors, collapsing against them for a moment to catch your breath.

But just as you're about to push open the door, a figure blocks your way, and you peer up to see Minghao standing in front of you. There's an umbrella clutched in his hand, and a puzzled look etches across his features when he takes sight of your disheveled appearance in front of him. You could only gaze at him.

"Hi," You say breathlessly, as if you've been holding on to the singular word for dear life.

Minghao just blinks a few times, unsure if he's looking at you as if you were crazy or if he's just imagining you.

"Hi," he finally responds, voice all gentle and slightly hesitant.

You glance down at the umbrella in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?"

Minghao opens his mouth to respond, also looking down at the umbrella in his hands as if magically appeared there out of thin air, then a bashful look crosses his face.

"I forgot some supplies back in class, so I thought I'd grab them before the storm gets any worse," he explains somewhat lamely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But I𑁋Are you... are you okay?"

You give a loose nod, then shake your head dismissively right afterwards. Gosh, you're losing it.

Minghao clears his throat. "What are you doing out here in the rain? You're going to get sick𑁋"

"You know I-I like you, right?" The words stumble clumsily over your tongue, shattering whatever fragile tension was building up between you two. "And you probably knew that already, to be honest, because you always seem to know me better than I know myself. But the thought of you leaving just... scared me, and I panicked and pushed you away."

A lump forms in your throat. Minghao's expression is practically unreadable in front of you. There's a mix of surprise, a hint of something that could be hurt, and something else you can't exactly decipher.

You let out a dry chuckle, embarrassment crawling up your face but you try to ignore it as much as you can.

"I-I know I sound crazy right now," You say, forcing a smile that seems more like a grimace. "But I... I couldn't let you leave without knowing how I feel. So yeah. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than that. I don't know. It sort of scares me, honestly."

You wait a few moments, simply standing there in the falling rain while anticipating just anything from the boy standing in front of you as if the world had come to a pause. His silence stretches suffocatingly long, nothing but a cloud swirling in those beautiful eyes of his.

Then he looks down at the umbrella in his hand for a moment, then back at you, his gaze lingering on your soaked clothes and shivering form. And just before you can spiral into a wave of panic, Minghao steps forward close to you. Without a word, he unfurls the umbrella and holds it over your head, tilting it slightly to ensure you're fully covered from the rain.

"Let's get you out of this rain," he says finally, low and calm. "You're freezing."

"I..." You start, then stop, giving a muted nod. "Okay."

Minghao leads you back inside his dorm building and up to his room, the warmth seeping overwhelmingly into your bones. He ushers you into his space, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind you.

You've been inside Minghao's room before, but it feels different now, more intimate somehow. The air hangs heavy as you awkwardly perch yourself on the edge of his bed, careful not to let the water dripping off you land on his sheets, and you watch as he quietly makes his way to his closet and disappears behind the hanging clothes. A moment later, he emerges with a soft, oversized hoodie and a towel in hand.

"Here." He holds out the towel and hoodie towards you. "Dry yourself off and change out of those clothes."

The softness of the towel against your skin is the equivalent to luxury as you meticulously pat down your hair and face. You shoot glances at Minghao across the room, seeing him busy himself at his desk, back turned to you, a low hum escaping his lips.

You slip on the oversized hoodie, the familiar scent of Minghao washing over you and instantly relaxing your jittery nerves. The sleeves hang past your fingertips, the material engulfing you in a comforting warmth.

"Feeling a little better?" Minghao asks, turning around to face you after a few minutes. You hardly notice the way his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on the way the hoodie basically swallows you.

A shy, self-conscious look crosses your features. "Yeah, um... Thanks."

Minghao returns the smile, though there's a hint of something else in his eyes𑁋perhaps relief or maybe even a touch of fondness. "Always."

That particular silence passes again as you both sit in his room, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the window. You fidget nervously with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Then, you let out a sigh. "Look, Hao𑁋"

"Do you want anything to drink?"

The offer zips your mouth back up, leaving your unfinished words hanging in the air. Is he... trying to brush away everything that has just happened in the last fifteen minutes? All just like that? You nearly want to scoff at the thought, but you bite at your bottom lip instead, a pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

"Honestly?" You lay your hands flat on your lap. "I'd kill for a hot chocolate right now."

Minghao just chuckles softly. "Okay," Then another long, considerable pause. "Are you working at the café later on?"

The thought of working right now makes you cringe internally. "No, thank goodness. My shift actually got swapped with someone else. Lucky break, I guess."

The corners of Minghao's mouth lift up subtly. He glances back out the window, seeing that the rain had become much lighter and cleared up significantly, revealing the sky in a palette of muted greys. His gaze returns to you, a thoughtful expression painting his features.

"Let's go then," he asserts firmly, rising up to his feet.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What? Right now? To the café?"

"Mhm."

"But you can't𑁋we can't just𑁋"

"It's a date," Minghao affirms, cutting your words off promptly. "My treat."

His words catch you off-guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. Your mouth hangs down to the ground, warmth crawling up the cheeks just like the hot chocolate you desperately crave right now. You can feel your heart pounding furiously out of your chest and whatever tension coiling in your stomach dissipating away.

"A... date?" You squeak out, voice coming out small and weak.

Minghao's lips purse together in a thin line. "Unless you have other plans𑁋"

"Oh no, no, no," You blurt out, finding yourself already breathless for no reason at all, struggling to keep the giddy grin forming on your face at bay. "A date sounds perfect, actually."

Relief floods over Minghao's features. He lets out a little giggle, the kind that always makes your insides do a little happy flip.

"Good," he responds simply. "I'm glad."

"Do I get to pay next time?" You ask teasingly as you stand up. "If there is a next time, at least."

Nothing but amusement dances in his eyes.

"We'll see about that."

v. "hi." (calamine is the colour staining your cheeks and your lips against my ear.)

Minghao's lips are on yours before you have the opportunity to breathe in the air of relief of the hotel room.

It's not hard for your body to melt into him instinctively, the kiss soft yet desperate, tender yet urgent. You find your fingers kneading at the silky material of the suit that he wore, and his hand coming to rest on your lower back. Both of your feet move in mere unison together before you feel the edge of the bed nudge the back of your knee.

When the two of you pull back for a minute to breathe, all you can do is faintly chuckle.

"You act like you haven't seen me in years," You tease, letting a hand come to toy with his tie. "Did you miss me that much?"

Minghao's gaze only flickers between your eyes, your lips, and down the outfit that seems to hug your body just perfectly, before settling back up to your face. His own face is close enough to yours that you swear you could pinpoint the flecks of stardust in his irises. He's simply staring at you with nothing but adoration, his gaze so intense like he's trying to memorise every little detail etched on your face, even if he's already done so many times. He's painted stars on your skin with his fingertips, lips, whispered words, and his heart.

And then he's kissing you again, more softly and slower this time, the weight of his body following your own as you fall back down on the bed behind.

Missing you is more than just an understatement. Being separated from you felt like this physical piece of him was missing from his chest. His art had been reaching the rightful hands of museums abroad just as he deserves, and you had gotten used to him travelling for days on end to attend exhibitions and workshops.

You jumped on the first opportunity to be able to visit him. And now, with you in his arms and your lips pressed against his, Minghao feels like he's finally whole again.

His mouth pulls away from the sweet spot to your neck, trailing a soft path back up to your lips, giving you a small kiss before pulling back to look at you. You hear the way his breath hitches in his throat, the feeling of his hand coming to interlock with yours at your side, the metal of the ring on his finger meeting your skin.

You peer up at him longingly, lovingly, a tiny smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"Hi," You whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you.

Minghao's gaze softens even further, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand as he leans back down.

"Hi, dearest," he murmurs back affectionately, adjusting himself so that his mouth is near your ear, barely grazing against the shell as he whispers, "You're beautiful."

You could only giggle as he retreats himself away slightly, but you tug him by the tie again to bring him back down. "Yeah? What else?"

There's a thoughtful look that crosses over his features, his cheeks painted an ethereal shade of calamine pink, mirroring the flush of warmth that spreads across your own face. You've always grown accustomed to Minghao's fairly quiet nature, however it doesn't take much to read over even the most imperceptible shifts in his expressions. Whenever words seem to be too shy or hesitant to come out, the stars in his eyes speak for him.

Minghao just lowers himself even more, the ghost of his lips hardly brushing back against yours.

"I love you."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights

[angel-of-the-moons]

Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

[thatoneneuvichiliauthor]

Let me share the latest idea I’ve been obsessing about: A vaguely Greek mythology-inspired Aventio AU where Ratio, prince of Amphoreus, has come of age and, is supposed to get married, according to the laws and customs of his city. Except he’d rather focus on the greater purpose of curing the world from ignorance, starting with his own people, than waste his time courting some egoistical royal he couldn’t care less about. So he comes up with the oldest trick in the book to escape this meaningless duty without causing an uproar: Setting up open to all (but secretly impossible to complete) tasks that his future spouse will have to overcome if they wish to prove themselves worthy of his hand. Not that Ratio expects anyone to succeed, and for several years, his ruse works just fine, which gives him plenty of time to further his studies and become a well-versed scholar. Many suitors try to outwit him, but none can even pass through the first trial.

Then enters Aventurine.

His participation alone provokes outrage. Appalled whispers fill the streets. How dare a Sigonian barbarian, a former slave, believe himself good enough to marry the noble and esteemed prince of Amphoreus? Does he have no shame, parading around the city in grotesquely eye-catching clothes, as if he has already won?

As soon as it reaches their ears, Ratio’s advisors suggest he bans Aventurine from the competition, which he refuses just as fast. The rules he created state that anyone can participate, regardless of their birthright or education, and that is final.

So Aventurine undergoes the trials and solves all of Ratio’s perfectly crafted puzzles and enigmas, though in rather unconventional ways their creator never even considered (think cutting the Gordian knot in half instead of untangling it).

Still, when he kneels in front of Ratio as they are introduced, he fully expects the prince to accuse him of cheating as an excuse to call the marriage off. Not that he minds. It’s all part of his plan, after all. He needs Ratio’s assistance to fulfill the latest mission assigned to him by the IPC, and what better way to catch his attention and flaunt his insane luck than by beating him at his own game? Besides, he knew from the start a future king would never stoop as low as to wed a former slave.

However, what happens next is the one possibility the Stoneheart didn’t account for:

Prince Ratio doesn’t go back on his word.

How could he, when he has oh so unexpectedly found his match, when their qualities and faults balance each other out so perfectly? The crowd might attribute Aventurine’s victory to deceit or divine luck, but he can tell honed skills, shrewdness and street smarts were the real actors at play. While hearsay claims that he only respected his part of the deal out of integrity and virtuousness, perhaps even pity, his heart tells another story.

With such a sharp-witted, and dare he say it, charming fiancé challenging his worldview, well…

Suddenly, the prospect of betrothal doesn’t seem so ludicrous anymore.

And that is how, to everyone’s surprise, including his own, Aventurine accidentally gets engaged to a secretly smitten prince. (He soon learns to love it. And the citizens of Amphoreus, not to badmouth him or his origins ever again, unless they want to have chalks thrown at them by their very pissed monarch)

[bottom-lexa]

How independent is Lexa in your pregnancy fic? Does she get annoyed when Clarke tries to do everything for her and thinks she's fragile?

she's very independent. she's been living on her own since she was 16 and has had to be there for herself because no one else was. at the start clarke is a little pushy and like only a step behind lexa the entire time, not wanting her to even lift a finger. which does end up annoying lexa. nad literally within a couple of weeks, lexa is like "clarke i swear to god if you don't stop doing whatever you are, I'm going to kill you" and after a little talk, clarke does back off and ease up because she figures, if the roles were reversed she would be going crazy if lexa was treating her the way she's been treating her.

they're good tho, they're fine. all they needed was to talk.

and again, not confirming or denying whether or not they keep the baby.

[vampsquerade]

okay okay, asking for the monsterfuckers here >.>

can we please please PLEASE have some werewolf könig with a female reader that has to help him with his rut? some…some knotting would be cool too…

WEREWOLF KÖNIG???? MONSTERFUCKER???? HAVE I REACHED MY TARGET AUDIENCE WITH A POST OR WHAT HAHA AAAAA- ahem, but yes you may have some werewolf König

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Werewolf!König x Female!Reader: Controllable Urges

Trigger Warnings: NSFW, smut, mating seasons, monsterfucker reader, slight shifts, knotting, multiple positions, werewolf!AU, creampies, biting, scratching (fic under the cut)

Werewolves were something you’d always believed only existed in fairytales and made up stories about feral, nature connected men living in the forests. But after encountering your own boyfriend and finding out his true identity, you fully believe that they’re real. “K…König?” you ask softly when you knock on his door. There’s a soft growl followed by a whine, as if warning you to keep away. But knowing how stubborn you were, you weren’t gonna leave him alone or go away. “Are you okay..? Need me to come in there and comfort you..? Is the shift a bit painful this time around?” you ask from behind the door. “N-No…I don’t need help…do not come inside the room…please…” König growls. Just the way he sounds, all raspy and dangerous, it intrigues you more and more. You only become more worried, leaning against the door a bit more to hear what’s going on.

You can hear him panting heavily, like he’s out of breath after running around for so long. But it also sounds slightly…pained? There’s also the soft and faint sound of something squishing. “Are you…sure you don’t need any help?” I ask. “Stop asking me…hffh..~ s-stupid questions, Maus…it’s dangerous for you to c-come inside my room right now…” König growls softly. Scowling slightly, thinking he might be in some actual form of pain and doesn’t want to be treated and scolded by you, you decide to just open the door. And once you do, your eyes go wider than the moon when you see exactly what your boyfriend’s been doing this whole time. He’s in heat? Or is it a rut? You can’t really remember much about the proper terminology; all you knew was that he was in what would be considered his “mating season.”

But the sight…it’s one to truly see. König’s not completely in his other form; only his forearms and a bit of his back are covered in fur. His signature little wolf ears and tail are sticking out from his head and back, and his claws are sharp against the skin of his own thigh, piercing through and making him bleed as the other grips his throbbing cock. His eyes pierce right into yours as he scowls, growling lowly at you, “I…I thought I warned you…” he seethes. Your eyes soften a bit and you cautiously walk over to him, gently pushing him back into his bed. “What are you doing…?” König whispers breathlessly, letting his back fall onto the cool, silk sheets of his bed, making him wince softly. “Shh…I’m going to help you, okay…?” You whisper softly. Carefully, you then climb over him and sit in his lap. You can feel him burning through his dampened clothes from all the sweat and lean in, kissing him.

König’s eyes go wide and he’s doing all he can to make sure he doesn’t lose control when you sit in his lap and kiss him. He’s kissing you back gently, not trying to get too into it to where he ends up accidentally hurting you. Pulling away for just a moment, you stare at his piercing blue eyes. “I told you…I will help you whenever you need me to…” you say. Your tone is gentle and calm, sweet and kind, and it’s everything König needed right now. His eyes seem to water a little before he eventually speaks up, “I just don’t want to hurt you…I-I’m insatiable right now…” Your smile just seems to get a bit warmer when he says this, “Oh König, it’s okay—I told you I’ll help you whenever you need me to. Now tel me,” You begin, gently putting your hands into his hair and messing with his little ears and giving them gentle squeezes.

König instinctively leans into this, moaning softly when you start to scratch behind them. “Do you want me to help you through your mating season?” you ask firmly. He nods furiously, whimpering softly. “Take off all your clothes then. I promise I’ll take you as you are, but don’t be afraid to lose control—I understand and I trust you to not hurt me too badly,” you say, climbing off him to let him take off his clothes. Sitting back up on his knees, König snarls as he straight up just rips every piece of fabric on him off. You see little scars all over his body, presumably from him digging his claws into himself to keep his self-control. “You know, you could’ve told me you were a werewolf a long time ago—I would’ve been more than happy to help you out the way I am now,” you say.

König’s eyes then dart to yours and you could see that he’s already begun to break free from the chains of his self-resistance and self-control. His pupils are dilated, shoulders heaving up and down as he stares at you and breathes heavily. “Are you…really sure that…y-you’ll be okay with this? Because once I start…” he says in that same raspy voice, snarling softly, “I won’t be able to stop until I’m satisfied.” You feel your entire body fluster at this display he’s giving you. He looks so much hotter in this form, and you can’t help but wonder what it was like to fuck him this way. “I-I’m okay with this, promise…I want to help you however you need…” you say softly.

König nods and then begins to rip your clothes off, letting the shreds fall completely to the floor. “H-Hey!” you can’t help but exclaim, only to yelp slightly when he lifts you up and lays you down on your bed faster than you can even register. “I’ll buy you new clothes, now hush.” König says. He climbs over you as you lay there in your bed, and you can feel him slightly slap himself against your clit. Your eyes go even wider than before and you bite your lip. “You feel wet enough already…surely I won’t need to worry about teasing you,” he also sniffs the air, snarling softly. “Smell it too…I just want to get this all over and done with…” König groans.

And just as he says this, he lifts your legs up to your chest to put you into a mating press position. “K-König, wait!” you protest to no avail. There was no getting through to him now once he slowly pushed himself inside of you, making you whimper and moan from the stretch. König takes no time to start, gripping the backs of your knees so tightly his claws dig into you and he starts to thrust himself in and out of you. He’s much more forceful than he was every other time, driven by his primal instincts to breed you during his mating season. You can’t help but squeeze his cock tightly, as his tip practically kisses your cervix. It’s a bit painful, but you can’t help moaning over and over from how good the pain feels.

König’s larger stature still manages to tower over you even when he’s got you like this, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he thrusts into you like there's no tomorrow. The man’s lost himself to the pleasure of you clenching tightly around him, the pleasure of getting to finally mate somebody. “Fuck, Maus…you were practically made for me…I’m going to fucking mate you and make you mine~” König growls, opening his eyes slightly as he then lets a groan rip from his throat. You can’t say anything at all, accepting your fate as his forevermore as he pounds into you. “Y-Yours…I’m all yours…~” you manage to say through your helpless, wanton moans. “That you are, Maus.” König growls.

“Du gehörst mir...du bist mein Kumpel... und ich werde dafür sorgen, dass die ganze Welt es weiß…” he whispers. Suddenly, König pulls out of you before flipping you onto your stomach, raising your hips so your ass is in the air. “This is much more fitting…” König snarls as he pushes back into you. Your hands grip the bed sheets tightly, moaning even louder as his unrelenting thrusts resume again. One of his clawed hands has moved down between your legs, rubbing at your sensitive clit to make you squeeze him tighter from the sensation. “König!~ T-Too much!~” you whimper loudly, turning your head slightly to look at him.

König says nothing, giving you a sharp-toothed grin and a cocky laugh as he continues. “This is nothing yet…you’ll be begging and crying for me to stop the further I go. Like I said,” he leans down to whisper in your ear as his fingers rub deeper and harsher circles against your clit, “I won’t stop until I’m satisfied. Pass out, become completely incoherent—I’m not stopping any time soon.” he snarls. Your hips jolt slightly, as the sensation of him rubbing circles against your clit and his forceful thrusting becomes all too much. Your eyes start to slightly roll back, drool dripping onto the mattress as your jaw hangs open to moan loudly. König’s pushing you further and further towards the edge.

Feeling proud of himself, he then pulls back slightly and sinks his sharp canines into the nape of your neck right as he pushes back into you and finally finishes off inside of you. All of this has become far too overwhelming and you can’t help but finally have the most intense climax of your life; and many more were to follow after this. Your entire body’s quivering as he keeps you in place like this, hearing him growling from the satisfaction of being able to do this. König continues to thrust harder, until you feel something else press into you. Completely sheathed inside you, his knot keeps him in place as he finally reaches his own climax.

A loud snarl followed by a howl resounds in the room, his hips still slightly grinding into you until he stops. You remain there on the bed, whimpering pathetically as the stars in your vision slowly dissipate. “Fuck…oh my god…wh-what is that..?” you ask softly, trying to wiggle yourself away onto to find yourself stuck in place. König leans back down and licks the blood seeping from his bite away, as if tenderly comforting you after. “Maus…I just knotted you…you’re mine forever now that I’ve left my mark on you…” he says softly, continuing to lick at your blood. “O-Oh…how long does it last…?” you ask again, curious as to how his werewolf anatomy works.

“Hm…I’m not too sure…I haven’t knotted anyone before…” König whispers. He then presses soft kisses into the sides of your neck, moving his hands from your hips and cunt to gently roam around you. “Guess we’ll just have to wait…” he whispers once more. “Fuck…and it’s just going to be this all night, isn’t it…?” you ask. König chuckles softly, sighing happily as he gives you a nod. His ears are flat against the top of his head, tail slightly wagging. “S-Sorry, but yes…” he apologizes. You just huff through your nose before laughing softly, “It’s okay…wow…so this is what it’s like to get fucked by a werewolf…” you say softly. König nods once more and continues to tell you sweet things in German, praising you and thanking you for doing this with him.

Oh yeah…it was definitely going to be a long night.

[wooahaes]

up in smoke

pairing: non-idol!vernon x fem!reader

genre: fluff. established relationship au.

warnings: food. burnt food. vernon is trying his best.

word count: ~1.1k

daisy's notes: ive said this before but he is simply sooo <3

Vernon remembered when he went bungee-jumping with his friends years ago, before he ever met you. They had done rounds of rock, paper, scissors on the bus ride there, and he had ended up losing, which meant he had to go first. He remembered how it felt to get on the edge, the worker walking him through it while his stomach was twisting itself into knots. Bend his knees, hold his arms out as he falls, and enjoy the thrill. If he wanted to be poetic, he could say that falling in love felt a lot like that: a blind jump toward a joy he could see in you. Both had been worth it. He’d gained a sick video of him bungee jumping, courtesy of his friends, and the leap into love had given him a relationship he felt so entirely safe in.

Baking cupcakes should not be harder than bungee jumping. Why the fuck was this harder than bungee jumping?

He coughed as he opened up the oven for the second time today, smoking plumbing out of it and setting off the alarm. Shit. Fuck. This shouldn’t be this hard. He ripped the cupcake tray out of the oven, tossing it onto the smooth stovetop before cracking a window and then going for the alarm. With the apartment silent, he let out a heavy sigh before leaning against the counter again. Vanilla cupcakes had no right being this hard to bake. Why was baking harder than normal cooking? He’d learned normal cooking! But every time he swore the batter tasted okay when he did a tiny taste test, something went wrong with the actual baking half of things. The picture on his laptop was taunting him now, all perfectly baked with perfectly placed buttercream on top of it… 

He let out a sigh, shutting his eyes. Okay. He could work with this. As much as he hated to admit it, maybe it was a good thing that you were stuck at work today. Originally, it was a good way for him to surprise you with cupcakes. He pulled at the loose bow tying his apron around him, throwing it onto the counter before heading straight to the bedroom to strip off his shirt and change into something that he didn’t accidentally get flour on. 

Fine. He couldn’t bake you cupcakes. That didn’t mean shit when he had a car and money and the ability to just go buy the damn things. Easy solution.

He picked out yours and his favorite flavors for the larger box… Only to check his phone and see where you had texted him three times in a row. Oh shit.

baby???

what did you burn????? 

omg wait are you okay??? did you burn yourself??? i tried calling seungkwan and he didn’t know where you were 😭

Shit. Not what he meant to happen on your birthday. He dropped a tip into the tip jar, thanking the worker as he took off back to his car. When did you get off early? Shit, he thought he’d know—but you never mentioned anything today. He fought the urge to drive a little over the speed limit to get home to you, just shooting off one quick text to say ‘omw’ as he hoped that would calm your fears. The moment he parked, he took off running as fast he could without damaging the cupcakes to get back into the building. It was a weird half-jog that would definitely earn him some strange looks, but it was far from the first time he’d done something foolish while thinking of you. The elevator swiftly brought him up to his floor, and he rushed to get back into the apartment. 

And there you were, dumping out the burnt cupcakes as you tried to deal with the still-lingering burnt smell in the apartment. When you looked up, relief flooded your eyes as you saw him.

“Oh my god, Vernon, I was terrified you’d burnt yourself—” You rushed over to him, only to stop short as he held up a pastel pink box of cupcakes. “... What did you—”

“I wanted to bake you those funfetti cupcakes you were talking about,” he said. “But, uh… You can probably figure out what happened.” 

You took the box from him, only to immediately set it aside in favor of kissing him. He’d stiffened up in surprise, but relaxed a moment later as his hands fell to your hips. When you drew away, you just gave him a shy smile.

“I was worried,” you said. “I thought you’d hurt yourself.” You brushed his hair back from his eyes, frowning at him a little. “But… You were gonna bake me cupcakes?”

“I tried,” he admitted. “But, uh… I think baking was a little ambitious.” He drew you closer, body pressing against yours. “The first time, the oven was too hot, aaand the second time I took ‘em out too early… and then put them back in for too long.”

With a pout, you squished his cheeks. “You’re so sweet. You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

He drew your hands away from his face, letting them drop onto his shoulders. “You literally made me a cake this year, babe. I wanted to do something nice.” He nodded toward the box you set aside. “I just got us a half dozen. Didn’t get to pick up candles since you came home early.”

With a giggle, you pressed a clumsy kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Guilty,” you said before drawing away from him. You picked up the box of cupcakes and started to make your way over to the dinner table. “I was only working a half day today. I tried to get the full day, but I kinda had a major meeting this morning, so…”

Vernon followed you into the apartment soon enough, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you in. “It’s all good,” he said. “You wanna go out, or—”

“God, no.” You turned around to face him. “I’m going out with friends this weekend instead. I just thought,” you draped your arms around his neck, “we could have a nice night in. Movies, dinner…” You looked at the box behind you. “And dessert.”

He nuzzled his nose against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss against it a moment later. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, squeezing you once. “Happy birthday, baby.” 

taglist: @twancingyunhao@synthetickitsune@wonuziex@porridgesblog@staranghae @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny @bewoyewo

[fayes-fics]

Mrs Bridgerton

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Your ex-husband craves you in a way you had no idea about until one fateful call...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, explicit language and thoughts, dirty talk, sexting, sex tape, masturbation, pregnancy kink, smidge of breeding kink. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy, custody, parenting, heartbreak, emotions. Bit angsty maybe? Not sure.

Word Count: 4.3k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill from January here. (tldr summary: ex-husband Benedict can't stop thinking about you) Nonny, I changed up a couple of details of your ask; the porn he watches is your old sex tapes from when you were married. Also, he doesn't call once he was spent; he accidentally calls very much in the act ;) I hope that is okay. Guys, I have no idea what this is; sorry. Thanks to @colettebronte for checking I haven't completely lost it and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif used above. <3

“Mrs Bridgerton!.... Mrs Bridgerton!” A teacher calls out across the playing field as she jogs towards you. It takes you a few seconds to realise she is indeed addressing you. It's been a couple of years since you went by that name—almost a ghost from the past at this point.

“Ah, actually, it’s Ms y/l/n now,” you correct as she draws closer. “I’m, well, I’m divorced from Emilia’s dad,” you explain somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, I am so very sorry! I'm new here. I just asked her if her parents were here, and she pointed you out.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It's an entirely fair assumption to make,” you placate, shielding your eyes from the sun to catch Emilia's gaze and give her the thumbs up at the end of the grassy running track.

“Well, I just need one of you to sign this permission form for the trip to the Science Museum next week,” the teacher states, thrusting a clipboard towards you.

“Oh certainly, no problem,” you assure, taking the proffered pen and signing on the dotted line she indicates. You know how excited Emilia is about that upcoming trip, even though she insists on going to the museum with you or her father at least once every few months.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

You just nod as another teacher brings them all to the starting line with a blast from their whistle, and your focus shifts entirely to cheering on your five-year-old daughter in her first school race.

-----

He knows you haven't seen him, and he doubts even Emilia has clocked him, wearing a baseball cap pulled low as he is. He deliberately keeps a low profile when you arrive. He is here to see Emilia on her first sports day. Only that. Or so he keeps telling himself.

But then he sees you, and something in his stomach knots hard. It’s been more than two years, and still, every time, it floors him. A few months after your split, he took to using Eloise as the go-between for your shared custody arrangements and has never stopped. Since then, he has not seen you in person, too cowardly to face you. His biggest mistake was letting you go.

You met in your late twenties at a party hosted by mutual friends, and that night, he knew his life would never be the same. Something about the connection was instant and electric. He had the best sex of his life, right there in a spare room of a party. Both drunk and foolish, you didn't use protection. So it was only a few weeks into your burgeoning relationship when you found yourselves staring dumbfounded at a blue and white stick that would alter your lives forever. You married quietly two months later at the town hall, with just a few family members and close friends attending, neither of you wanting a big fuss. It was a big gamble in many ways, but you were both willing to try, crazily in love and filled with a youthful optimism that can be so blinding.

All was well until parenting a newborn drove you both to exhaustion and beyond. A wedge grew between you, even as your beautiful daughter developed into the best miniature version of both of you, with his beauty and your brains. You tried to make it work. But bickering about petty things and distancing became the only constant in your dynamic. Part of him had hoped Emilia would be enough glue to hold you together, but it was too much to pin on a small child. Just after her third birthday, he watched his world crumble as you tearfully packed up your possessions and took the light from his life with you.

And now. Now it's a regret that haunts him every day. Replaying the mistakes he made over and over, the ones that meant you slipped through his fingers. Too preoccupied with his career frustrations and plagued by chronic lack of sleep to realise the damage before it was irreparable. He knows now, too late, that with a little more effort and compromise, perhaps you would still be together as a family. He certainly never stopped loving and desiring you.

So when the teacher calls out Mrs Bridgerton, his heart almost stops beating and, to his shame, there is a stirring in his jeans. God, he wishes that was still your name, so much so there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches you correct the teacher in an endearingly accommodating way. A large part of him wants to leap up and grab you, lift you into his arms, beg that you use the name again. His name. But he doesn't; he just lingers in melancholic reverie, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to push the white gold band shakily onto your left hand as you recited your vows.

Then with a sharp nearby whistle blow signifying the race start, his focus is pulled back to why he is here. His little wonder, the centre of his universe. Emilia Bridgerton. The most beautiful person on the planet. 

“Go, Emilia!!” he shouts, transfixed as his little girl moves out ahead of the pack, unthinking of anything but supporting his baby girl.

-----

Your head cuts to the side, and you freeze. You would recognise that voice anywhere. And how many Emilia’s can there be in the race?

He's not looking at you; his whole focus is on the field, but you can't seem to look away. Not even to watch your precious daughter. You haven't seen your ex-husband in more than two years. Using his sister as a go-between just seems like the best way to deal with your residual guilt about leaving him. But now? One look and your insides feel like you are falling down a chasm, lungs suddenly too small for the breaths you need to take.

Time seems to slow like molasses as you observe him. He’s wearing a baseball cap, almost akin to a disguise, but you can see underneath it that profile that still makes your heart flutter. Too much, really, considering you are exes. But his beauty was never the problem; it was part of the reason you always stayed. Those soulful eyes would draw you back every time. Those eyes that now haunt you daily, the Bridgerton genes far too strong not to override all of yours. Emilia is the prettiest little female version of your ex-husband you could ever imagine, and it's both your greatest joy and your greatest pain point, living with a growing reminder of the person who still owns your heart regardless of how much you might wish otherwise.

Looking back now, leaving him was an impetuous decision made from a place of utter exhaustion, not able to see a way out of the treadmill your lives had become at that time. But pride stopped you from admitting perhaps you made a mistake, serving divorce papers before you could think too hard about it. He didn't contest and agreed to all of your terms of custody without a fight. You didn't ask for spousal support; you earned more from employment anyway, most of his income coming from his trust. You never loved him for the Bridgerton name or fortune; in fact, sometimes, it felt like you loved him in spite of it. 

And now, one look at him, and you are breathless and in a complete emotional and, yes, physical quagmire. Your body yearning for him, your traitorous brain supplying image after tumbling image of intimacy, the likes of which you have never known before or since—warm bodies wrapped around each other in ecstasy, that velvet voice pleading with you to come with him, for him, always so eager. It makes your chest heave so hard you have to look away to regain composure, doing so just in time for the universe to seemingly return to normal speed, as you watch Emilia cross the line, victorious in her first-ever race. 

You cannot help it; you leap up and cheer too. And she looks over, beaming and jumping up and down. Running towards you and throwing herself into your arms as you kneel with a huge grin.

“Mummy mummy mummy!!” she peals excitedly, her breath gusting hard into your ear. “I did it! I won!”

“I know; well done!” you exclaim, rocking her happily in your arms. “You did wonderfully!!!”

“Did I see Daddy?” she asks, craning over your shoulder. You tense and swivel yourself to follow her eye line, but where he was standing just moments ago, there is now just an empty patch of grass.

“Oh, I don't think so, my love; it was probably someone else’s daddy who looks similar,” you suggest, the lie feeling odd on your tongue, It's obvious he doesn't want to be seen, and a part of you is grateful to avoid an awkward meeting. Emilia is still scanning the crowd, unconvinced by your assertion. “How about an ice cream from the van over there?” you offer cheerily, wanting to distract her from looking too hard for him.

“Okay!” she chimes happily, squirrelling a warm little hand into yours and pulling you towards the pedestrian gate. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a navy blue Jaguar pulling out of the other gate and know without a doubt it was him.

-----

He couldn't do it. He thought he could, but he feels the weight of your stare and has to leave. The minute Emilia crosses the line, he gives a little victory punch and takes off. Not able to face you. So much of him wants to, but the gutless part of him apparently resides in his leg muscles. Before he knows it, he is in his car and pulling out onto the West London streets, not daring to look back. It's not his day to pick up Emilia; that's still two days away. He would not want you angry for overstepping the agreement you have in place.

As he pulls up at a traffic light, his phone pings a match on the dating app Anthony bullied him into downloading last week. The temptation to fling his phone right out the window is strong. The idea of being with someone else, especially after the tumult of seeing you today, just feels wrong. 

The only person he has slept with since your divorce was the second biggest mistake of his life. Someone he met at a bar celebrating Colin’s last birthday after too many whiskeys. A close enough facsimile to you that, through the haze of alcohol, he let himself be seduced. The lizard part of his brain somehow convinced it was you, even as she rode him in a way that chafed. Nothing like the way you moved, positively undulated, on his cock. Regret clung to his skin, the fug of hangover already kicking in as he watched her wordlessly re-dress and leave almost immediately, never exchanging numbers. He never saw her again. The fact he called your name as he came was probably the majority of the problem.

The only thing that stops him from flinging the phone is all the history it contains. Pictures of Emilia growing up from a tiny infant to now. But also his text exchanges with you, that increasingly he finds himself scrolling back through on self-indulgent nights, back to when things were good, and you would send each other little notes of love interspersed with sexting that; even now, he can barely read without getting hard. Unable to resist, as he waits for the light to go green, a dozen or more quick thumb flicks upwards on the thread for your previous number, and he finds some of his guilty pleasures.

8 March, 3:25 pm

Y/N: You had better plough me over the kitchen table when you get home xoxox

4 April, 5:02 pm

BB: Tough work day, need you, babe

Y/N: How’s this, daddy? 

Y/N: [photo of your naked glowing, slightly rounded pregnant body]

BB: Fucking helllllll, I am one lucky man

Y/N: Come home, fuck me, daddy

BB: You need to stop calling me that…

Y/N: Why? I am literally pregnant with your child.

BB: Yeah, and that’s why it's so wrong…

Y/N: Just get here, pls. I am so fucking wet….

He is pinch-zooming on the photo, head tilted, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth… when a car horn makes him jump, the phone slipping from his grip and falling onto his emergent hard-on. 

The traffic light has turned green. 

With an apologetic nod in the rearview mirror, he drives off, shaking his head, knowing it’s probably very wrong to be looking at pictures of you, his ex-wife, and wanting to fuck you so bad that his foot leans heavily on the accelerator. His blood pumping hard, already knowing he will be taking himself in hand the minute he gets to his place.

-----

Emilia is happily smushing the cone of her 99 ice cream in her little fist as you walk the few streets to your sister's place, where you left your car earlier. She has kindly agreed to let Emilia stay tonight and have a sleepover with her cousins. 

Later, you have your first date since your divorce, and you’ll probably need the rest of the late afternoon to psych yourself up enough to go. You've already cried off so many matchmaking attempts that you had to say yes eventually, just to stop the incessant badgering from all angles. Strangely, this one is Eloise’s doing, and you are still slightly weirded out that your ex-husband’s sister is engineering your first date in more than seven years.

Waving goodbye a few minutes later, you slip into your car and sit for a few deep calming inhales, trying not to think of how much Benedict stole your breath earlier. Some part of you thinks maybe you just imagined him there, a fevered mirage, your subconscious telling you to cancel this stupid date idea and stay home with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry. But then Ameila seemed to think he was there too, and honestly, it feels like you don't know what to do about anything anymore. 

-----

He wastes no time, flinging aside the cap, tossing his car keys onto the hallway table and sprinting upstairs to his bedroom, only pausing to insert his noise-cancelling earbuds and discard his clothing.

He is already leaking a little when he throws himself onto the bed and fists his cock with a groan. His other hand is hovering over the play button on the video he definitely knows he shouldn't be watching, hidden in a nondescript folder.

Your soft giggle tickles his eardrums as the video jolts to life. It's one he shot of you on his phone on your honeymoon—it’s one of his favourites lately.

“Bennnnn,” your voice a teasing murmur as the screen fills with a glimpse of your breasts, his hand trying to take a sweeping shot of your body as you writhe underneath him, both of you buried in a soft glow under a tent of sheets wrapped around your bodies.

His own younger self chuckles loud in his ears, behind the camera as he is, both of your breaths loud as the movement becomes more pronounced.

This is him fucking you and filming it. The camera pans down, and there, almost too tough to see in the grainy low light, is his cock surging into you; the shot is never still enough to see in full detail.

Somehow the lack of clarity makes it more of a turn-on. Benedict whines low as his hand moves in a firm motion, jerking hard, losing himself in reminiscence of what it is like to be buried inside you, your scent, younger you panting hard, pleading quietly for him.

His hand speeds up, and he gasps as the video grows more urgent, the noises so loud right in his ear. He can hear the delicious sound of your wet cunt around his shaft, and it's like a sense memory, that viscous heated cling he can never forget.  

“Ben, oh god Ben, you are so good, fuck me harder,” younger you moans loudly on the video, and both Benedicts, the old and new, couldn't resist that siren call.

“Y/n, oh god, give me your all, y/n,” Benedict growls, screwing his eyes shut, just relying on the auditory experience of the video now. 

But not realising with his slurred speech; it's just given his phone a command…

-----

You are driving towards your place when your hands-free car display lights up with the last name you expect.

Benedict.

Your stomach plunges. Just like earlier when you found yourself staring at him and reimagining so many things you know you shouldn't. You reach over and click the little green button to connect the call, heart in your mouth.

“Ben?” you say his name softly, almost timid. Worried about what it might mean after that strange non-encounter less than an hour ago.

The noise that greets you makes every hair stand on end. It's a throaty groan. He seems to hiss your name, and all you do is frown as your car speakers vibrate with the sound.

“Ben, are you okay?” you check.

“Oh god, I am more than okay, baby,” he growls, and every inch of your body is rioting. “Just please, please don't stop, fuck you feel so good. So tight and hot. I want to live inside you,” the words panted, desperate.

Your foot slips hard on the pedal, and you almost crash into a damn tree. 

-----

Your voice sounds different in his ear, and there is a background hum that wasn't there before, but he is so close to something so intoxicating he doesn't think to open his eyes and check the video.

“Talk to me,” he pleads low, knowing you on the video won't respond but somehow still wanting to talk to you regardless, “tell me how you feel.”

There is silence and then a slight shaky exhale. 

“Ben.”

“Yes, yes, yes, say my name,” he pleads, leaking over his own knuckle as his hand becomes a frenzy on his cock.

-----

You pull over, quaking. There is only one reason he uses that tone. That's his bedroom voice, and fuck if it doesn't make you as weak now as it did back then. You can only assume his phone has accidentally dialled you while he is what? Masturbating? You flush so hotly at the very thought, and yet you can’t school what you say next. Your treacherous libido taking command of your lips.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Ben?” you breathe, and your clothing suddenly feels too tight, too hot.

Your speakers vibrate your seat as he groans loud and lewdly, and it's a beeline straight for your clit, now throbbing insistently against your car seat.

“Yes baby,” he moans and now, in the background, you can hear it, a slight slapping sound, his cock passing through his fist. 

Your pussy clenches instinctually, and you feel a heavy pull, a depth charge of lust. Your lips tingle with the thought of kissing him, running your mouth over his body, wrapping around that cock you remember so well.

“I want you to come for me, Ben,” you plead, a hand straying down between your thighs, scarcely believing what is happening, what you are doing so brazen, parked up on the street mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.

“I will; oh god, I'm going to come so hard,” he snarls. “Do you want it inside you?”

Your fingers glance your clit over your yoga pants, and the heat is overwhelming. “Yes, Ben,” you pant, “inside me, give it to me, give me more of your beautiful babies.”

What you are saying is taboo. And so truthful you don't think to censor it. You would bear as many children as he wants to fuck into you. Still, even now.

“But you are already pregnant with my baby darling,” his voice taking on a softer edge, more wistful, “and you look so, so beautiful.”

You freeze.

“Benedict?” you say quietly.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs.

“Who do you think you are speaking to?” your ask is awkward, screwing your eyes shut, your hand moving away from the apex of your thighs. Suddenly mortified, perhaps it's not you that he thinks he is speaking to after all. Oh shit, did he get someone else pregnant? The panicked bile rises until he sighs the following words.

“Y/n, my wife, my life. God, I miss you so much. I know this must be a fever dream; I know we didn't talk like this in the video, but fuck if it doesn't sound so real,” he ends so wistfully.

“What video?” your question is slow, a weird weight on your chest that is your heart pounding out of control.

“Our honeymoon, darling,” he moans, and you can hear he is still masturbating, although slower-paced now. “When you let me video us fucking. I watch it so much these days that I'm surprised it's not worn out. And yet I can't not; every time I fuck my fist, it's to you.”

“You watch us? Every time you…?” your hand clutching your chest now.

“Yes, my love. I miss you so so much. I should never have let you go. You are my angel, the love of my life, the mother of my child and the only person I ever, ever want to fuck.”

The confession knocks your whole world off its axis. And you crave him. The feeling is so utterly all-consuming you struggle to take your next breath. You have to go to him. You have to see him. It's not even a choice not to. Every fibre of your being needs him.

“Ben,” you murmur, “don't come for me yet; I want to fuck you.”

“You do?” the hope in that gasp makes you lightheaded.

“Yes,” you breathe, “I miss your cock so much.”

You scramble to throw the car into gear and pull out into traffic. You are about a minute's drive away or less if he is home. Something in your movements so very urgent.

“Tell me what you are doing,” you whisper, trying your best to pitch the ask just the right level of seductive as you race down the road, turning into his street.

“I’m fucking my fist,” he moans, “but I wish it were you, my love.”

“I'm almost there,” you pant, pulling into his driveway with almost a squeal of tyres. You grab your phone and jump out of your car, crushing the handset to your ear as you run up to his front door and punch in a code, hoping it's still the one he uses. The crest of victory is palpable as the lock beeps and relents, the door popping open.

“Keep stroking yourself gently,” you order as you close the door and start to disrobe as you bound up the stairs.

“Y/n…” his voice is suddenly tremulant “this…. This isn't a dream, is it?”

“No, Ben, it's not,” you breathe, and you are down to your underwear as you skid into his bedroom, panting.

His eyes are wide with shock as you stride across the room, his cock still in hand and utterly naked; he looks just as delicious as the day you married him.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton,” you purr.

“Y/n,” he stutters, and it's everything—surprise, desire, hope, relief, yearning and ardent.

“Call me Mrs Bridgerton,” you shoot back, and the responding noise he makes is so utterly feral you almost orgasm without so much as touching him.

-----

Eight months later

“Emilia, not there,” Benedict chuckles good-naturedly.

“Then where daddy?” her pout turns epic as she hands the offending item to him. “You do it!” she huffs.

“Okay, hold still,” he laughs and slides the small tiara into her hair. “See? Just perfect,” he opines, dropping a kiss onto her chestnut tresses.

“I look like a princess!” Emilia exclaims proudly, twisting to look into the mirror.

“Yes, you do,” Benedict concurs. “A pretty princess bridesmaid.”

“The prettiest,” you agree from the doorway, and both heads turn around and greet you with mouths that gape open.

“Oh, Mummy, you look like a real princess!” Emilia gasps, running towards you and giving you a quick hug before skipping out of the room gleefully as her grandmother Violet calls her name from downstairs.

“You look breathtaking,” his tone full of wonderment as he slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you. “But isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?” he adds with a flash of concern.

You move towards him, and him towards you, drawn together. “I think we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to have,” you smirk, very much enjoying the sight of him in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. “At least I hope so, seeing as we have this thing to deal with,” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to your five-month bump.

“Thing? Darling, I thought we agreed; his name is Henry,” he sighs in mock indignation, his large hands skating around the swell of your belly, his lips warm on your temple.

“When did I agree to that name?” you frown amiably.

“Last night,” he responds silkily, right into your ear now.

“Oh no, you can’t possibly hold me to that,” you decry. “Anything said when inside me is null and void, Mr Bridgerton; you know I can barely remember my own name at that point.”

His rich chuckle vibrates against your whole body. “Well, let me remind you….”

“I’m listening,” you sigh, eyes closing as you sway into his hot neck kisses.

“It's Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles. “Or it will be again in about an hour.”

“I can't wait”, you whisper. “Say it again.”

“Mrs Bridgerton,” A dark, slow tease. 

You are almost late for your own (second) wedding just downstairs.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus

[sitp-recs]

Part II: table for two

Following my list featuring the sea (now with a lil banner cause I’m getting in the reccing zone again baby!!!!), I thought I’d make this a series called “fic as a sensory delight” and continue the trend with good old Drarry domesticity walking hand in hand with some food porn appreciation. Who knew that Drarry living their best life while enjoying tasty treats could be so personal? These fics feel like a comfort meal when life gets too crazy and provide a delicious sensory experience. From cottagecore to road trips, found family, case fic, established relationship and even kinky delights - this list has a bit of everything and features food as a main character either bringing Drarry together, healing past traumas, helping them connect with their heritage or simply playing as a love language. I hope these fics bring you as much comfort, joy and healing as they brought me. Happy weekend!

🥘 Breakfast by @moonflower-rose (E, 3k)

Breakfast is Harry's favorite part of the day.

🥘 Market Saturdays by @sorrybutblog (M, 3k)

In which Harry is an accidental part-time cheesemonger, Draco is an organic farmer and they fall in love. Not an AU.

🥘 Salt and Sauce by onbeinganangel (T, 3k)

Sure, of course he knows how you take your tea. But does he know your chippy order?

🥘 Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (G, 4k)

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

🥘 Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (E, 11k)

In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.

🥘 Harry Potter and the Showstopper of Doom by @doubleappled (M, 11k)

In which Harry’s an amateur baker, Draco wants him to go on the Great British Bake-Off, Petunia never misses an episode, Sue is a witch, Paul Hollywood is Paul Hollywood, and everyone eats a lot — like a whole lot — of baked goods.

🥘 Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 13k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

🥘 Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic (M, 15k)

“Hello, Harry,” Draco said. He was wearing a black turtleneck under a long grey overcoat, and he was already flushed with sweat. His hair was tied into a knot; it was longer than I remembered. He was older than I remembered. There were lines around his eyes, and I wondered if they were from laughing or frowning. “Hello,” I managed. “You must be with the British Ministry?’ He nodded. I thought I might faint.

🥘 Bridges by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 16k)

Harry and Draco are on a trip to Budapest to help with Kingsley's re-election, but that's the boring bit. More interesting: Harry Potter is changing his Tinder preferences to include men. Also interesting: Harry's spending more time with Draco Malfoy than he ever has, wandering around the city. And Harry doesn't hate it. The city's pretty gorgeous too.

🥘 Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (M, 17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

🥘 Preserving Lemons by @saintgarbanzo, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 17k)

Harry is cooking food he couldn't care less about; Draco is making art he couldn't care more about. A story about kebabs, miniskirts and the way preservation can transform a lemon.

🥘 Passion Cake by @icmezzo (T, 19k)

It’s all about desire. (Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, and from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. Also, will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is?)

🥘 Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

🥘 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

🥘 Make This Leap by @oflights (M, 118k)

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.