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screampied · 6 months ago

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❛ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ HARLEYS IN HAWAII ❜ g. satoru

☆ sum. it’s been almost a year with your sugar daddy and as a candied sweet surprise, he takes you on his private yacht. although—the thing that’s even sweeter is the ‘love’ chocolates you both try just for fun. after all, satoru’s always had a sweet tooth.

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), unprotected, aphrodisiac chocolates, marathon séx, praise, dirty talk, overstim, dry humping, feral gojo, fīngering, cervīx mentions, cunnilīngus, spīt, hair pulling, size kink, premature ejac, breedīng, petnames.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist.

“ah ah, no peekin’ sweetheart,” a husky voice purrs near the nape of your neck. your plump lips curl into a pout as he’s making you drag your feet toward wherever he was taking you to. the air felt coolly warm, so much so that it was humid. satoru told you to wear something comfortable and warm, specifically a sundress. “there we go, jus’ a few more steps. good girl,” and the rubber bottoms of your flip flops stomp against something hard—you’re assuming the rising platforms were stairs. your ears perk and twitch a bit at the sound of crashing waves and you start to grow curious.

“are you—”

“shhh, quiet baby,” he shushes you, and you feel various designer cold band of his rings dance against your skin. again, once you step into what seems to be some wooden platform, he stops you from walking, turning you to face another way. big hands cover over your eyes and your own hands before he gives your cheek a soft chaste kiss. “m’kay, ready to see your surprise?”

with a nod, he removed his palms from your face and your eyes widen at the revealed sight. a yacht, not just any yacht though, but a private one — the satoru gojo yacht that was probably worth millions. it was huge in person, and you don’t even realize the two of you are both in the middle of the ocean until seconds later. “satoru,” you sheepishly say, feeling a wave of butterflies thump through your heart. the older man’s got the cheekiest grin and he takes off his sunglasses, putting them over your face. “when you said ‘surprise’ i thought you meant like new earrings or something.”

“i can always give you those too,” he strokes your cheek, watching as you fail to maintain direct eye contact. despite having the tinted expensive lenses protect your eyes from the sun, it still shined bright—making you squint a little. satoru’s voice pitches low before he playfully lifts you up, fixing the back of your sundress. “but sweetheart, this weekend’s just about you ‘n me,” and once your arms cling onto him, he starts walking near the lower part of the rumbling yacht. “besides, i have one more surprise to show you. felt like spoilin’ you a bit more today.”

you were quite literally living in luxury. .

as if the outside of the yacht wasn’t breathtaking, just wait until you saw the master bedroom.

despite how you were slowly starting to get accustomed to this lifestyle, his lifestyle—you couldn’t help but be amazed at such royalties being given to you. his yacht was even prettier inside, but this was the norm for satoru. and with him, he had no problem sharing his luxuries with you, his favorite girl.

just for you and no one else.

but you couldn’t think but get trapped in your mind at certain thoughts plucking through your brain. you started to wonder what would have happened if satoru was never a passenger of first class when you used to work as a flight attendant.

you’d constantly wonder the what if’s, but of course you were always always grateful. it’s one of the many thing’s satoru liked about you, how you were always thankful without even saying it. you’d show it, even going far as to giving him gifts.

“imagine we lived here,” satoru hums, leaning back against the satiny cushioned pillows. the entire room was spacey, with rose-gold paint covering the walls. he brushes a thumb over his cocktail glass as he sits on the burgundy sofa. the slick floor’s a sheeny beige color, and in the background, played some old vintage noir.

‘sunset boulevard’, one of satoru’s favorites.

he preferred lots of silent films and adored more than anything when the two of you would watch them together. he’s got on a silk red robe, twirling a bit of his white shown chest hair with a finger. “life on the water. sounds romantic, yeah?”

“what if we drowned, ‘toru,” you mumble, stepping out of the bathroom. the floor was made of slick glass crystals that made up the smooth texture, and you then pause—staring at the white haired man. he’s pretty, manspread and laid back with his hair slickly parted. ever since he’s met you, he grew his hair out a little and it slightly flows near his shoulders a bit. still unkempt and parted, it gives him a more maturely modern look.

his dimples poke near the inside of his cheeks before he simpers. “princess, we won’t drown,” and he sets aside his glass. satoru’s bright eyes linger toward your sundress—one of the many he’s bought you within in the past month.

it fit perfectly, it’s a cerulean blue color that almost matches his eyes.

if it was anything he liked, it was to pick out your outfits, and of course—he’d let you do the same for him. “phew,” he whistles, eyeing you carefully. “you look gorgeous. like always,” he murmurs, averting his eyes away from the screen and now giving you his uninvited attention. your plush thighs cling together before you feel the room of the yacht grow abnormally warm. “oh, right. the other surprise i wanted to show you, c’mere.”

“okay,” you mumble, making your way toward him. satoru slouches back against the cushioned sofa, spreading his legs even wider. slut, he knew what he was doing with his robe slit halfway open, exposing his growing chest hair. a snowy white curl of hairs glue against his chest and you gawk further down toward his lengthy happy trail. god, you found yourself swallowing thickly the more you stared and you could see the smug grin forming against his thin lips. “what . . is it?”

“i remember a few weeks ago you said you wanted to try tabs chocolate,” satoru mumbles, and you watch as he pulls out a thin black cover of rich chocolate. your eyes widened.

he remembered?

you stare at the pricey covered casing, already smelling the cocoa from the wrap. it was true . .

you teased satoru about wanting to try tabs chocolate one day, just to see if it was really real. you were curious on if the chocolate really could help invigorate and arouse people in the bedroom. satoru shrugs, glancing at the cursive writing displayed on the candy. “. . so, i got it for us both. i don’t think it really works, by the way.”

with an eye roll, you plop down on his lap. a beefy arm snakes around your waist before you grab the slim package. “i checked the ratings online. ‘m pretty sure it works, satoru,” and he gives you a complacent nod with his hands raising teasingly. calling your bluff quietly, he watches you tear the plastic all the way open. his eyes follow your fingers and how they swiftly drag away at the nearly wrapped material. once everything’s removed, it’s an entire dark chocolate bar with three perfectly attached squares. even the smell was arousing. “do you wanna try it at the same time?”

“how ‘bout you feed it to me,” satoru coos, and you feel what you think is his leg prodding underneath you. “i’ll feed you yours, sweetheart.”

damn, even his sentences sounded vaguely dirty.

you felt a lump grow in your throat before you blink thrice, holding up the bar of candy. “f. . fine,” you huff, and you watch as his perfectly parted lips sprawl apart. at the same time, you both slowly feed each other a small bite of the chocolate. the moment the rich taste of maca cocoa and sugar falls onto your salivating tastebuds, you let off a soft hum. it’s sweet, but you remember reading online that the effects would take a good twenty to thirty minutes to kick in.

satoru chews it, swallowing it and he scoffs. “honey, i think you just got scammed. nothing’s happening—”

famous last words. .

because not even thirty minutes later, satoru finds himself dived nose-first right between your legs.

he’s feral, on his knees for you and all. usually, satoru would shower you with lots of foreplay, kissing down your neck, your thighs, every part and inch of your body — but now, he couldn’t.

not when he felt so hot, his body felt like it was it was scorchingly on fire. and of course, satoru being satoru just had to lick your fingers after you fed him his single piece of chocolate.

you’re laid up on the sofa now, whimpering with a hand digging through his shaggy white locks.

satoru’s the most deranged he’s ever been, and you’ve seen him feral for you in more ways than you could count. he’s laying his tongue flat, lapping up your sweet folds, still tasting the chocolate on his tongue with the mixture of your own slick.

“f- fuuuck,” he’d huff, feeling his heart beat thump through his ears. it was barely even a big bite and he was like this. you couldn’t help but imagine how he’d be if he ate the entire bar.

you’re moaning, glancing out the window and taking in the breathtaking view of the dancing choppy waves staring right back at you. a pretty serene canvas of rotating waters—you found yourself getting lost at the sea, gazing at how the waters would violently crash against the bottom of the yacht. it’s a mesmerizing view. after a while, your eyes move back down toward satoru who’s still between your legs. he’s lowly groaning, slowly rutting his hips into the edge of the sofa. “ ‘s like the candy makes you taste sweeter.”

“don’t stop s- satoru,” you moan, making sure to keep a firm grip on his head. his pretty lashes were closed shut whilst he’s swirling counterclockwise circles against your puffed clit.

fuck, you felt a gasping shriek snatch out from the back of your throat once you felt him starting to suck. he was always messy - always.

tangled strings of saliva would dribble down past the corners of his lips, flopping onto your sweet cunt. satoru had the kind of tongue where you’d feel him everywhere.

he flicks it around everywhere, spelling out every letter of his name before spitting on it, licking it up directly afterwards. a palm smears his bubbling saliva before he laps it up again, thrusting his tongue in and out. “ooooh,” you’d squeal, feeling him wrap his mouth around your pussy. you’re twitching inside every few seconds and he feels your cute dramatic pulses. beryl blue eyes that blissfully shine against the sunlight flicker up at you briefly and he’s got that same smug grin again.

“mphm, pull on it,” he grunts, and you whine once he traps your swollen clit between his teeth, holding your throbbing nub hostage. satoru can feel himself getting more and more hard, all because of the sweet melodic sounds that left from your lips.

both lips, on one end you’re hysterically moaning and the next, you’re squelching repeatedly.

his favorite thing to listen to—satoru’s favorite place out of all the places he’s taken you to, had to be between your thighs.

at his words, you weakly give him a soft tug, grabbing a nice handful of his perfect locks and he gets tugged forward. “good girl,” he huskily grumbles, resuming to lick two long stripes up and down against your cunt. forever more, he’s savoring your syrupy taste that lingers on his tongue and dribbles from the chin down, moaning from the aftertaste of the chocolate that just won’t go away. “god, this view’s even prettier than the ocean,” he licks his lips, and you feel yourself pulsate once he breaks away for a split moment to catch irregular breaths.

satoru swipes a thumb over his naturally glossed lips, whistling against your pussy just to feel your sensitive nub throb on his tongue even more.

“oh, she’s a cutie,” he rasps, white brows pursing together. he pulls out two long fingers, preparing to delve them inside. “so pretty ‘n all soaked just for me,” and you moan, your thighs curling around his shoulders. squiiish, the moment he’s easing his lengthy thin fingers inside, you gush out a bit right on him. you were indeed wet . . sopping.

you were already a bit drenched from before, and with the chocolate, you felt even more aroused. it felt like being on a rush - a sugar rush.

satoru huskily coos, delicately curling his fingers further inside before he reaches your g-spot within just two inches of a stretch. “there it is, there’s my other favorite girl.”

“sato—fuucckk,” you drag out your pathetic words, gradually moving his head to side against your sopping cunt with one hand. he’s got his mouth full, stuffed, and his entire face was just flushed from being squished between your thighs. “like that, s- suck my clit, baby.”

“baby, huh?” he mocks your sudden pet name, feeling your fingers comb through his messy frosted strands. embarrassment washes over you and he chortles, finding your reaction to his teasing downright adorable. you whimper as he’s still vigorously scissoring long twin digits inside of you. as your stomach submissively caves in, you start to gnaw on the bottom of your lip. “aw, don’t be shy. i like bein’ called petnames too, y’know,” he whispers against your cunt, watching how easily you soak up both fingers.

your folds couldn’t help but drool. streams of your own slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers.

with a rosy flat tongue, he slurps you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers out - only to push them right back in.

as your eyes squeeze shut, you start to feel your teeth clench and shatter together from the rhyming pressure.

there, once the fat tips of his fingers poke against your g-spot again, and again, and again. .

that was all it took for you to let off a cute three second shriek. abruptly, a sharp twisting coil snaps within you and he feels your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp.

“fuck, fuck,” you whine, feeling his lukewarm breath continue to ghost against your clit. you couldn’t stay still for the life of you—it was as if every muscle in your body snapped once you came, your jaw dropped and your eyes widened.

“ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and satoru’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

you’re making a mess out of him and he’s eating it up - like always. his pointed chin’s got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your glimmering slick running down. with a echoing ‘pop’, he slides his fingers out of your cunt, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. “ngh, s- satoru you’re so nasty.”

“only nasty for you, sweetheart,” he cheekily whispers, leaning further in to give your cunt one single kiss.

it’s a soft passionate smooch that makes you throb against his lips. only satoru gojo could make out with your pussy right between your thighs. you’re speechless—you could feel yourself still shaking from your recent orgasmic release, the ringing in your ears never subsiding.

satoru’s pretty azul eyes remain fixated on your wet cunt before he gives it one final suck of departure. “mmph,” and his growing white stubble starts to drench even more all because of your sweet slickness that smears against your the lower part of his face. “fuck, ‘m still hungry. ‘s not enough.”

as your legs twitch and remain spread apart, you’re gasping for air as you watch him take breaths of his own to collect himself. “don’t pout,” he huffs, sitting up to close the distance between you both. with his hair all ruffled and tangled—he grinds himself into you. “oh. you want a taste too, pretty?”

“y- yeah,” you nod with droopy eyes, feeling the same amounts of sheer heat.

satoru’s flushed just as much as you, and it seems like as he’s leaning into you, he’s moving in slow motion. once his lips crash onto yours, you moan into his mouth.

he wastes no time shoving his tongue down your throat, pulling on the straps of your sundress. you feel a wolffish grin curl against his lips once his tongue delves even further into your mouth, feeling you part your own away. satoru can’t help but grind against your warm body, feeling your legs hook around his waist. even the touch—the skin against skin makes you both even more hotter. it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you were about to feel yourself short circuit any minute.

“fuck, ‘toru,” you whimper between sultry sloppy kisses, loud teeth smacking and clashing together. you slowly drag a hand down his hairy chest, twirling a frosty strand around your finger.

the taste — it’s candied sweet.

the rich cocoa still lingers on both twisting tongues and you moan, feeling him nip his teeth near your lip. “you’re perfect,” he gruffly purrs, his voice having its same deep rasp. his kisses become more and more filthy and rough and he playfully licks underneath your chin. “mhm, woman you drive me crazy.”

satoru was still very much hard though—very.

you could feel his boner poke from his robe, it must’ve felt painful.

he was so hard, it outlines against the silky woven fabric the more he grinds into you. satoru couldn’t keep his hands off of you. he’s leaving an invisible trail of kisses all down the slope of your neck, sucking against your tender exposed skin. you always tasted sweet than any chocolate he’s ever eaten.

but it’s to his surprise once you lightly push him back against the cushioned sofa.

“hmph! hey,” he falls back, white strands sticking across his perspiring forehead. satoru eyes you with a bewildered look, wondering what’s with the sudden bratty glint shining in your dilated irises. “that was rude, princess. oughta—”

“lie back,” only two words and he was at your very command. satoru couldn’t lie, whenever you had the audacity to give him orders . . he found it hot.

even if it didn’t last that long,

the white haired man slouches back at your command, roving his eyes down your body. he studies the pretty sundress that hugs against your curves and the way you move.

satoru ogles openly as you made your way on top, straddling him before slowly throwing your arms over his broad shoulders. “relax satoru,” you’d breathe, and he groans the moment electrifying friction kneads against his lap. all because of your hips swerving on his raging boner, you cause a spark that ignites within you both. to say you were a ‘mere’ tease was an understatement. “like that, hold my hips baby,” and his big hands gradually move toward your rocking waist. you start to jerk against him real slowly, casually grinding yourself on his lap. you swerved around, guiding his hands to where you wanted them to go.

“oh, s. . sweetheart,” he choked out a nervous laugh, his boner steadily arising underneath his robe.

for a moment, the two of you forget that you’re both on a yacht, surrounded by nothing but smooth pretty bodies of water. it was as if it was only you and him in the entire world. time stood still. it was like you were moving slow, and the more your body moved, the slower time got.

satoru stares at the way you playfully sway your hips against his. he groans, the cloth from his robe that protects his hardened cock continuing to rub against his skin. “you’re killin’ me here. let me touch some more at least.”

“ask nicely,” you lean in closely, pressing a kiss near the left side of his cheek. satoru shivers from your touch, his jaw feeling heavy. such a tease, but that’s what he got for spoiling you rotten.

with a near pout, satoru grumps. “please, sweetheart,” and his big hands glide toward your active waist anyway. “let me touch my pretty girl while she’s movin’ her cute hips on me,” and his playfulness returns within a blink of an eye. you hear the cheekiness in his voice and he leans in to nip a kiss near your neck. “fuckin’ brat.”

“then do something about it.” you whisper with a coy grin, resuming your salaciously addictive movements against his lap. satoru grunts, his brows contorting together in frustration before he grabs your wrists, pinning them up.

satoru’s now got you in a secure grasp and a hand snakes down your waist, giving your ass a soft squeeze. a jiggling nice chunk goes into his palm before he seductively licks up your neck. “i plan to, little girl.”

and he did.

one second you’re on his lap—the next, you’re lightly being slammed on all fours, cheek smushed ruthlessly against the padded sofa.

you squeak out a tiny gasp, feeling him practically tear your sundress apart. satoru groans, staring at your bare ass cheek that’s peeking out of your loose clothing. you’ve got a bratty smile twirling against your lips but it soon fades away once you feel that.

his fat tip—satoru brings it up towards the opening of your sopping cunt, smacking it three times against your folds. “you’ve got some nerve, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, hearing your broken whimpers return.

god, even your pussy felt warm against him. fiery electricity surges through you both and he hisses, watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock wholly.

he’s so big, you knew it and you didn’t even have to face him directly. all you had to do was feel.

his tip was round and thick, reddened with a rosé flushed color. satoru tosses his head back, feeling your pussy twitch against him as a sloppy greeting of its own.

“heh. she’s so excited,” he breathes through clenched teeth, already breaking a sweat. the yacht continues to slowly create distance in the background but at that point, no one was even thinking about the yacht. “so. fuckin’. wet.”

he smacks his weighty dick against the outside entrance of your pussy, hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds. as he’s hitting his tip against your cunt, he purposely punctuates his words with tap.

“satoruuuu.” you’d moan, desperately aching for him to just go in already. you wanted it, and the searing heat you felt coursing through your veins just from the chocolate made you throb ten times more.

“i know, baby. i know,” he coos in a rough voice, talking over your whiny babbles. panting heavily,

satoru glances down once his leaking tip finally disappears inside of your drenched cunt. you let off a shaky breath, even going so far as to wriggling your ass back against him just so he could hurry the fuck up.

“tsk. so impatient,” he snickers, velvet straps of his robe skimming against his skin. satoru’s got a bulbous fat curve and with a single hand, he gives his cock a few stroking pumps.

one, two, three . .

he groans once a bit of loose skin from his coral colored frenulum peels back. as he’s stroking himself every few milliseconds, a prodding vein pokes against his palm. bristles of white hairs that glue against his thickset base tickle against his skin.

“mhm, gonna take my time with you. now let’s see that cute arch. just like we practiced.”

moaning, your back raises slightly with your knees cowardly burying themselves into the sofa. “mmph,” and he lightly pushes your head further into the cushion. his tip was so close.

he’s hitting you from behind with his thrusts slowly, on purpose.

he wants to hear those sweet sounds cry out from your lips. satoru grunts once he’s finally going in, thick cock stretching around your elastically stretched walls.

you’re so soft — sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. satoru groans, giving his chiseled hips a single shimmy before pursing his lips together.

“thaaat’s it, hngh. this pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen once you feel his plumpish tip delve further between each corner of your slick cunt. he’s fucking thick, and within seconds later he was already inches in.

once his flushing crown disappears inside of your cunt, you whimper once he gives you one single thrust that causes your entire body underneath him to quake. “fuck, ‘s so sensitive,” satoru nearly whines, still feeling tingly from the saccharine flavored treat. he’s panting heavily, mouth dangling open and all. “how’s it feel, sweetheart? ‘m not going too rough, yeah? talk to me.”

“good. feels good, ngh. don’t stop, ‘toru. harder,” you beg, a hand of yours reaching from behind, crawling near your ass. you eye satoru through your blurred peripherals as you turn slightly around and he flashes you a sleazy grin.

that’s the look he makes before he’s about to fuck you stupid,

that’s the look where his eyes were hooded and half lidded, panting heavily like a dog with multiple thin strands of white hair sticking across his forehead.

you were fucked, literally. .

“hah, wasn’t gonna,” he moans, feeling his cock grow insanely sensitive. it was in a way he couldn’t explain—so hot, his head swells up once he starts to move.

as he’s trying to create a decent rhythm with his hips, he’s oscillating deeply into your core. sloppy thrusts pound into you with such carnal vigor that he’s basically humping against your cunt.

every few elongated seconds that dragged out, his tip mercilessly smacks against that target buried deep inside your cunt, striking a perfect bullseye.

‘x’ makes the spot, and his dick always knew where to locate your clit — every single time.

it doesn’t take long before satoru loses it, and he’s losing his momentum. his movements consisted of want and ache.

the head of satoru’s cock was turgid, slowly dragging in and out of your puffed clit as you damp up his entire length. you whimper, feeling the legs of the sofa rattle and jitter from underneath you both. he’s got mean deep strokes that leaves your jaw dropped, toes curled, tummy churning all from how good he’s hitting you.

you’re cutely smothered into the pillows with your mouth just pried open, forming a small gasping ‘o.’

every stroke, every hit, every smack against your ass, you felt like you were on cloud nine - the lewd dirty version no one ever talks about though.

satoru’s got a big hand tracing down the curvature of your waist that later trails down toward your ass. he can’t help but feel against the thin fabric of the sundress, tempted to just rip it off it you. he’d be happy to buy you dozens more anyway.

“fuck me, fuck me satoru,” your eyes roll crisscross, and your entire body feels itself repeatedly ringing from the merciless slaps of skin hitting against each other with determined might to reach his well awaited potency.

he’s bucking his hips against you, watching as tears of sweat start to race down the cracked valley of your ass. “fuck, ‘toru, satoru—ah!”

“heh, sweetheart the walls aren’t soundproof,” satoru playfully bonks the back of your head. your moaning falters, and he chuckles mid-thrust. “aw, don’t be embarrassed,” and you let off a soft gasp once he presses his sharp hips all the way against you. a beefy arm wraps around your neck in a safe hold before he grunts in a husky whisper right up against your ear canal. “ ‘m sure the captain won’t mind, be as loud as you want.”

“s- shit,” you whimper, already starting to feel your thighs struggle to stay afloat. satoru towers over you completely, rutting into you from behind with irregular toe-curling hits.

he’s meanly jackhammering you further into the sofa, the screeching sounds of the seagulls outside growing louder. the loud reverberating claps of skin that roughly ricochet against skin makes your ears ring like bells on a wedding day.

as he’s feeling his cock tighten inside of you, he’s now got you in prone bone. he’s so close to you, hovering his weight behind you with his sculptured hips glued to your ass.

satoru’s thrusts now go slow, slow but deep, making sure you feel, savor, and devour every single inch. “ugh, that spot ‘toru, right fuckin’ there. ‘m close.”

a hand goes over your mouth and you let of a muffled, ‘mmph?’ as he’s still fucking you raw.

satoru’s popping his bulbous crownhead in and out of your stuffed pussy before lowly groaning once coolly air briefly sets against his skin.

“watch that mouth,” and you whimper, feeling his free hand grab near your neglected breasts. you lean into his touch, feeling a bit of your own saliva dribble onto his palm. a thumb of his swipes against your perked nipples that poke through your sundress and you let off a muffled moan. “such a filthy pretty mouth. ‘s a shame,” and he leans in more, licking a stripe near your neck. “i don’t think girls with colorful mouth’s should cum. do you think they should?”

as if on cue, your head raises up and down, doing a cute attempt of a nod as he’s still got your mouth covered. satoru’s still thwacking his fat cockhead into your g-spot continuously until your brain’s short circuiting.

“awww, yeah?” he hums, pressing a kiss near the back of your head. and oh, he’s cocky again, deepening his hits against your core. removing his arm from around your neck, he raises your hips up just a little bit for a more better and thorough angle. “too bad, because i wasn’t talkin’ to you, silly girl.”

and you moan even louder once a rude buck of his hips snaps into you at such untamed speed. you gasp right away, your entire body trembling beneath the sofa. “talkin’ to her,” and as his hand drags down your back, he maneuvers a few circles against your stuffed clit.

you’re whimpering, occasionally glancing out the window. the waves continue to crash against the port side of the yacht background — beautiful.

you’d never get used to the view. the salty smell of the sea wafts against your flaring nostrils as you’re literally being stuffed full of cock, eyes rolling back with your back completely arched. satoru’s so big, splitting you open with his vast mushroom tip so easily. “god, she’s got so much to say today, listen to her cute ‘lil sentences,” and he briefly pulls out, hearing your cunt ‘pop’ out a word or two, wetly squelching from the continuous thrusts.

satoru’s throbbing cock drooled from the sides with seeping white droplets of pre-cum and he groans once he feels himself tightening yet again.

“fuck mee,” and he takes a second to stare at your pretty cunt that’s got your folds slobbering with so much honeyed glistening sap. “aw, she said no,” he teases, dragging a sleazy thumb down your pleading saturated entrance. your mess quickly soaks against his fingertips, making him just as wet as you. satoru feels you writhing against his touch, begging for him to finish and he chuckles. he tsks, wrapping a hand around his shaft before another hand wraps around your neck. hmm. does the pretty baby deserve it? after that ‘lil stunt you tried to pull on me?”

“s- satoru, please,” you moan, feeling your weak legs gradually buckle against the fuzzy furniture. you swallowed whatever pride you had left, feeling your mouth suddenly grow dry as the anticipation grew.

you were so close - right there. practically. gnawing on the bars of your enclosure.

he knew had to tease you, keep you on the edge of your toes. with your ass cutely trying to raise up and move back against him, you let off a sobbing moan. “lemme cum, please. ‘m sorry.”

“no you’re not, sweetheart,” he whispers. aligning himself again between your sniveling slick slit, his wide pink tip leisurely starts to stretch throughout your gummy walls yet again. oh, that part. the way his hefty hanging curve twists its way inside, you felt like you were tasting literal ecstasy. “are ya?”

“no,” you moan, still having a bit of brat left in you.

satoru snickers, the expensive band of his watch gliding against your hip as he holds you in place.

“at least you’re honest,” and you shudder, feeling him lick a long stripe up your sensitive jugular. his girth was so broad and wide, you feel him dip every inch inside of your cunt and you were sure you were gonna break.

he treated you like a doll—specifically a rag doll, tossing you and fucking you where it hits good.

but, fuck was satoru was ruthless.

he’s unapologetically sloppy with his thrusts, making you grind back into his pivoting hips. as his sack hangs back against his loose skin, he smears his lax lips together, groaning at how effortlessly you were squeezing against him.

“fuck, you’re gonna make me cum too, sweetheart,” and as his body’s still pressed right against yours, he hoarsely grunts lowly against your ear. “give it t’ me, make a mess on ‘toru, baby.”

his words poured into your ears like silk, smooth like honey. each sentence he spoke had an effect on you, more than the love chocolates ever did . .

you felt your pussy sporadically convulsing just from his raspy out of breath tone alone.

satoru’s rotund cockhead continues to bruise against your cervix, sloppily kissing around each spot until you’re practically screaming out his name. “louderrr,” he purrs, kissing down your neck once more.

the coarse smacks of skin continue to echo against the walls of the spacious yacht bedroom and satoru grunts.

oh, he’s whipped.

his hips start to slow down by each second, and you feel that pressure within you finally snap. “that’s my girl, thaaaat’s it,” and he talks over your whimpers yet again, creating a wet trail of kisses down your shown shoulder blade. “atta girl, atta fuckin’ girl.”

the both of you groan in unison and after a while, he shortly follows. satoru’s cock was so full, he’s snapping his hips into you at such a wicked speed that you could barely keep up. his stamina was simply unmatched.

you let off a whine and so does he—seeping his teeth into your neck. “hngh, fuckin’ shit.” and as he grabs both of your hips, slowly reeling you back into him - he’s cumming, hard.

thick ropes slowly spurt into you, spraying right near your womb and he lets off the sexiest moan.

it lasts for a good seconds, and it’s like he got defeated — your pussy being the opponent. .

satoru’s washboard abs flex beneath his rope as his head tosses back. it’s an almost growl that leaves his lips. his sensitive tip locks into your tightening entrance, still feeling ribbons of satiny ropes dribble into you at such a snail like pace. it’s so much.

he’s staring to pant more and more as globs of sweat pouring down the sides of his forehead. satoru’s cock shrivels up inside of you and he gives your ass a soft spank. his sweltering hot crown stills itself inside of your cunt as he stays still, lavishing in the sensitivity of both slick mounds enjoy the sticky feelings of fluids combining in lewd felicity. both bodies rut against each other and now it was his turn for his eyes to roll back.

“s- satoru,” you quietly whimper out, feeling the bubbles of creamy wads ooze down between the fat crevices of your thighs.

a lustrously white ring forms around his tender base before he gradually starts to pull himself out. you’re still reclined, feeling your entire body heat up even more. your sundress was still pulled up to your waist and he groans, tugging at the fabric with one hand, another touching his own mess he just created that’s spilling down your thighs.

“such a sloppy girl,” he huffs, out of breath. even still, he’s cumming inside and merrily fills you up to the very brim.

you moan once he slides back in, only to pull his aching tip right back out out. it’s another loud ‘pop’ that resounds through each of your twitching ears.

holding a sharp breath, satoru’s cock slathers itself against your drooling pussy before smacking it against your folds yet again. “look at that, ‘m never gonna get tired of that sight.”

satoru ends up fucking you stupid for hours on his yacht.

in all positions—any position, he moved you toward the bed, folding your poor limbs like a pretzel while his cock continued to massage through your walls by stretching you open. satoru made sure you never forget the barrage he made inside with his lengthy length.

satoru was always whipped for you, but it’s like with the addition of chocolate, it made him ten times more feral. ten times more feral for you.

he’s hungry, you could see the look in his eyes. how his pupils were blown, how he made sure to give you romantically deep yet nasty strokes.

his body would rock against you in sync against your own while the yacht that carried you both continued to judder in the background.

he pumped you full—stuffing you entirely again, and again, and again . . simply put, he was virile.

like he said before, you drove him crazy, and he was starting to think to himself, maybe . . just maybe, you weren’t just his sugar baby anymore.

each time he’d spray a generous amount of cum inside of you, he’d let out a loud guttural groan. he’s weak from how warm you feel from the inside, and your moans for him to keep going only fueled him. satoru’s a literal animal, manhandling your body and fucking you everywhere he possibly could in the master bedroom.

the sofa, the bed, the wall, against the mirror. .

his favorite,

he loved to wrap a hand around your throat, making you stare at your lewd facial expressions right with him. the way your glossed lips would part and your eyes would widen once he makes you stare at the slight bulge that pokes against the lower part of your tummy. he’d serenade something to your ear in a purring deep voice like, “feel me there, sweetheart?” making you touch the exact spot he was hitting.

a pearly stream of his seed dribbles outside of your folds and now, he’s got you in nothing more but an intimate mating press.

“eyes up here,” he rasps a soft panting tone, gently prying your hands away from your face.

he’d just coaxed you through yet another orgasm, and your entire body felt like it just ran a marathon. you were sure by now the effects of the chocolate had worn off for the both of you - it did.

but with satoru, he looked like those many rounds didn’t even faze him. not one.

he’s still lodged inside of your cunt, his tip spitting out thick ropes for the nth time of the night and he groans. your eyes glance down his snowy happy trail and glance at his sharp v-line that’s tensing up from the stimulation. “you . . took me so well,” and he leans in, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

“mmf—” your arms wrap around him, entrapping his skin waist with your legs. his toned body rocks itself into you for just a few more times before he steadily pulls out. his flaccid cock rests against your bare tummy and you moan, tasting the last few remnants of sugar that lies on his tongue.

satoru’s heart beats rapidly, and once he opens his eyes to stare at you, he knew you were dangerous.

tresses of white hair glue against your skin once his forehead lightly pressed against yours. within seconds, after he found himself pulling you into another deep kiss, something was different. this time, out of all the kisses you shared with him, you think this one meant something more.

it was far more slow and passionate, his body rocks against yours and he groans in your mouth, feeling your hands scratch down his soft skin. you leave a painting of scratches all down his back, a canvas he can’t wait to look at later.

as your tongue continues to tangle with his, strands of spit form into translucent cobwebs before he starts to suck on your tongue. “god, woman you drive me insane,” and he pulls away, completely out of breath. his pretty lips were all glossed and swollen, and he cups your face. “sweets, i—,” he cuts off, locking eyes with you.

his heart was pounding,

telling him to say it - just say it.

but the way you gave him that look . . your arms remain wrapped around him, limbs tangled with each other and he lets out a soft sigh. delicately, he pulls out and watches you let off a soft moan once you were now clenching around nothing.

“ah,” he shakes his head, leaning in to press a kiss against the corner of your quivering lip. “i . .” and a lump gets caught in his throat.

you strum a thumb against his undercut, a simple gesture that you knew would always soothe him.

the white haired man leans into your touch, his heart practically yelling at him to just spit the words out before he speaks against your lips, slowly lifting up your leg, kissing your ankle.

“i think . . i think ‘m in love with you, sweetheart.”

7K notes · View notes

shouyuus · 3 months ago

Text

sfw; modern neighbor!vi au

cool but enough about that. thinking about vi who lives in the same apartment building as you and is on the same floor just a few doors down, who sees you struggling with some boxes when moving in so she sweeps in to your rescue and well i mean you're not one to look a-gift-horse-muscular-butch in the mouth when she's so valiantly offering to carry these boxes for you.

who introduces herself and tells you that she lives here with her sister, who's studying mechanical engineering at the university. her? oh, she's a freelancer! you know how it is these days, teaches boxing at the local gym, helps her dad with the family bar on the weekends sometimes, "bit of this and a bit of that." and it sounds like she doesn't wanna talk about it all that much so you don't ask.

you ask her in for a cup of coffee, say it's the least you can do to thank her for helping you with the boxes.

"pleasure's mine, helping a pretty girl like you."

woof.

you swallow, busying yourself with your beat up little moka pot, asking her if she wants sugar or creamer. both, she says, and you pause, looking over your shoulder. she's leant up against your half-unpacked sofa, her arms knitted loosely over her chest.

"what? i've always like my stuff with a little bit of sugar."

it's a simple enough statement but the way she says it makes all your fingers and toes tingle. you swallow, fiddling with the fraying edges of your sweater sleeve.

"yeah, no -- that's --"

you jump as the moka starts to bubble and you pull it off the stove, feeling the same heat working it's way into your skin.

it's easy, so easy, after that. she offers to help you unpack (only if you need it of course) and well, you could use another pair of hands. you tell her that you'll pay her in pizza, and she smiles so wide you can see the hint of a dimple etching itself into her cheek.

you end up spending the whole day together, and when all the boxes are broken down and tamped into a pile by the door, your fingers grease-stained, sitting curled up on your now fully built-out couch, with plastic cups of prosecco, she sighs, staring into the bubbling liquid with a smile just a hitch away from sadness.

"cool! well -- thanks for the pizza," she sets down the cup and pushes up off the couch. you clear your throat and scramble up as well, pressing your palms into your thighs.

"no! thank you for helping me --" you motion around your apartment, "and uh --" you chew on your lips, teetering on the balls of your feet.

"if you ever wanna hang out," vi says, grinning as she rounds the sofa, glancing over her shoulder, "i'm just two doors down."

you slump down onto the sofa, pressing a hand to your chest, feeling it's wild, fluttering beat beneath your palm as you try to steady your breathing.

a few days later, you knock on her door, only to find a girl with shocking blue space buns and a pair of magnifying goggles on her head that make her look truly unhinged.

"who're you?"

you blink, fingers clutched around a large mug.

"uh -- uhm -- i just -- i moved in to the unit two doors down a few days ago and i was -- i was wondering if i could -- borrow some... sugar?" you hold out the mug, wondering if you've just royally fucked up.

"powder? who's at the door?" vi's voice calls out just as the girl with blue hair opens her mouth.

powder pauses, a sly smirk twisting the edge of her lips as she pushes up her goggles to reveal bright blue eyes just a few shades darker than vi's.

"oh no one, juuuuust... the super cute neighbor you couldn't shut up about from a few days ag --"

something clanks from further in the apartment and the girl named powder gets yanked back as vi appears, wide-eyed and a bit disheveled, clearing her throat as she almost crashes into her doorframe.

"h-hi! what -- what're you doing here?"

"i uhm --" you swallow, warmth prickling beneath your skin.

"sugar," powder says, rolling her eyes, waving a hand as she prances back into the apartment.

"sugar...?" vi asks, almost uncomprehending.

you lick your lips, holding out the cup, "yeah... i -- uh -- ran out..."

vi blinks down at the empty mug for a second too long before her eyes flash up to meet yours.

"yeah? what've you been up to, using so much sugar?"

you lick your lips, biting down on our bottom lip as she steps back to motion you into the apartment. it's not big, but it is cozy, sticky-notes and doodles littering almost every available surface, cups with day-old coffee/water/tea cluttered on the countertops. but vi reaches up into the cupboards and tugs down the sugar bag.

"i --" you cut off as she fills up your cup.

you don't want to tell her that you were trying to bake cupcakes of all things. and for her no less.

"ahh... don't wanna tell me? s'okay -- fine then, keep your secrets," she teases, shooting you a tiny wink as she leans up to put the sugar back.

"it's --" you nearly trip over your words as they tumble out of you, "i was -- wanted to make some cupcakes -- f-for... you..." you force out, turning away as her eyes widen slightly, "but i keep fucking up the measurements so --" you chance her another glance.

vi watches you with a soft smile, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"for me, sugar?"

you nod, now feeling impossibly hot as she vi slates you a knowing smile.

"well, lemme know when you're done," she says, "and uh..." she glances down at your sugar cup, "don't be afraid to put in a little extra for me, okay?"

you walk back to your own apartment in a daze, staring down at the cup of white sugar grains as you finally get back to your kitchen and set the mug down. you look at the two batches of failed cupcakes sitting on the counter and sigh, a helpless little smile ticking up the corner of your lips as you remember the twinkle in vi's eyes as she'd told you to add a little more sugar for her.

you drop your face into your hands with a loud groan, slumping back onto the couch, letting your feet dangle off the side as you stare at the light-stricken ceiling.

and you say, to no one in particular --

"i am so, so fucked."

1K notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 21 days ago

Text

Lucky Me

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

A follow up to Meet the Parents

You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together.

After your one night stand, you arrange a play date and a date date.

Word Count: 18.5k

Contents: Two love-struck sweethearts (I reccomend reading MtP first). This is not intended for minors, 18+ Oral (M&F receiving), PinV sex, some public groping, Eddie Munson’s filthy (magic) mouth. Eddie & Reader are both single parents. Parent-death mention. Reader suffers a bit with anxiety/gets overwhelmed. No physical descriptors for reader, but mentions wearing Eddie’s t-shirt to sleep in. Food & alcohol TW. Modern AU.

Note: I am incapable of brevity; I am a yapper. But I’ll cut to the chase - writing this has been a silver lining to a lot of change and crap days over the last few months, I started writing this in early January and here we are. I really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for being patient with me!

Eddie Munson fics | dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your New Year started, as the previous one had - watching the clock and calendar reset to 0:00 as fireworks popped and sparkled beyond your window. The television volume is turned low, not to wake the sleeping girl beside you in her ‘Happy New Year’ hairband and pink pyjamas, sugar-crashed and rosy-cheeked.

Hazel had wanted to stay up for midnight, but she was drowsy-drunk by nine-forty-five and after an early countdown you found on YouTube, she was asleep in your bed after ten. You did not need to be won over or convinced for a sleepover with your favourite person tonight; you would rather be here with her to kiss her warm forehead as the bells rang than rattling around downstairs alone or away from her at some party of sweaty bodies and strangers.

Downstairs there are gold streamers to clean up, plates stained with pizza sauce and melted cheese and glasses sticky with the dregs of ‘fancy cocktails’ (a mix of juice and ginger ale that had Hazel giggling and delighted and dancing around the living room). They can wait until morning. Right now, you are content to settle to sleep next to her, feeling cautiously hopeful for what the year will bring.

Your phone buzzes a few times with texts from friends and family, to be ignored ‘til morning for the most part. And then you see his name among the notifications, the bat emoji and the sweet words and your stomach flips and fizzes.

Happy New Year sweetheart x

Eddie Munson has a consistent track record of making you feel flush all over in the few short weeks that you have known him.

The timestamp reads 0:01; you feel tingling excitement that you were on his mind so soon into the new year.

It’s 0:03 when you text him back, and you wonder if he gets that same tightening feeling in his gut when he waits for your reply, like you do with him.

Happy New Year Eddie xx

Your brain buzzes as you consider double texting, adding in something sweet about him and Fae having a wonderful new year, but before you can type anything, he has messaged back.

I hope you and Hazel had a fun night x

You feel warm all over, smiling involuntarily at his sweetness, and send back a selfie of you both from your party for two earlier in the night - matching smiles and sparky dresses, just coz, and another of Hazel twirling in said sparkly dress.

We partied hard 🥂 bed by 10 😎 How was your NYE? X

That familiar old feeling of anxious excitement and anticipation of texting a boy has found you again since your night and morning spent in Eddie Munson’s company. You have only seen him twice since; once at the girls’ dance recital and once in Bradley’s, when the girls spotted each other and had a high-pitched, excited reunion in the chip aisle (even though they had seen each other just two days before in school). You have spoken to him every single day since that morning in Munson’s, texts that turned into phone calls and FaceTimes. It had been mostly PG (mostly), but your shared simmering want barely contained as you spoke quietly lately into the night.

Eddie returns a picture of Fae tucked up asleep under Wayne’s arm on the sofa, the older man with his eyes closed and head tipped back. A second picture of Eddie with a party blower between his lips and streamers in his hair follows.

Party for one. The lightweights fell asleep before the countdown 🙄

The pictures warm your heart, and you can’t help but go back to the picture of Eddie for a few seconds more before another text follows.

Can I call? x

Heart thudding quicker, you look down at sleeping Hazel, how her body moves with deep peaceful breaths. Her light sleeping phase has passed, now your daughter could sleep through a marching band most mornings.

You have already decided to tell him yes when he texts again.

No worries if you’re too tired. Just wanted to hear your voice Hope that’s not too cringe x

You are so endeared by him and put him out of his misery with a quick tap of your thumb. His voice is velvet on the other end of the phone.

“Hey there,” he murmurs. You can’t see his face but can hear the curved smile on his plush mouth.

“Hi. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year. I wanted to say it properly. You two looked like you had a fun time.”

Smiling fondly, you look down at Hazel again and brush her hair back with a mother’s gentle touch.

“We did. She almost made it to ten thirty. We’re having a sleepover in my bed tonight, so she didn’t feel like she was losing out on any fun. I hope you’re not too lonely with the Sleeping Beauties?”

Eddie laughs low in his throat. You imagine him looking at Fae and Wayne with his warm brown gaze. “Nah, they tried to stick it out. Can’t blame ‘em. Wayne made burgers and then we did sundaes for dessert, like a build-your-own kinda thing. Food comas all ‘round.”

Their evening sounds comparably cosy to your own - homemade pizzas and the last of the Christmas chocolate to accompany Shirley Temples topped with extra cherries.

“That sounds lovely, Eddie.”

There are a few beats of silence, only breathing and the sound of distant fireworks. Eddie is the one to break it.

“I’d love to see you soon. I wanna see a lot more of you this year, if you want that too.”

Your chest feels tight in a good way, like your heart has grown too big for your ribs. Maybe Eddie can hear its sped-up thudding on the other end of the phone.

“I do want that. I’m still looking forward to that date you promised me, Munson.” Eddie’s low laugh is music to your ears.

“Maybe… Could we meet with the girls soon? On the second, maybe if you’re not busy? We could meet at the park over near the library, get some coffee. Let the girls run around and play fairies or whatever they do.”

Before Eddie can word vomit any more, you say yes. No hesitation. The thought of seeing Eddie coupled with Hazel’s excitement for a play date is too lovely to turn down.

“I’d love that, Eddie. The second is good for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Great.” You can hear his grin. “This isn’t our actual date, by the way. I have a plan for that.”

In your mind, you imagine his grin melting into the smooth smirk that tempted you when you first met.

“Oh, you do?”

“Oh, I do. Are you free next Friday? I have a capable and willing ‘sitter on hand - he comes included with the date. The girls could sleep over here. If you’d prefer to arrange your own, that’s cool. Wayne offered so… up to you.”

He really had been planning this whole thing out. Your mind starts to race into your own planning mode, looking through your mental calendar and wondering if Hazel would be okay with a sleepover. Eddie’s voice brings you back to the moment.

“You don’t need to answer now. I’m trying to be more organised this year. A resolution kinda. Tell me when we meet up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Eddie. I’m looking forward to it.” You want to say more, consider zipping your lip and swallowing down the words before you make it weird or too much. Decide, fuck it. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Eddie breathes out relief. “Me too. Me too, sweetheart.”

You talk for a few more minutes before saying good night, wish each other another Happy New Year and sweet dreams. Hazel slumbers on next to you, and you settle down to sleep with a smile on your face.

January second is not as bitterly cold as you had feared it might be. Bundled in hats and coats, scarves and gloves, you let Hazel pick the music for your short drive to the park with the playground that she always asks to go to.

Your girl buzzes and bounces with excitement, smiley-faced in the rearview mirror.

“I’m sooooo excited to see Fae!”

You catch her eye in the mirror and smile.“I bet she is so excited to see you too, honey.”

“And we’re getting hot chocolate after we play! To warm up.” Hazel parrots what you had told her earlier, as excited by pink and white marshmallows and extra whipped cream as she was about the play date.

Hazel talks and you listen, answering her unending curiosity about everything; if there will be other kids there (maybe), will Fae have her sparkly boots on (I think she will, let’s wait and see), if Hazel can have sparkly rainboots (let’s look next time we’re in Target). Her own boots (shiny red) knock against each other as you get closer to the park, excitement flowing off of her in buckets as your belly flutters with anticipation.

You swing your car next to Eddie’s black truck and try not to wince when Hazel squeals her joy. Fae sits in the passenger seat, waving both hands at her friend - by the slightly pained look on Eddie’s face, she is as high-pitched as Hazel is.

“It’s Fae!! Hi Fae! Mom, let's goooo! I want to see my Fae!” she chirps.

You share a smile with Eddie through the window, warm-cheeked despite the chilly day, and wrangle Hazel out of her seat so she can embrace her friend. Ten days without seeing each other was apparently unbearable, and they hug and squeal and jump like best friends parted for decades.

Eddie lingers, watching you watch them, and reaches to squeeze your arm. A little more than two casual parents chaperoning playtime, and so much less than either of you crave. You had been spoiled by his touch and closeness that morning, only slightly satiated by his thigh and arm pressed against yours as you watched the girls prance and twirl at their dance showcase.

The squeeze dulls the ache and makes it worse all at once.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

The weight of whatever it is between you is more than it has any right to be after the little time you had spent together - even though most of that time was having sex and sleeping together as strangers. Whatever it is, though it is laden with desire and cautious hope, does not feel heavy when you are sharing the load with Eddie.

“Daddy, come on! Let’s rock and roll!” Fae beams, holding Hazel’s gloved hand in her own.

“Mommy, can we go in now? Pleeeeease?” Hazel asks.

Your respective Mini Me’s wear matching puppy-dog eyes and bounce in time on booted feet as they await permission (and assistance) to open the gate and start their imagination games.

Fae Munson has never failed to put a smile on your face. The more you get to know her Dad, you see how much of him she has soaked up into her own self: their shared unbidden laugh, the spark of mischief when they want to push buttons and tease (always in good nature and never ever mean). She reminds you of starlight, breathtaking and sparkling, to your daughter's sunshine-brightness - they are a perfect pair.

“Okay, okay. Chill for a sec,” Eddie laughs, wobbling his daughter’s head fondly, his hand spread wide like a spider over her lilac beanie. He holds the gate open, gentlemanly as you remember, and falls into step with you as the girls scurry on. “Pick a nice bench for us. I wanna check the slide is dry - Fae got a wet butt on it last time and she was not impressed.”

Fae is already telling Hazel about the horrors of the aforementioned wet butt - a horror of her own impatience and Eddie’s sleepy-headedness after staying up texting a certain someone late into the night.

He winks at you before following after the girls, calling ‘wait for meeee’ in a girly voice that makes them squeal-laugh and pick up the pace toward the swings to leave Eddie straggling.

You pick a spot with a good view of the girl's realm to roam, but far enough away that they will feel independent and you can soak up your time with Eddie. He checks the swing seats and the slide, dried by the kids who had played earlier that morning and jogs back to you after giving them both a boost onto the jungle gym. You had no time to quadruple-check your appearance in your front camera - not that this was your date.

His smile widens when your eyes meet, and he slows down a touch to enjoy the vignette of you on the bench in the winter sun, glowing and gorgeous. Ethereal, breathtaking. Eddie kind of cannot believe that you are real; you are here, and you like him (at least he is pretty damn sure you do).

You are warmed through by his gaze and fight the self-conscious feelings that creep in. You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together.

Eddie sits next to you, thinks about pulling you against his side to keep you warm. He knows he cannot, not yet, but maybe someday.

“It’s good to see you,” he says. The sunlight shows flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes and the few silver strands in his dark stubble and hair, and you can see the warm vapour of his voice in the chilly air.

“You too, Eddie. I’m really glad we’re doing this.” There’s an unspoken ‘for the girls’ and a more obvious ‘so that I could see you in the flesh and not just on my phone screen’ that hangs in the air between you. Neither of you needs to say it out loud.

He smiles and knocks his shoulder against yours gently, radiating warmth and his spicy-warm scent. “S’better in person. Not that I don’t like texting with you, seeing you on FaceTime.”

There’s this familiarity between you, forged over text and video calls and a shared yearning for more that has been roadblocked by your responsibilities and real life.

Feeling brave, you wonder aloud, “Is it just me, or does this not feel awkward and weird? Like, at all…”

You watch his smile spread, his dimples deepen. A wash of relief releases the slight tension in his shoulders and on his brow.

“Not just you. We’ve talked most days though… And what’s this, like our fourth time meeting? I think we’ve broken the ice, sweetheart.” Eddie raises his brow, smirking in a way that lets you know that he is remembering that first night and the morning after.

Warmth floods your cheeks and your belly, letting yourself remember how his hands felt on your body, how he took you apart and held you back together again.

“Yeah. Yeah, we smashed that ice, huh?”

His laugh is a smokey, throaty chuckle, bursting from his plush mouth. “Yeah, we did.”

It sets you off, a laugh that you try to haul back, but the seal is broken now, and you have well and truly dashed any iota of awkwardness that may have lingered. Like teenagers who should not be laughing but cannot stop, it gets funnier again just as you stop. The girls look over, curious about their parents shared laughter, and you both wave back at them as you try to settle yourselves.

“Fae was so damn excited to see Hazel today. She woke me at seven - seven goddamn am. I can just about get her up for school, and then she wakes up at seven on the holidays,” Eddie says, watching them play together.

“Mm, Hazel too. Seven thirty, but she hasn’t stopped talking about it since I told her she had a play date with her bestie.”

Your daughter’s laugh blends with Fae’s, both perched in the basket swing that sways back and forth gently. It won’t be long until one of you is called up to push them higher than they can manage themselves.

“I’m glad she met Fae. Having a friend has helped her settle a lot.” Your eyes stay on the girls as you speak, and Eddie’s eyes are on you. “It was hard at first, she missed her old school, her friends, everything. I felt really awful about moving her entire life; she was so quiet, and I felt like the worst Mom ever.”

Your head turns to look at Eddie. “And then she met Fae, and she was like sunshine again. Brighter than ever.”

A warm smile spreads across his handsome face. His hand covers yours, a quick squeeze before retreating again.

“Faerie Dust,” he says, quiet voiced. “She’s good at making things better and she doesn’t even realise it.”

You match his smile, laughing quietly at the marvel that is Fae Munson. “Faerie Dust. Suits her, Eddie.”

“Doesn’t it just,” he says, glancing over to make sure the girls are still okay. “I’m glad she was there for Hazel. Fae… It’s not that she never had friends, but she’s never had a best friend. Not until Little Miss Sunshine over there.”

You feel tears pressing at the back of your eyes, happy relief to match your smile. It is one of those moments, those Mom Moments, when the difficult days and boundless motherly love are affirmed by realising that your kid is just as amazing to other people as she is to you.

“M’glad she could be that for Fae.”

Eddie squeezes your hand; he gets it. Eddie understands the relief of knowing he is raising someone who is filled with boundless goodness and kindness.

This time, he does not take his hand away so quickly. Alongside the adoration and pride for his imp of a daughter that fills his heart, there is a growing whisper of more-than-fondness for you and Hazel too.

You sit in easy silence for a few moments, just watching the girls with their heads together, their giggling and giddy mischief make you both smile. The call comes then (as you knew it would), Fae hollering over at her Dad to come and push them in the swinging basket. She tacks on ‘please!’ and you can see Hazel’s excitement to finally experience the long-fabled crazy-high-swing-pushing that her friend had told her all about.

“Duty calls.” Eddie stands, shares a smile that makes your cheeks warm and the butterflies swoop, and saunters across to them, bringing his mechanic’s strength that earned him the ‘best swing pusher’ title.

With both girls holding on tight, you try not to white-knuckle the bench beneath you as you watch Eddie pushing them in a high swooping arc. Hazel’s little face is wide open and full of joy and her laughter blends with Fae’s delighted whooping.

You see how Eddie is careful not to push too hard, too high, and how he keeps his body agile and strong to catch the swing again before pushing again. His face is animated as he teases the girls, kind-heartedly asking if this is high enough for them before sending them forward again before they can answer. It is easy to let your mind drift and remember his bare arms, dark ink and pale skin and the way they felt wrapped around you.

“Mom, look!”

Hazel’s delighted squeal brings you back to now, making your heart rate spike in a whole other way than your memories had.

You wave over as she swoops up high once more, “Wow, that’s the highest ever!”

Soon, they are giggle-drunk and beg for Eddie’s mercy, and he only toys with them for a little while before slowing them to a stop, spinning them around a few times until they have had enough. When the girls feel steady-footed again, he helps them down to race each other to the jungle gym to climb and conquer the crow's nest at its highest point. You don’t miss how Fae hugs him quickly, foregoing first place for a little piece of her Dad.

Once more, you watch Eddie make his way to you; his cheeks have a rosy glow from the exertion of swing-pushing. Beneath your winter layers, your body yearns to have him close to you again - partly to steal his warmth but mostly because you miss the way you felt when he held you, hugged you, mapped the sweet and soft spots of your body like he wanted to memorise all of you.

“What’s that look for?” Eddie asks, slowing to stand in front of you.

“What look?” you ask, trying to play cool and not smile and flush hot-all-over like a teen with a crush.

Eddie leans in closer, just enough that you can smell his cologne and spearmint gum, hear his stage-whisper.

“Like you want to eat me.”

The heat of his gaze and the way his lips curve in a wolfish smile bring you back to that night in the Hideout, his quiet deep voice takes you back to one particularly flirty FaceTime call long after bedtime.

You stop yourself from saying “because I do” by sinking your teeth into your lip, barely stifling a smile of your own.

Pleased with himself, Eddie retakes his seat next to you and lets his arm rest along the back of the bench, angling his body toward you.

“I was thinking about our date.”

You feel just as pleased with yourself when you see his smooth smile sparkle with something more boyish and exciteful, less suave than before. He had been building up to ask you.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. I’m looking forward to it.”

When you shift your eyes away from Hazel and Fae and meet Eddie’s eye, your attempt to play it cool and his barely contained excitement spark like flint, cool exteriors cracking your faces into a shared smile. Both soothed by the simmering excitement you share.

“Me too,” Eddie says, his mind racing to pull together his ideas for a great first date and pin them down.

“Claudia’s going to take Hazel for the night.”

Your cheeks heat up at the memory of Claudia Henderson’s intrigued smile and the flash of excitement that made her eyes sparkle when you asked if she would mind having Hazel overnight again. She didn’t pry, but made you promise her that you would be safe and relax, and to call her if you needed an SOS.

Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, a barely there touch through the layers of sweater and coat.

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty?”

It’s more than okay, and you have to stop yourself from blurting it out. You temper yourself from being too eager, too enamoured by this man planning a simple date. Later on, your brain will buzz with what to wear and whether you will stay the night with Eddie again, and you will fight that doubting voice that tries to dull the shine of this and ruin your excitement.

“That sounds great, Eddie. Seven-thirty is perfect.”

Behind the leather and the wash-worn Metallica hoodie, the thermal beneath, Eddie’s heart is pounding and his stomach feels fluttery in a way it has not since he dated Fae’s mom. He thought that part of him was long gone, broken and buried.

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he says quietly. “I like spending time with you.”

Your heart is in your throat, and behind his smile, you see a glimpse of the same fears that rattle around your head. Your bodies are like two brackets on the bench, facing each other and holding between you the fragile buds and blooms of whatever this is, familiar and brand new all at the same time.

“Me too. I haven’t had something to look forward to in a long time,” you say, quietly sharing a secret in a mirror image of your daughters together at the top of the jungle gym. “Something that’s just for me. Y’know?”

You are fairly certain that he knows exactly what you mean, and you watch his shoulders sag ever so slightly, letting go of a breath that had been stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. I know that feeling, sweetheart.”

The girls steal your attention again, waving and calling for both of you so that you will watch them go down the big slide, Hazel first and Fae shortly after.

Soon, their patience for hot chocolate will wear thin and they will forget the playground in favour of sweet talking and puppy dog eyes with fluttery lashes, asking if it’s time for a treat yet. But until then, they are content to play and share secrets, whisper their shared wonder about what you and Eddie are laughing about.

The return to school and work is silver-lined by your date, a beacon of light in those dark and cold January days. You have promised Hazel a trip to Target for sparkly rain boots on Saturday, fuelled by Mom Guilt for leaving her on Friday night and dressing it up as her own glittering finish line to get through the first week of back-to-school.

The week crawls by in work, doing inventory and taking a few eager and early Valentine's Day orders, planning a trip to the wholesalers in Bloomington before the Big Day and scheduling consultations with the brides and businesses who want the most special arrangements for the most loved-up day of the year.

With the lazy days and late nights of Christmas behind you, your texts and FaceTimes with Eddie are peppered through your workdays and tired evenings, sending little check-ins and anecdotes about customers in the florist and the garage and keeping each other company on video calls while Eddie folds laundry and you load the dishwasher. He has peppered your conversations with little hints about your date: dinner in the next town over so you can escape the bubble of Hawkins but be close enough for any parent emergencies. His excitement has matched yours, his nerves too, and he is counting down the days until he can see you again.

When you see Wayne in the dance studio parking lot on Thursday, there is an extra twinkle in his eye when he asks about your week and wishes you a late ‘Happy New Year’. There’s something of it, a Munson brand of mischief and magic, that reminds you of Eddie. He doesn’t tease or give you the shovel talk but quietly tells you to have a good time just as the girls are released back to you at six pm.

All week, you have carried your excitement with you, tucked safely in your sternum beneath your cosy winter sweaters and your work apron. It is a different kind of simmering excitement and fear than you had felt that first morning with Eddie. As you fall asleep on (what Eddie has dubbed) Date Eve, cheeks still aching from smiling as you flirted hard with the mechanic over text, you imagine it as blowing soapy bubbles with Hazel in the garden when she was smaller. The slow blow, growing the bubble bigger and bigger with bated breath. Will it pop and leave your cheeks wet and eyes stinging, or will it float and shimmer iridescent in the sky? When your brain finally slows down, allows you to relax enough to drift off, you dream of Hazel’s baby laugh and the sun on your skin and bubbles flying up into the blue sky.

You wake on Friday feeling like all of the water in your body has been swapped from still to sparkling. You make breakfast sandwiches with egg and cheese and stow a packet of Mini M&Ms and a little note for Hazel in her lunch box. Hazel is delighted by your extra good mood, singing ABBA and Shania Twain and Love Shack with you in the car, asking (full of innocence) if this is ‘that Friday Feeling’ she had heard grown-ups talk about.

You bring doughnuts into work and share your good mood with your co-workers who ask if you have heard from ‘your guy from the bar’ over the holidays. An unsubtle ‘maybe’ as you arrange a bouquet for a new mom sets them off, excited to know more and playfully frustrated by your elusive answers. You focus on the butter-yellow arrangement and avoid saying too much, smiling too much, or gushing about how you’re seeing him later today.

They already know.

Eddie wanted to get you flowers for your date; he knew you had a particular love for them, one that brought you all the way to Hawkins to manage Ivy Lane Floral Boutique and restart your life in a new town. When he knew you were meeting a supplier earlier in the week, he swung an early lunch and called in to order a simple bouquet with a few ideas of what he wanted, helped along by your coworkers. They kept the order a secret, not wanting to spoil the surprise, off the books and safely stashed away from the other orders in the back. Most importantly, they will make sure you’re busy with something else or already gone home when he comes in to collect it later on.

All day, you wait for something to dampen your sunny mood. A call from the school or a text to cancel or announce a change of plans or a change of heart. Something to drag you down, back to cold reality. Something.

There is no cloud to eclipse the sun, no rain to stop play.

You leave work, pick Hazel up, make dinner for her, and pack her off to Claudia’s without a hitch - no tears, no “I want to stay with you, Mommy!”. You squeeze her extra tight when she lets you and thank Claudia for the hundredth time before heading home for your everything shower and a fortifying glass of wine.

Time moves too quickly and then not at all as you wait for seven-thirty. There are discarded outfit picks and shoe options around your room, and your bathroom bin has black-smeared cotton pads and Q-Tips from an eyeliner mishap and laddered tights that caught on your rings. You look in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the bumps and dips that stand out and re-thinking the black skirt and sweater topped with an oversized leopard bomber (your Christmas gift to yourself). It felt too much and not enough, rethinking your lipstick and the chunky boots and how you had styled your hair.

You’re just about to change back into black jeans when Eddie’s knuckles meet your front door.

Your heart sparks and spikes with excitement. One more look in the mirror; deep breath, relax your shoulders, smooth your skirt one more time. You know you look good.

On the other side of your door, Eddie is vibrating with excitement and the sharp chill of a winter breeze. He can hear your footsteps as you make your way to him, checks his breath again and makes sure he’s not crushing your flowers in his sweaty palm.

“Hi.”

You’re a vision, haloed by the hallway light in the doorway. Like a painting he would have pored over in high school art history.

“Hey.”

Standing on your doorstep in black leather and charcoal, the porch light makes his curls glow like a halo. Eddie looks edible.

It takes a moment for you to see the flowers, a bouquet of sweet-smelling deep reds, complimentary blushes and soft tones, a pop of purple.

“You look amazing,” he says, his smile is boyish and you can’t mistake the hunger in his eyes, see how his gaze lingers on where your skirt hugs your hips and the sheer black tights wrapped around your legs. After not-so-subtly checking you out, he remembers to be a gentleman. “I got you these. I know it’s probably crazy to get flowers for a florist…”

“Eddie, they’re lovely. Thank you. Come in for a sec and I’ll get a vase.”

When the door is closed, you take a moment to feel the weight of ‘this is really happening’ and the realisation that Eddie is in your house and you haven’t tidied much at all. You had accounted for every possible part of tonight, except this.

“Nice place,” he says, looking around at the maximalism of your style and the touches of parenthood until he simply has to get his eyes back on you.

“We’re still making it ours, a few boxes left to unpack in the guest room.”

Your hands cover his, feeling the chill carried from inside and the body-warm chunky metal of his rings as you take the flowers. You recognise them all, lilac, delphinium, ranunculus and rose, recognise their varieties and their meanings. Eddie had done his homework.

“I love them, Eddie. Thank you.”

Standing toe to toe, you breathe in the scent of him and close the chasm to kiss his cheek.

“And thanks for supporting a local business.”

His cheeks flame and dimple as you take the flowers and slip past in a haze of rich perfume, beckoning him to follow with that smile of yours.

Hummingbird wings beat hard in your chest as Eddie follows you to the kitchen. You ask how Fae is and how the first week back to school went for them as you fill a vase for your bouquet to rest in.

Eddie watches you easily move around the kitchen, admiring the bouquet as you untie the brown paper wrappings and lovingly make the flowers at home in the vase. His cheek is scorched from where your lips had grazed him, and yet he somehow manages to not sound like a bonehead as he answers you.

He can’t tear his eyes away long enough to be nosy about how your house looks, if you have any pending DIY jobs you might need a helping hand with (he knows you are more than capable, wouldn’t want to offend with an offer to bang a nail in your wall).

There is no prize for catching him looking at you. Eddie doesn’t hide his awe-filled and hungry gaze that makes you warm all over.

Despite the heat, you bundle yourself in your scarf and wool bomber, and check that your bag has everything you might need for the night (and the morning).

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie smiles and steps closer, both of your black boots toe to toe again, and fixes your scarf slightly as an excuse to touch.

“Perfect.”

You resist ducking your head, decide to be brave instead of shy, and slip your hand onto the buttery leather wrapped around Eddie’s arm.

“Not so bad yourself.”

You watch his gaze drop to your lips and the not-so-subtle way he moves millimetres closer.

Drawn together to meet each other halfway, it can’t be deciphered who kissed who first, a product of mutual longing. Melted together by your kitchen island, you share your breath and your lip stain with Eddie.

There are fireworks behind your eyes and trapped in your veins. After weeks of waiting and wanting, you are both finally put out of your misery.

You can taste the want on Eddie’s lips, his tongue. A man long starved of the affection he deserves, scared to ask for it and try again. He has wanted and waited too, with itchy fingers and a twisting need in his gut, all because of you. The memory of you laid out on his sheets, remembering your body and the taste of you, had almost driven him wild. Now he has you held safe in his hands, and you have him too. You don’t want to stop. You don’t have to stop.

But you do. As easy as it would be to walk blindly upstairs, finding and fumbling your way to bed, you both want more than sex. So much more.

Kisses slow, lips smile. You give in to wanting and share one more kiss, let it linger.

“I really wanted to do that,” Eddie whispers, tipping his head forward against you.

“Me too.”

You thumb gently at his stained mouth, giggling at the mess you have made of him before he has even bought you dinner.

“That colour suits you,” you whisper, before spilling into more giggling laughter, heads together.

Eddie returns the favour, attempting to tidy the smudges and making it slightly worse. Best left to your expertise. Within moments, you look like perfection once again, no bleeding lines or spilled-over stains.

“Better?”

He takes a moment, gives you an exaggerated once-over before nodding. “I liked it messed up. But yes.”

“Like ‘Eddie Woz Here.’”

Your eyes flash, siren-like.

Eddie likes the sound of that, likes the look in your eyes too.

“Careful. Or I’ll mess it up again.”

“I hope you do.”

Eddie’s head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling instead of you. “Oh, I’m in so much trouble with you. Fuck.”

He does not sound too pressed about that, nor does he look too annoyed with that smile on his face. You’re emboldened by his playfulness.

“C’mon, Munson. You promised to wine and dine me. Let’s go before I need to fix my makeup some more.”

His face is split in a grin, pure delight to see this fun and feisty side of you that he had met in The Hideout, the same sweet woman with a devilish side that he had got to know more and more with every text. He does his best to ignore the stirring in his gut when you call him ‘Munson. ’

Waylaid by one more kiss by the front door, you are soon on your way to Bedford with the clock ticking down to the dinner reservation Eddie had made. The thirty-minute drive goes by in a blink, catching up on how your respective Fridays had been and checking in about things the other had mentioned during the week on your calls and in your texts, all soundtracked by Eddie’s loud rock music turned at a low volume.

He squeezed your knee at a few stoplights, and you covered his hand on the gear stick as you cruised down the IN-37. You did not miss how his cheeks looked even more red in the glow of taillights and how his dimples deepened in a way that made your tummy twirl with fondness.

Once his black Ford truck is parked safely in a little lot within walking distance from your restaurant and your activity for the evening, Eddie rounds the bonnet to open your door and offer you a hand.

“A gentleman. I better thank Wayne for raising you right.”

Eddie smiles and squeezes your hand, keeping a hold of it as he clicks the lock and tucks the key away.

“My Mom was big on good manners, but Wayne? He’s somethin’ else.”

Eddie had mentioned that he had lost his Mom young, alluded to the fact that his Dad was absent (and not the best when he was around). His love for his Uncle was clear, and from your interactions with Wayne long before you met Eddie, you know that it is returned in spades.

“That man can swear like a sailor though. Don’t let the smile and Southern Charm fool you.”

There is a sparkle in Eddie’s eyes beneath the streetlights as you walk towards your destination, a little Mexican restaurant that shares its warm glow and spiced aroma from a tucked-away spot just off the main drag of Bedford.

The air is cool, but Eddie’s warm hand makes it all feel warm and glowing. The small town feels different in the dark, looks different. You had viewed a house on the outskirts before finding your home in Hawkins, only saw the centre of town when you were trying to follow the Google Maps directions to the too-small house on the back end of town.

You tell Eddie all about it as he navigates for you both, making sure you don’t need to dodge other pedestrians or lamp posts as he listens to your story. You realise halfway through just how boring it is and trail off. He squeezes your hand like he can read your self-chastising thoughts.

“Well, I’m glad it was a shitty house. Hawkins is poky, but I think you fit in just fine, sweetheart,” he says, knocking your shoulders together.

He winks at you when you look up at him, makes your gut somersault in such a pleasant way.

“You can tell you’re not from there though,” he says. And when you try to decipher why, he simply smiles and says, “You’re way too pretty to be from Hawkins, honey.”

Your shoulder knocks against Eddie’s arm in playful retaliation.

“You’re so full of it, Munson.”

There is no malice laced in your words, and Eddie can tell it is your shields going up. He can see how you have turned in on yourself, self-conscious and self-sabotaging behind a bashful smile.

“I mean it,” he says, squeezing your hand in a double time beat, “And not in the ‘everyone in Hawkins fucks their cousins’ way. Some do. I’ll show you my yearbook sometime, woof.” Eddie stalls your meandering pace a few feet away from the door of the restaurant.

“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re gorgeous, and you’ve got somethin’ real beautiful in here,” he says, tapping the centre of your chest. “You’re one of a kind.”

That part of you that ruins everything wants to duck your head beneath your wrapped-up scarf and brush him off, but the part of you that has been nourished by getting to know Eddie over the last few weeks, the part that you thought had withered away beyond revival, feels so much stronger, braver, brighter.

You pull him closer so you can kiss his cheek, rest your head against his as you will the right words to come out of your mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers. “Just needed you to know that’s how I think of you.”

Pulling back a little to look at you again, hoping you will not duck your head or dodge his eye, Eddie smiles softly. “I don’t have any expectations here. I like you, I think you like me. But I’m okay to take it at our own pace. Even if it’s kinda ass-backwards.”

The truth of it makes you laugh, how this all started with pure lust and how it has blossomed into something that could be beautiful.

“I do like you, Eddie. It scares me a little just how much I like you.”

You kiss him again, a sweet brush of lips that makes you both crave more.

“And I will like you even more once I’ve had a taco and a margarita.”

His laugh is loud, echoing into the dark evening and pulling attention from passers-by.

“Food motivated, I can work with that.”

Eddie cups your face with gentle hands and kisses you again until you’re smiling against each other's mouths, not caring that you’re in the middle of the street, blocking up the sidewalk.

The tacos are perfectly spiced and fresh with housemade tortillas and hot sauces, wedges of lime on the side, and the margarita you order has that perfect balance of sharp citrus and smokey tequila. The little table tucked away in the back has been the perfect spot to get to know each other more and more, picking back up the threads of conversations that were better explained in person rather than over the phone.

You both leave the bones of your past relationships mostly buried, a mutual unspoken agreement. It is enough, for now, to say that your relationship with Hazel’s Dad ended because he had found other things and other women he wanted to do instead of being a partner and a father. Eddie tells you that Fae’s Mom was his on-and-off girlfriend, that they were firmly off when he was told there was a baby on the way; he wanted to make something work and she didn’t want any part of it. There is so much more both of you can say, but tonight is not about the past.

Instead, you talk about books and films, Eddie tells you more about his love of music and how he got into D&D. You stash away the little tidbits of Eddie-lore for yourself. He asks about when you got into floristry, about the city you lived in before moving to Hawkins. Eddie isn’t shy about asking you things and you love that, love that he listens. He is a rare gem and you want to keep him all for yourself. It feels comfortable and easy, and you give as good as you get when he flirts with you and shares bites of creamy elote in exchange for a taste of your margarita.

He tells you about how he wants to see the ocean one day, take Fae to dip their toes in the briny tide. His Mom had promised him she would take him one day, but they never had the money or the chance, and then it was too late.

“Fae looks really like my Mom,” he says. “It spooks Wayne sometimes.”

The thought and the one that follows it make you smile, “So that means you must look like your Mom too.”

You see a flash of boyish pride as Eddie nods. He tempers his smile with a bite of salty tortilla chip smothered in guacamole. When he shows you the photo on his phone - a picture of a picture with a hit of his thumb in the corner - you see the resemblance to Fae in his mother’s carefree smile, the sparkle in her eyes caught by the camera as she holds her little boy.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, taking another moment to look at her before shifting focus to the four-year-old version of the man sitting in front of you. Rosy cheeks, smiling up at his Mama with his shiny milk teeth. He takes your breath away.

“Eddie, you little cherub!”

“Butter wouldn’t melt, huh?”

He smiles, pushing down that heart-aching feeling he still gets when he thinks of her. More than once since meeting you, Eddie had wished he could tell his Mom all about you, gush and let her tease him a little about having a crush. Wayne, as always, had picked up the slack.

By dessert, you have promised him some wildflower seeds for bee-obsessed Fae, and Eddie’s been holding your hand since you passed his phone back. Your face hurts from smiling as you share horchata crème brûlée and sugar-dusted churros with hot chocolate sauce, even though your stomach is full and your skirt feels tighter than it had earlier.

Eddie had switched to soda halfway through the meal so he could get you both back to Hawkins safely, but he feels more love-drunk than any buzz from beer could give him. His cheeks have that same rosy hue as the picture he showed you.

Your attention is pulled to the cinnamon sugar caught on his lower lip line. It has evaded the swipe of his tongue, chasing the taste of sweet and rich desserts.

“Do I have something on my face, sweetheart?” he asks, catching your gaze fall to his mouth for the fifth time.

“Yeah, you have a little…” Tapping your own lip, you watch a flicker of amusement cross his face. “C’mere, I’ll get it.”

Your hand cups his cheek across the small table, reaching and leaning toward each other to meet in the middle. Your thumb grazes his lower lip, brushing away the sparkling spiced sugar, but neither of you move away. A second more purposeful slow drag of your thumb along Eddie’s lower lip sparks like a match; the hot flame is reflected in his eyes and catches on the embers of want that have settled low in his gut all evening, all week, longer.

“Got it,” you whisper, feeling the same heat.

“Thanks.”

Eddie’s voice is smokey and low, just loud enough for you to hear. He leans into your palm, presses his lips to your thumb. His eyes never leave yours.

Taking your hand as it falls away from his jaw, Eddie places another kiss on your knuckles and you can feel your heart hammering hard behind your ribs, hear it race in your ears. You are so focused on him that you barely register when he signals for the bill. He cannot see how your thighs squeeze together (not for the first time that night) beneath the table.

“So, did the taco and marg help?” he asks, leaning forward a little more.

Puzzled, too mesmerised with want to get it, it takes another little prompt before you can answer.

“Out there, you said you’d like me even more after a taco and a margarita…” Eddie’s smile is teasing in a fun way, wolfish and cool.

“Mmhm, the tacos were great. Best margarita I’ve had in years.” You mirror him, leaning in closer to say, “The company was my favourite part.”

Eddie laughs low in his throat, just for you to hear. “I thought so too. You’re somethin’ else.”

He is enamoured, nay entranced, by you as you hold his gaze, letting the fire burn between you for a moment until the server comes with the bill and card machine, asking if the food was okay, if you have had a good night.

Eddie takes charge of the bill as you hype up the margs, promise you will come back again. You don’t see the tip he left, but the look on your server's face and her smiley ‘thank you so much’ tells you all you need to know.

“Ready to head out?” he asks, tucking his card away again.

As you stand to put your jackets back on (of course he holds your bomber for you to slip back into), you catch a table of younger women eyeing his broad shoulders and the shape of his arms, hear their whispers of ‘where do I find one like that’ and, ‘damn, he’s fine’.

He does not let on if he has heard but drops a kiss on your lips once you’re wrapped up for the cold weather again before getting into his own leather jacket. Once his curls are freed from his collar, he pats down the pockets for his keys, wallet and phone before reaching for your hand.

You nab two lollipops from the hostess station, one each (and you don’t have to share them with the girls or worry about hard candy and their teeth), and step back out into the cool night air.

“So we have a choice to make.”

When you look up at Eddie, he has a faux-serious look on his face, and you can see the vapour of his breath in the air.

“My place or yours?”

You catch him, not for the first time, off guard, and he cracks out a delighted little laugh.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to check out the arcade bar down the street or call it a night, but I do like how you think, sweetheart.”

Full. Body. Cringe.

“Oh…my god. Wait there for a sec, I’m going to walk in traffic.”

Eddie drags you back by your waist as you pretend to make for the quiet main road. “Nope, no way,” he laughs, winding his arms around you to lock you safely against his chest. Your arms wrap around his middle, locking him against you for warmth and just because you can.

You can still catch his aftershave beneath the lingering scent of warm spices as your cheek rests against his strong chest.

“I thought that’s what you were going to ask,” you murmur, peering up at him.

“I was; you just got there first.” Eddie smiles, feeling the gentle stroke of your fingertips on the small of his back. “Either way, mine or yours, now or later, if it’s what you want, baby, I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”

He kisses your forehead, soothing your racing mind.

“I do. I’ve been thinking about it,” you whisper. “You know I have, Ed.”

Some of your texts and late-night phone calls had toed that line, barely keeping a lid on your composure and need at the sound of his voice, but each time, you or Eddie had been interrupted by one of the girls about a bad dream or a glass of water.

“I know, baby. I know, me too.” His fingers drift beneath your chin, tilting your face up for a single searing kiss.

“S’still early. We have plenty of time, no rush,” he murmurs, still in kissing distance. “Will we check out the arcade for a little bit? See if you can beat me on Mortal Kombat?”

You pull back a little, raising your brows at him in a way that makes his jeans a little bit tighter, “Oh, I know I can beat you on Mortal Kombat.”

Eddie scoffs, smiles that wolfish way you like. “You have no idea who you’re talking to. Palace Arcade’s reigning Mortal Kombat II champ two years running. You’re going down”

“Only two?”

For all your fighting talk, your arms are still wound around each other’s bodies. Instead of marching each other right to the arcade, you savour the physical closeness you have both craved and smile against each other's lips as you trade kisses and sass-filled barbs back and forth.

A sharp breeze from the east is what separates and sends you toward the neon sign for Token across the quiet street, seeking warmth and a definitive answer to who is the supreme of vintage arcade games.

You pay for the first two drinks and your play cards - two palatable low-alcohol beers and plenty of game credit to thoroughly kick Munson’s ass at every game in the place, including Dance Dance Revolution. Eddie picks air hockey to warm you both up; despite your shared lack of athleticism, you both show off your parental reflexes honed over years of catching sippy cups before they fall and protecting little heads en route to something that will leave a bump or bruise. He beats you by two points, tries not to be too smug about it.

As you wait for Mortal Kombat to free up, you take turns on Pac-Man and savour the feeling of Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, murmuring directions and trying to steer you into the path of a bright blue ghost. His breath tickles your neck and the weight of his hand on your hip feels like it belongs there. You give as good as you get when it’s his turn, skimming your fingertips along the back waistband of his jeans before they tip-toe into his pocket. Eddie forgets about swallowing up the flashing yellow dots in favour of stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless, leaving Pac-Man himself to be swarmed by the colourful Ghost Gang.

When it’s your turn again, Eddie ups the ante on distracting you now that the dam has broken. Warm breath and spiced praise whispered against your neck, ‘That’s it, good girl’ drag your mind into the gutter and soaks the gusset of your date-appropriate panties. Pressed close behind you, one hand on your hip and the other on the machine, the solid weight of him is the only thing stopping you from melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your fairly public foreplay ebbs and flows as you move through the games, shelved in favour of playful trash-talk during two-player Mario Kart and Crazy Taxi, back on again when you find the Addams Family pinball machine, distracting whispers and wandering hands, lingering touches. Everyone else is too distracted by flashing lights and having their own competitive fun to notice or care.

It’s not all flirtation (but it mostly is); there are sweet moments too and this feels so much more than a first date. You agree on the fact that Gomez and Morticia are relationship goals, and when Eddie spots a Dungeons & Dragons: Tower of Doom game you are flooded with cuteness aggression at his excited little gasp and boyish smile.

“I’ve only seen one of these once before. I can’t believe they have it,” he says, his body fizzing with excitement.

“You wanna play it? They might be done soon..?”

Eddie eyes up the three players holding court at the machine, deep in gameplay. It makes him feel fond, reminds him to arrange something with the Hellfire guys sometime soon.

“They’re in it for the long haul, I think. Anyway, I’ll be here all night if I start,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t know they had this. Fuckin’ cool.”

“Well, if they move off you can show me, yeah?” His smile widens and he is barely holding on to reality, utter disbelief that you’re real and you care about his interests.

Eddie lifts his phone out of his pocket and aims to snap a picture to send to the guys.

”Hey. Stand in,” you insist. “Show off with your bounty.”

He brushes aside the whisper of embarrassment and hands over his phone. You snap a few pictures of him, beer in one hand and the other firing the devil horns, he sticks his tongue out for one. You catch another of him smiling wide (more at you than posing for the picture).

“Much cuter than a guy holding a fish he just caught,” you tease.

“Me? Cute. Psh, get outta here.”

He thumbs through the photos, struck with some sort of nostalgia at how he can see more of his younger self after an evening with you than he has in a long time, despite the silver strands in his hair and his stubble and the lines around his eyes. He vows to send the pictures into the group chat tomorrow and tucks it away again so his attention is fully on you again.

Pulling you closer so he can kiss you, Eddie feels a little giddy about how easily these moments of affection have blossomed between you over the last few hours.

“Not as cute as you.” He does one more kiss on your nose.

“Hey. Let me compliment you, Eddie.”

He looks into your eyes, guided by your gentle fingers on his cheek.

“I mean it. I know it’s hard to, but I think you’re cute.” You can see him fighting a scoff, an eye roll, so you pinch his chin gently and wobble his head. “I can keep going. You’re fucking hot, and you’re funny and you’re so kind. I don’t know how you’re real.”

He cracks a smile, forces himself not to duck his head even though his shoes seem pretty interesting. He’s not used to this, having someone be sweet to him like you are, like you have been since you met.

“I’ll try to take the compliments, thank you,” he murmurs, melting a little when you smile, proud of him and a little proud of yourself too. “I promise I’m real.”

“Lucky me.”

You reward him, kissing him straight on the lips as positive reinforcement.

“Now I’m going to kick your cute ass at Mortal Kombat. It’s finally free.”

If you weren’t so down bad for him, Eddie’s delighted victory over you might be a turn-off.

Alas, you have a thing for nerds.

Back out on the street almost an hour later, he bounces on his feet and mimes poor imitations of the moves he had doled out as Raiden, beating you (as Kitana) fair and square.

Even when he’s playfully rubbing your face in it, promising he will go easier on you next time, you feel so far gone on him that it makes you ache. You have been carrying that pleasant tenderness in your chest and between your thighs all damn night.

Eddie’s glee is contagious, and you find yourself almost doubled over laughing at his antics as you head for the car. The cool air stings your too-warm cheeks as you walk hand-in-hand, your shared laughter ringing out and pulling attention from other pairs and groups bar-hopping and heading home for the night. The buzz from the cocktails has long passed, and yet you still feel a dizzying high from Eddie’s company.

Closer to the car, Eddie quietens down a little and squeezes your hand. “Tonight’s been great,” he says, smiling softly.

“I thought so too. You’re one hell of a date, Eddie. I’m glad we did this.”

Your meandering pace slows as you near the truck, coming to a stop around the passenger side.

“Me too, sweetheart.” Eddie ducks his gaze for a moment before looking back at you, you can feel his warmth and sincerity. “I meant what I said on New Year, when I called. I really want to keep seeing you this year. You… I really like you, and I don’t want to complicate what the girls have, but I want to try this with you. We can take it slow as you like.”

There is an edge of nervousness that you have not seen much of all night, glimpses here and there swiftly covered by a joke or flirtation. But under the silvery moon, Eddie’s showing you his heart.

Your own heart beats hard and fast in your chest, endeared and excited by him, by the future.

“I meant it too, Ed. I’d like that. I like you.”

His hands settle on your waist, and you instinctively drape your arms around his leather-clad shoulders.

“So I can take you out again sometime?”

“Mhm. You better.”

He smiles so widely that it’s almost impossible to kiss you like he wants to, messier and less coordinated but full of want and elation.

“M’a lucky guy,” he whispers.

The solid body of the truck is cool against your back, a stinging contrast to Eddie’s warm chest as you crowd up close to each other. His tongue swipes against the plush of your lower lip, asking for permission already granted. The quiet moan that sticks in his throat as your tongues brush together makes you throb with want. Between the truck and the breadth of his strong shoulders, you are a willing prisoner to lust and desire, wanting to touch and be touched.

Your brain feels scrambled, loose wires on the fritz, as you make out and touch each other like two teens on borrowed time. Adults on borrowed time, real life and its joys and mundanity looming again.

“Your place.”

Whispering breathlessly against his kiss-abused mouth, Eddie hums a quiet affirmative and can’t resist pulling your hips against his one more time before breaking the kiss.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah. Anything you want.”

He fumbles for his keys as your fingers trail down his shoulders, over his chest and down down down to his belt.

“Anything?”

Eddie nods, eyes fluttering shut as you cup him through his jeans.

“Anything. Everything.”

He manages to unlock the car, a feat of determination and multitasking as you play with him.

“I knew you were trouble.”

Even as he playfully chastises you, his hips push forward in an involuntary roll seeking more more more of your warm, teasing touches.

You kiss his lower lip, trail your mouth down the dark grown-out stubble on his jaw. “You like it.”

You don’t see how his eyes almost cross when you kiss his neck, graze your teeth along the tendon and soothe the sting with your sweet tongue.

“Fuck, I do.”

It is only when you hear other voices drifting through the almost empty lot that you manage to tear yourself away from each other, your hands above the belt again. Eddie presses one last firm kiss to your mouth, like a promise; ‘this isn’t over and you’re so in for it’ without saying a word. He opens the car door, a little less gentlemanly about where he lets his hands wander as he helps you into the passenger seat this time.

You feel a little giddy as you catch him adjusting himself as he rounds the hood, catching your eye through the windshield.

“Minx,” he murmurs as he slips into the seat.

If you both did not have so much to lose, it would be a no-brainer to pull over to some shady lay-by and pick up where you had left off. But Eddie’s fresh bedsheets and the plum lace beneath your clothes deserve to be enjoyed.

At red lights, he leans over to steal a kiss, leaving you wanting more when it turns green. You try to get your own back, tracing the inner seam of his jeans with painted fingernails until he warns you to behave yourself. The denim feels too tight and tighter still when he catches the way you squeeze your thighs together at his firm words.

“Knew you were a real temptress beneath the flowers and sunshine.”

He had said that one night on the phone, and the memory of his velvety voice in your ear had been stashed away in your bedside drawer for lonely nights.

Now you had the real thing again, and you were going to savour it.

You had both checked your phones before leaving the arcade, making sure there were no calls or texts missed from Wayne or Claudia. No emergencies; you have until morning to enjoy each other.

It’s late, but not quite midnight, when he parks in his driveway on Birch Avenue. If any of his neighbours are up late enough to peer out of their curtains to see you hot-foot it hand in hand into the house, you don’t notice, nor do you care.

Eddie makes light work of the lock, clinging on to his composure until he can close and lock it behind you again, encasing you both in the bubble of his cosy home all over again. Something like relief floods your body as you take in the familiar sight of Eddie and Fae’s shoes by the door, the lived-in loveliness of their house.

And Eddie feels it too, he likes how you look in the low light of his front hallway - a little less put together than you had been when you left your house, perfectly unwound by the fun and flirtation of your evening together.

There is this pregnant pause, a bubble of easy silence as you both just take it all in. When you catch Eddie’s eye, catch him looking, you smile and pull him into you again as you rest back against the door.

Your lips meet in a slow kiss, much less frantic and boiling hot than before, and yet the press of Eddie’s leg between your thighs, bunching up your skirt, stokes the fire burning inside you. Like a slow match strike, you drag your hips and savour the pleasurable friction.

Eddie takes advantage of your slackened jaw and slides his tongue against yours, swallowing down the sweet noises you can’t keep a hold of as you pull him tighter against you.

His jacket is the first thing to go, pushed off his shoulders and down onto the floor. Your scarf follows, then your own jacket as you move blindly, as one, toward the stairs.

After almost falling on his ass at the first step, Eddie breaks the kiss to lead you up to his room. You could probably find your way, but keep holding his hand as he leads you into the lamp-lit haven of his bedroom.

His sheets are deep green this time; they look brand new and so soft. Before you can inspect them any further, Eddie’s hands are back on your hips.

“Y’okay?”

“Never better.”

Another smiling sweet kiss moves you closer to the bed. It yields beneath his weight and yours as you straddle his lap; all decorum about keeping your skirt unbunched and tidy has long gone. Wide ringed hands take advantage of the gathered-up fabric, encouraging the push-and-pull friction you both crave.

You feel him, solid and hot and straining against his denims. Since your hands wandered earlier in the night, you knew you wanted him in your mouth and nothing could change your mind.

Eddie chases your mouth when you pull back; his eyelids are heavy, lips wet and red. You watch his brows pinch as you get a hand on him again, see his jaw slacken and feel as his legs widen to give you all the space you need.

You find that spot on his neck again, the little nook that made him go almost crossed-eyed earlier, and soak in the breathy ‘fuck’ and the pulse and kick beneath your stroking fingers. Kissing lower, you pull gently at the neck of his fine knit charcoal sweater so you can nip Eddie’s collarbone, breathing in the musk of his cologne and the barely-there metallic tint of the chains around his neck.

There’s a gorgeous pink hue across his cheeks and nose when you look up at him again, a dopey smile that makes you feel fond and urges you to kiss him again. Just one and you move away, leaving him pouting, wanting more, feeling greedy. With his hand on himself, missing your touch, he can’t look away as you rid yourself of the skirt and top. The shape of you in your bra and tights and boots makes him feel crazy.

“Look at you. Pretty girl.”

He spies the shape and shadow of matching plum lace beneath your tights as the boots come off. You’re not even trying to be sexy, not trying to tease him as you remove each layer, but he feels wild with desire anyway.

Eddie is back on you once your tights have been dropped onto the pile of discarded clothes, his hands roaming over your hips and midriff, smearing wet kisses to your shoulders and chest. You feel his appreciation for the Third Love set (that had been long relegated to the back of your drawer) in the intensity of his gaze and the reverence of his touches.

If you’re brain could manage a coherent thought that’s not Eddie Eddie Eddie, you might realise that no one has ever desired you like this man. He’s not shy, nor is he coy or cocky about how he wants you; he just does.

There are more messy kisses as you work his belt and jeans open, broken only when Eddie whips his sweater off. You feel an almost Pavlovian throb between your thighs at the metallic clinks of buckle and button. In his black tank top and open jeans, low on his hips, with nothing to hide his straining briefs and bulked-up arms, your mouth waters.

You get stuck on his arms for a moment, the uncovered ink and firm muscles from his work hefting tyres and car parts all day. Giving in to impulse, you press wet kisses along the ‘one ring’ tattoo that wraps around his bicep and the cobweb that caps off his shoulder.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, bringing your mouths together again and getting his itchy hands back on you, the squish of your hips and the butter-soft lace.

“Take your pants off.”

You smile against his mouth when he moans, swearing quietly that you’re definitely trying to kill him.

“No, I just want to get my mouth on you,” you promise, finger-tipping along the band of his underwear.

“Jesus, that mouth.”

His smile is sunshine, cheeks dimpled and rosy as he pinches your face so your lips pucker for his kisses.

You won’t complain; kissing him has quickly become a top-five favourite thing to do, and you want as many as possible before you must part ways and go back to real life again in the morning.

“Off. Please.”

Eddie decides he might, for the first time in his life, start doing as he’s told - well, as long as you’re the one telling him. You, with your kiss-swollen lips and siren-eyes. He would do whatever you asked, and not simply because your hand is holding his cock.

His jeans come off, caught briefly by his still-on boots - that made you both laugh until you knelt between his legs to help untie his boots and free his ankles of tangled denim.

He’s half expecting you to come back up to him, even though you look so pretty between his thighs. Like a flower or a jewel or something else poetically beautiful and precious in between his hairy thighs, doodled in dark ink. Less poetically, he thinks you’re hotter than any adult film or fantasy he could come up with, even on his loneliest nights.

“You don’t have to…”

He wants you to (of course he wants you to) but doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything because he ate you out last time. Twice.

“I know. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to, Ed. Been thinking about it.”

And you had been. More than you thought possible, more than you ever had with any other man you had been with before.

Your cheeks are warm at your own admission, and Eddie’s are pink to match. Inside his head, he is whooping and cheering himself on. Being wanted, craved like this, is alien to him and he almost does not know what to do with himself.

“Can you pinch me real quick? I think I’m in some sorta dream or something.”

A quick graze of teeth against his inner thigh confirms that he is, in fact, awake and alive, and you are real and past ready to get your mouth on him. He is almost embarrassed by the noise that escapes his mouth - part moan, part hiss, part giggle - but right now he is simply too turned on to give a shit about playing it cool.

Not trying to stall, just to be considerate, Eddie passes you one of the extra pillows on his bed for your knees and gives you one more kiss before letting you do, at last, what you want to him.

In your cosy space between his knees, you take a moment to marvel at the thick bulge trapped in black boxer briefs. You know it’s pretty, remember the way it felt splitting you open when he pushed slowly inside. Butterfly-gentle kisses weave your path up to the waistband and along the dark happy trail that guides you to your prize; the slight pudge to his belly makes your mouth water. You catch the hitch in Eddie’s breath when your nails bite briefly into the soft parts around his hips, dragging the briefs down out of sight and mind.

Just as nice as you remembered, the comedian in your brain wonders if there’s a lipstick to match the warm pink tip. If Eddie could muster the courage to look at you (he will, he just needs a sec), he might have caught the way you smiled at your own private joke. Instead, he feels your warm fingers and that smiling mouth against him before your tongue swirls just right.

He’s done for.

You can’t deny how that wrecked sound from him makes you throb between your legs. It only spurs you on though, taking him in your mouth. Hot and heavy and thick enough to make you slow down, not choke yourself too soon, you hold no regret for your fixated thoughts this week.

Eddie feels like a dumb seventeen-year-old again, not believing his luck that a pretty girl wants to do this with him and too horny-dumb to hold back his little noises or run his mouth.

“Oh fuck, yes.” His voice is wrecked-raspy; he grabs at the duvet, white-knuckled and trying his best to keep his hips still for you.

When he feels strong enough, brave enough, to look at you (fairly confident he won’t expire or embarrass himself), he is sure that you’re straight out of a fantasy or a dream. The slow and determined bob of your head and smudged mascara beneath your eyes, the stretch of him beneath your cheek, and your body wrapped in that maddeningly perfect plum lace.

When you look up at him, teetering on that line of too much, too deep, he’s already looking at you. Eddie looks utterly fucked; pink cheeks and flushed chest, wild hair and lips almost bruised from his own teeth.

You’re fairly sure that it is your own involuntary moan that makes him gasp ‘fuck!’ in that wrecked way. Eddie forgets about keeping his hips still, thrusting forward to chase pleasure, enough to make you choke a little bit.

His fucked-out brain is a beat behind as you cough, spluttering as you pull back to catch your breath.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.”

Even when you promise him it’s fine, Eddie is reverent about how he wipes your tears.

You silence him with a quick kiss, covering his hands on your hot, damp cheeks as he holds you like a treasure.

“Ed, it’s fine.” You kiss him one more time, slower. “It’s fine.”

Before you can get back to it, Eddie grabs a kiss of his own, slow and long, and drops his head against yours.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

Both smiling again, you are certain that a man has never been so deserving of having his soul sucked out through his dick.

You would be honoured to be the one to do it.

Eddie catches the way your hips drag slightly against the pillow and almost bites through his lip. A little pressure takes the edge off, just right but not enough all at the same time; waiting can make it more fun. Every moment is fun with Eddie.

Before taking him in your mouth again, you coax his fingers away from nearly ripping the duvet and bring your joined hands to rest on his thigh. He is almost distracted by the sweetness of it until he feels your mouth again, all thoughts overridden by the velvety warmth of your tongue.

His murmured praise for you, the breathy little noises he cannot keep behind his lips, only spurs you on more. They turn you on more too.

When you have found the rhythm again, using your tongue and that sweet suction to make his eyes roll back, you lift your joined hands and guide him to hold your head.

“Fuuuck,” he breathes, husky and low.

He’s not pushy about it, does not change up anything you’re doing, but you both lean into that extra layer of trust that has opened up between you. If anything, he is even more giving with his praise for you, how good you’re making him feel and how pretty you look for him.

Eddie loves how he can feel that fluttering feeling when he tips against your throat, the snug heat of it; he soaks up the wet wrecked sounds and the sparkling tears on your cheeks until he feels too close too quickly.

“C’mere. Come up here to me.” His voice is just short of pleading; he needs to get his hands back on you, wants to make you feel good too.

“Everything okay?” you ask, hands on his thighs. The rough edge to your voice makes him tingle.

“Fuckin’ peachy. S’just…been awhile. Didn’t want to come yet.”

Kitten licking the tip again, a wet kiss to his belly, you feel a little devious. “Oh, good.”

Perched back on the bed and back in his lap, you cannot get enough of each other. Eddie is just about careful enough not to rip your lace when he gets his mouth on your chest, wet kisses and nipping teeth. The sound of your voice bouncing on the bedroom walls when he pushes your panties to the side to touch you bursts with relief, with desire for more. You feel his hardness throb against you at the sound of his name on your lips.

As quick and careful as you can manage, Eddie lays you out on his deep green bedsheets. He takes a mental snapshot of you, bra askew and eyes heavy-lidded, before resuming his kissing and touching.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your breast, “So fucking pretty.”

“Me or my tits?” You stroke your fingers through Eddie’s hair, smiling dreamily when he looks up at you.

“Both.”

He very pointedly kisses each one before nuzzling the warm space between, feeling your heart thumping beneath his lips. His mouth leaves wet little smooch-marks behind as he makes his way up to your lips again, sharing a few more smiling kisses as he reaches around on his bedside table for something to keep his hair out of his face.

You are painfully endeared by the triumphant little noise he makes when he finds it, and kiss him a little more about it, distracting his Boy Brain from the task at hand. Even though you are soaked for him, even though he is borderline painfully hard for you, there is this moment of total fondness for each other. Curtained in by dark curls, you are besotted by his pink glow and dimples.

Eddie shifts to kneel between your legs, winking at you before he flips his head back to gather and tie his hair up in an annoyingly perfect topknot. You are mesmerised by the flex and stretch of his arms, the light and shadow of his body in the golden lamplight. You wonder about summer, whether Eddie might wear his work coveralls tied at the waist to beat the heat of the shop. You hope so, and you can’t wait to see it; it makes your tummy flutter in a whole new way.

The drag of thick thigh muscle against your core brings you back to the here and now with the man in your daydreams. You chase the feeling, jaw slackened by how badly you need him to touch you.

Eddie can see it, and he likes how it looks on you. He wants to give you whatever you desire, everything you deserve.

His hands are not baby-soft; they are work-worn and guitar-string-scarred, but they are so gentle when he rolls your underwear down. They land somewhere amongst the rest of his and her's discarded clothes. Your bra is next, the last to go, forgotten until morning.

He looks perfect, his head framed by your thighs, cheek resting against the soft fat and muscle. He looks at home there, watching transfixed at how you open up for those gentle hands, hearing the pretty sounds you make for him. His stubble is the right side of rough as he murmurs to you.

“All this for me?” Eddie asks, watching for your reaction as his thumb glides over your swollen clit.

Even when your hips buck toward his touch, when your legs tremble as he dips the tip of his finger into you. It is all just enough for you to forget how to speak, play with his food while he’s waiting for an answer.

Another featherlight swipe makes you gasp, wringing out a whine he wants to record and listen to on a loop.

“Answer me, baby, please. Is this all mine?” he whispers.

Your answering nod is a weak thrash of your head; you are pinned under his gaze like a specimen behind glass, trapped in syrupy amber.

“Yeah. Please, Eddie.”

His answer smile is proud and lazy and lovely, all for you.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Thank you.”

You feel fit to implode, so tightly wound with need, and Eddie is about to unravel you - the anticipation is nearly too much.

“Lucky me.”

And then he is almost silent, and any noises he does make are drowned out by you.

His hands might be gentle, but his tongue is silk-soft and sure as he ice-cream-licks his way into you. As much as you had been thinking about getting your mouth on Eddie, his mind had wandered back to that morning between your legs more times than he could count. Now he is back there, a heavenly place, he has no ambition to leave despite how his hips press against the bed to seek relief. Right now, the sweet taste and the sweet sounds you make are enough.

One leg over his shoulder, the other splayed out to the side like a ragdoll, Eddie has you just how he wants you: open and wantonly taking all of the pleasure and good things you deserve. He takes his time with you, watches what you like, what makes you throb and keen and gush. He takes his work seriously.

His mouth is firm, wet, determined, unravelling you from the very core. If your brain was not so blissed-out, you might realise that you have never been so at ease and your thoughts so syrupy-slow. There’s a fleeting idea that he might be some kind of sex magician - it makes you smile lazily at the ceiling - but you are pulled out of your head by the careful stretch and push of two fingers and his honeyed tongue.

Between your thighs with the weight of your hand on his head, his mouth on your cunt, Eddie is fairly certain he could die happy here. He likes his life, loves it, but should an asteroid hit, he would feel fairly content with his life if these were his final moments. The zing of pleasure down his spine when you tug his curls makes him moan against you, slackening his aching jaw.

He can tell by the slushy-wet sound, the heightened pitch of your voice, that you’re coming close to your high. With a slight bend and press, a wet suck around your clit, you feel tears spill over as your orgasm blooms, his name on your lips.

It feels like you are floating, flying in free-fall with your back bowed in a wild arch from the intensity of it all.

Eddie thinks he might come on his nice new sheets at the sight of you, utterly consumed by pleasure, thighs like a vice around his head. Instead, he slows it all down; stills his fingers, but keeps them inside, and rests his cheek against the dough of your thigh, sucking ceased in place of lazy kisses as he watches your comedown.

“You still with me, sweetheart?”

You nod, hum a weak ‘mmhmn’ as your legs and tummy twitch with involuntary aftershocks of such an intense orgasm.

“Think I died.”

Eddie’s laugh is low, a little dirty, and you can feel his hot breath against your hip.

“Sorry.”

He’s not sorry.

You manage a lazy laugh, slow-blinking your eyes open as you reach out to him.

“C’mere.”

The long, warm line of Eddie slots against you, moulding himself against your ragdoll body. He kisses your shoulder, your neck, lets you guide him in for a slow kiss that is little more than two lazy mouths smiling against each other.

He is haloed by lamplight, curls spilling from his topknot. Eddie is so pretty, it makes your heart thud in a funny way.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

His dry fingers are gentle as they swipe away your tears, smudging away the spilled mascara before drawing a line up your nose with his and back down again for one more kiss.

“You’re a sex wizard.”

The words have left your lips and Eddie’s shaking with giddy laughter before you realise you have said them, orgasm-drunk and loose-lipped.

“You think so?” he wonders aloud, while inside his head he is wondering if you might want a spring wedding.

Cupping his cheek, you thumb over his pretty dimple. “Yeah.”

His eyes are sparkling, boyish and bright. “Magic mouth,” you tease.

Because he’s a menace, Eddie nips at you playfully and brings that magic mouth against yours for a kiss.

“You sure that orgasm didn’t knock a screw loose, sweetheart?”

He laughs when you shake your head, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“Been called a lot of names, but Magic Mouth Munson sounds good to me.”

Eddie’s voice his muffled against your neck, playful as he seeks out the scent of you beyond your perfume and shampoo.

“Who’s calling you names? Lemme at ‘em.”

Your voice has a gorgeous, giggly timbre that he wants to hear every day; he has heard most evenings when you’re a few miles apart, decompressing and downloading about your days, but it’s better in person.

Before Eddie can come back with something playful, his thoughts are derailed when you wrap your fingers around the length of him again.

“You could do damage with this thing, could poke someone’s eye out.”

“Yeah? Wanna do something about that?”

He’s impressed at how quickly he could come back with something quippy, or anything coherent at all, what with how you are stroking him long and slow, thumb tracing that thick vein.

You can hear the slight shake in his playful patter when you drag your fingers lower around the base. Another pretty noise spills from his lips when you roll his balls in your hand, feeling a little bad for neglecting them when they are so full and heavy.

“I really do,” you murmur, turning your head. The closeness is enough to coax him away from your neck for a kiss.

You can taste how much he wants you on his tongue; clarity comes slowly as you come back around from coming so intensely.

The shiny foil packet winks at you from the bedside table, pulled to the front while Eddie was rooting for a scrunchie. When you reach for it, he his treated to a face full of boob, and considers his untimely death again.

The huffing breath of his laugh against your chest tickles as much as it warms your heart. This is all so easy, so fun. You wish you had known him when you were younger, wish you had known how fun sex could be instead of something daunting. But you have tonight, and tomorrow morning too. He has this beautiful, half-dazed smile that makes your tummy twist and your heart thud faster.

Eddie gazes up at you, a nude vision sitting mermaid style on his bed. The condom in your hand glints like a jewel. He nods, leaning up on his elbows and stifling his dad-grunt at the effort of hauling himself to sit up next to you.

He used to dig at Wayne for those old man noises, how he pays the price.

“Damn, you’re perfect.”

Kissing again, Eddie cups your face like you are a treasure. That’s how he sees you, a pretty bloom amongst the weeds. You can feel it in his touch, how he kisses you, covets you. It feels like your world is tilting, making you dizzy. You both said you could take this slow, but you feel addicted to him already.

“How’d’you wanna do this?” he whispers, dipping his fingers back into the well of your body, working you up again.

Your breath hitches, thighs twitch to open yourself for him. Brain still soft scrambled, you don’t know what you want more; to have him fuck you into the mattress, hard and dirty from behind, or soft and slow and deep. You want it all, and all you can think about his how good his fingers feel, how good and wanted you have felt all night with him. It’s almost too much; you want it all, and you have so little time and…

“Hey, pretty thing.”

Behind the tendrils of hair that have fallen around his face, you see the creased pull of his brows and the shade of concern in his eyes. When he says your name, it sounds reverent, like a prayer.

“Where’d you go?”

Eddie searches for some hint on how he fucked up, tilts your ducked head up so he can see you fully.

Your sad smile makes his heart hurt.

“Talk to me. We can stop. It’s okay.”

The shift to pained horror at the suggestion startles him, and he’s relieved and confused all at the same time.

“Don’t want to stop, I promise.” You take a shaky breath and lean into his hand. “Just… I want you so bad, and I know we only have a little time together…”

Eddie shifts closer, winds his arms around you and holds you. Just holds you, his lips pressed to your head in a fierce kiss.

He feels relieved and heart-sore all at the same time. The truth that you could not just drop your normal lives and responsibilities to see each other was like a shadowy figure that had loomed in the corner, so easily ignored when you were lost in each other’s eyes or flirting hard over pinball, but always there.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand along your spine in soothing swathes of affection. “We still have time. And when we have to go back to real life, I wanna make time for you.”

You hug him tighter, eyes closed as you nod against his shoulder. “Want that too.”

Pulling back enough so you can look at him, reassure him with a kiss, you cover his hand on your cheek and let your foreheads rest together for a few moments.

A small voice in your head is screeching ‘too much, too fast’ but the all-over calm you feel with Eddie sweeps it away like a sure and steady tide.

“I get a little overwhelmed sometimes,” you whisper, saying what he already knows, what he has already seen.

“That’s okay,” he replies, simply getting it. You think this man has seen it all; he’s unfazed and capable, but you know by the way he squeezes you, a reassuring touch, that he gives a shit.

You kiss him again, the warm glow of want still burns, and even though his hardness has faltered out of worry, the feel of your body and the lick of your tongue against his slowly and surely makes the flames rise again.

It is a slow tumble back onto the sheets and pillows, hands gripping and groping with confidence and care, and the firm weight of his thigh between yours right where you like it. You feel his hardness, the leaking tip and hot throb, press against you and there is a blind and giggly reach-around for the lost condom.

Slow. Deep. You want to see him. There is time for it all, but right now you have your answer.

He looks up at you, in awe of you. Eddie feels like so much has grown between you over just a few hours - somehow still capable of coherent thought as he watches you rip the condom open and straddle his thighs.

The wait was worth it.

You take your time, slowly sinking yourself down and savouring the stretch of him inside you.

Eyes flutter, jaws slacken, brows pinch.

“Fuck.”

Said at the same time, breathy voices overlapping, he can feel a delicious pulse when you laugh.

“Jesus, fuck. Wait a sec before you move,” he begs, his hands resting heavy on your thighs as he gathers himself. He circles his thumbs along the silvery stretchmarks and whispers of cellulite, soothing himself and you.

It only makes you hotter for him, fonder too.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“You feel really big. Almost forgot.”

Eddie swears at the ceiling, eyes scrunched shut as you cover his hands on your legs. He can’t look at that blissful smile too long, like looking at the sun.

“You’re a fuckin’ vixen.”

It’s fun to mess with him, bringing back the playfulness alongside that tender vulnerability; it distracts you both from how serious you both feel about each other, how scared you both are inside about fucking this up when you could have been fucking each other all night.

Slowly, you lift and roll your hips, taking a moment to find what feels right for you both. Eddie watches you move atop him, that sensuous raise and roll of your body, the way your chest bounces and the ripple in your thighs when he fucks his hips up into you.

“Gimme a kiss,” he begs, a vision atop the deep green sheets with his crown of curls.

When you pitch forward, arms resting either side of his head, Eddie bends his knees and keeps himself snug inside of you as you moan against his lips. Wide hands come to rest on your ass, squeezing and jiggling to be playful and teasing. The stretch of him inside you, the way he glances against that spot inside you that is a haresbreath away from perfect has you wound tight again. So close to just right, but not quite. Your burning thighs are grateful for a break.

“I can help, baby,” he murmurs against your chin before catching your mouth in another messy kiss. “Please? Let me make you feel good.”

You feel empty when he slips out, but Eddie soothes your pouting lips with more kisses as you take his place on the bed.

“That’s it, my princess. Huh? You like being my princess?” he asks, crowding between your thighs to line himself up to push in.

He teases you, wrapped tip kissing your swollen clit until you answer him, and then rewards you with a slow push to the hilt that makes you howl.

“Oh fuh-fuck,” a strangled moan breaks from your throat and bounces around the room.

Eddie’s eyes fall closed, rocking himself into you steadily with one hand behind your knee to keep you spread open for him. He sneaks a glance at where your joined, the stretch and suck of your body around him, pulling him in.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, bracing himself on the mattress so he can kiss you again. “That’s my girl.”

The stretch feels the right side of too much as he rocks forward, finding a steady pace to make you both moan. Eddie lifts up a little, pressing your thigh back closer to your chest to open you up a little more, so he can fuck a little deeper and make sure you keep making those pretty noises.

You can see a dewy sheen to his skin as he pounds into you; this position works for him as much as it does for you. It’s not simply from fucking you into the mattress, rendering you into little more than a puddle of pleasure, but he is working hard to not come early and disappoint you - no mean feat when you are the picture of fucked-out, back arched, tits bouncing steadily as you moan for him.

When he dips to kiss you, taste his name on your lips, you feel him dragging against that spot you couldn’t quite reach. Eddie feels the bite of your nails on his ass as you pull him into you, gasping at the pleasure-pain and the voractity of your ragged voice.

“Oh fuck - oh! More, Eddie. Fuck!” you wail, wild for him.

He kisses his name off of your lips, holding back some animalistic roar of his own as he pushes you over the edge and feels you gush and squeeze around him.

“Yes, baby,” he breathes, fucking you through it and kissing your flushed face as he teters on a knife edge of his own. “That’s my good girl.” The spill of tears on your cheeks makes his heart ache and his dick throb.

He slows to a stop, following your lead as you slowly float back to earth.

“There she is,” he whispers, smiling as he strokes the dampness away. “Hi, pretty. You alright?”

“Mm, just...” You close your eyes again, smiling dreamily about how good you feel, and give a lazy ‘okay’ sign with your fingers that makes him laugh. “Never better.”

Eddie is careful when he deposits your legs back on the bed, easing out just a little so he can sit back and gaze at you for a minute while you gather yourself.

“Stop staring,” you murmur, giggle-voiced and feeling shy.

“I like looking at you.” You hear his smile before you see it, peeking one eye open.

Eddie tilts his head like he is considering a work of art. “Gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” Your quiet voice is teasing, back to your minxy-self after your sojourn to the stars, courtesy of his Munson Magic.

“Yeah. Really gorgeous. Most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

The warmth of his words and lazy drape of his body over yours, chest to chest so he can taste that lazy smile, is almost enough to overheat you.

“You okay to keep going?” he whispers, leaning his cheek against your hand.

“Yeah, m’good,” you promise, pressing a kiss to the dimple you are so enamored with.

He taps your thighs, strokes his fingers up and down and feels the goosebumps beneath them. “Like this, or do you wanna turn over?”

The overwhelm you felt earlier feels silly now, but you are too in the moment to let it take over again. He knows you like it from behind, remembers just how much you loved it the night you met.

“Mm, I’ll move. I feel like goo.”

“Sexy goo,” he purrs, swatting your hip playfully to make you giggle. “Very sexy goo.”

With his help, wide hands keeping you steady, you turn over and rest on your forearms, spreading your knees a little so he can admire the curve of your hips and the bow of your back.

“That okay?” you ask, sneaking a peek over your shoulder just as he rubs himself along your slit.

He can see your cheeky smile, barely concealed, but your eyes sparkle with mirth.

“Okay? Fuckin’ perfect.”

He bites his lip when you rock backward, seeking him out with a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Mm, put it i- ohh!”

Those dreamy eyes drift closed as he presses inside, fulfilling your wish and filling you up. There’s an extra little shove when he’s all the way in, making sure you know just how full you are before he finds his rhythm again, following the beat of slapped-together skin.

“Good? That feel better?”

He can feel you fluttering around him, he sees how you are gripping the pillow by your head and feels your hot slick drip down to his balls.

“So good,” you nod, rocking your hips in time with his. It is no put-on performance, he knows you are not simply inflating his ego with your praise. “Eddie, please. Harder.”

Heart aflutter, Eddie squeezes your waist and pulls you back onto him, harder and deeper like you wanted. “You got it, princess. I got ya.”

Head tipped back, jaw slack, Eddie almost misses when you snake a hand between your legs to touch yourself. The quick-circling tips of your fingers graze against him and he can hear your breathy little gasps against the sheets.

Your ass is sure to have the shape of his gripping fingers tomorrow, a visual reminder alongside that properly fucked feeling that will linger for a day or two. A babble-voiced chorus of ‘yes yes yes’ spills from your mouth as the knot of white-hot pleasure is pulled tighter and tighter with every stroke - your voice will be hoarse in the morning too, but you are too melted with pleasure to care.

All at once, you begin to fall apart and come hard as Eddie splits you open over and over and over. He watches you sob with pleasure into his pillow and feels his eyes roll back, his head following them as he swears up at the ceiling.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck,” he groans, barely clinging on to his composure as you fall apart for a third time. He keeps himself and check and slows enough to stay inside you as you slump further forward onto the sheets, bending forward to kiss along your shoulder and along your arm.

“Keep going,” you murmur, turning your head so he can press one of those wet kisses to your mouth. “Feel really good.”

You reach a hand out to the side, wrap your fingers around his wrists as he braces himself on top of you and starts thrusting again. Less coordinated now but it still feels amazing.

His breath huffs against your neck as you squeeze your walls around him, pulling more gorgeous groans and grunts from his mouth as he spills into you.

The weight of him along your back, both of you spent and sweaty and sated, feels perfect as you float on your shared high. Eddie gives himself a moment before kissing your shoulder again, easing himself up and out of you so he can deal with the condom.

You don’t see the proud little grin at his own reflection in the ensuite mirror, but you are wearing a dreamy smile when he comes back to lie with you and it makes his heart gallop.

Tangled together with your head on his chest, you listen to that thud thud thud that matches your own hammering heart.

“You okay?” he asks, nuzzling your head before crowning you with a kiss.

“Mmhm, more than okay. You okay?”

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart.”

Your head tilts back and you pout for a kiss, which turns into slow, lazy kisses until the sweat on your skin makes you both shiver. Soon, you will move to the shower, sharing the hot water and kisses against the chilly tiles until your laughter rings against the walls and Eddie’s low dirty chuckle makes your tummy swoop. He will share his clothes with you, find something in his drawers for you to sleep in - a tshirt or a hoodie over the soft cotton undies rolled in your purse for tomorrow - and fetch two glasses of water before he holds you beneath the covers and you both fight to stay awake, keep talking.

Tomorrow will come too soon, but for now, you stay tangled together and savour every moment.

It is a little before eleven when you knock on Henderson’s front door and hear Claudia and Hazel’s voices coming down the hallway to let you in.

Hazel almost bowls you over with the force of her hug, squeezing her arms around you as tight as she can. You dot a halo of smooches along her forehead and tune into her excited chatter about her sleepover with Miss Claudia.

The older woman smiles at you both, you and your Mini Me, feeling fondness that makes her miss her son.

When the door is closed behind you to keep the cold out and the cats in, she makes some tea for you both as Hazel gives you the full rundown of how she showed Claudia Inside Out and that next time she sleeps over, they will watch the second one.

Around the cosy kitchen table, you sip your tea and ask Claudia about her springtime trip to Boston to see Dustin and watch how gentle Hazel is with the two ragdoll cats.

Claudia says your name gently, bringing you back from being so besotted with your little girl and wondering how Eddie’s morning with Fae is going.

“Sorry. What did you say, Claudia?” You shoot her an apologetic smile and sip your tea.

“I was just saying how amazing Hazel is. I say it every time, but she’s the sweetest girl.” She squeezes your arm gently. “And she’s really settled in. Told me all about her friends at school and her playdate last weekend. Fae Munson. Another sweetie pie.”

Your attempt to temper your expression leaves you with a tea-scaled tongue and warm cheeks.

“Yeah. Fae has made her feel so welcome. They’re in the same grade and dance class. I’m sure she told you all about it. Two peas in a pod.”

Claudia squeezes your arm again, smiles warmly. “I know her Grandpa Wayne a long time. And my Dusty is great friends with her Dad, Eddie. He’s a good kid.”

Caught off guard, you can only nod.

Two hours ago, you had been cosy in his bed, drinking coffee and sharing a plate of buttery toast with Eddie after he had made you come again. You knew just how good he was. Less than an hour ago, you had kissed him goodbye in his car and thanked him for a magical night. You miss him now, your chest aches with it, but you have your nightly phone call to look forward to, another date to plan.

The older woman fills the silence that falls over the breakfast nook.

“If you need a babysitter any time, I’ll be here. Or if you need someone to lean on. I won’t pry, and I don’t gossip about my friends,” she says.

There is a wave of relief that pours over you, slowing down your hammering heart and worried thoughts.

“You look happy. You’ve got this really lovely glow about you lately. I’m so glad you’re settling in, you and Hazel.”

“Thank you, Claudia.” There’s a thick feeling in your throat and you blink a few times to clear your cloudy eyes. “I feel happy. I’m starting to feel at home here.”

Hazel shuffles back over to the table, presenting her cheeks to you for two kisses before twirling over to Claudia. Your heart swells at her sweetness, her softness.

“Miss Claudia, can I give the kitties a treat?” she asks, as Catrick Swayze and Luke Skypawker bump against your ankles, seeking some affection.

Their furry heads feel like silk beneath your fingertips as Claudia and Hazel fetch treats for them and you snap a picture of them to send to Eddie. Swayze makes himself comfy on your lap, watching Hazel with his wide blue eyes, waiting for his treat.

There’s already a message from him waiting for you; a picture, great minds.

It’s Eddie, a few years older than the girls are now, standing by a lake, holding a fish he had just caught under Wayne’s patient tutelage. You can see the edge of his thumb holding the frame, and if you squint, you can see the reflection of Eddie and his phone in the glass. You pinch and zoom to look at his proud smile directed up at his Uncle rather than whoever took the photo, his pink-sunburned nose and his scrawny arms holding aloft the big fish for the camera, and the too-big Judas Priest t-shirt.

That cuteness aggression floods back and you want to kick your feet and squeal like a tweenager right here, right now in Claudia Henderson’s kitchen. She’s pretending not to see that big smile on your face, how you try to hide it by biting your lips, but she thinks this happiness suits you.

After poring over the picture, you read the accompanying texts.

Still think I’m cuter than him? 👀 Be honest… x

You flash back to the night before, when you took the pictures of him in front of the D&D game, his bounty.

Cute then, cute now. Period. X

Two blue ticks pop up right away; he was waiting for you.

Damn, you like me or smth? 😘

Heart hammering, your thumb flies across the keyboard as the cat purrs in your lap.

Mmmmmaybe Call me later? x

Eddie’s typing right away, just as Hazel comes over to pet Swayze and feed him his treats.

“Mom, he loves you! Look!” she beams.

Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart x

Thank you thank you thank you for reading - I really hope you enjoyed this. I don’t think I’m done with Eddie, Reader, Hazel and Fae yet. I can’t promise when, I but there will be something more to this. Thank you again. Your comments, reblogs and likes are treasured and adored!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dad!eddie munson #singledad!eddie Munson #singledad!eddie munson x singlemom!reader #bangaveragefics #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #meet the parents

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tired-biscuit · 1 year ago

Note

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

#kiba x reader #kiba smut #naruto smut #biscuit fics #kiba inuzuka x reader #naruto x reader #cw breeding #cw monsterfucking #cw omegaverse #cw knotting #kinktober #kiba inuzuka

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