#he looks so Long and skinny here and well same
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oh hey y'all.
#wednesday 13#sunday shitposting#he looks so Long and skinny here and well same#the jack skellingtons of the world gotta go to wh smith too sometimes
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Hey Jade!!! I was just wondering if you could do a soulmate au with Spencer please? Maybe something along the lines of those cheesy ones like the first words are tattooed on or they have the same tattoo idk, whatever you u feel like 😊
—Spencer meets his soulmate. You’re as lovely as he’s always pictured. fem, 1.3k
Someone will love me one day.
Spencer must think it a thousand times. When he has to put his mom in the sanitarium and he feels more alone than he ever has in his life, he knows one day someone will love him anyways. When he gets called ugly, too skinny, nerd, dork, and a handful of words that are even worse, he knows one day someone will say the opposite. He won’t be alone forever.
He was two when they appeared, dark black cursive words tucked against his pulse. Spencer felt ugly nearly every day of his life, wrong and weird, but the words on his wrist have never changed, ‘You’re so handsome I can’t believe it’s you.’
One day someone’s gonna look at him and see handsome.
Today, he feels pretty good. He’s back home in Washington, D.C., the grocery store he loves is open again after a long reconstruction, and they had a bunch of fruit from South America that he’s never tried before. He carries a white plastic bag full of fruit, bread and cheese back to his apartment, each step in the sunshine, the kiss of it warming his cheeks. A busker plays music near the mouth of the subway station. Nobody has yet to scowl at him for being in the way.
He’s wondering what he forgot when he sees you. You’re smiling, the sun on your face and arms, which are strangely full. Books slide against your chest, but besides a little huff and a shift of your elbow, you don’t seem to notice the slim paperback working its way through the crowd in your arms. It drops down onto the sidewalk but you keep walking. You must be in a hurry.
Spencer darts forward to your dropped book, thumb under the title. Charlotte’s Web by E. B White. The spine is flaking and soft from use.
He should call out for you. You’re already getting too far away.
Spencer crosses the road and dives deeper into the city with you. Washington, D.C. isn’t without grandeur —it’s the capital of the USA— and so he finds himself surrounded by potted trees and stretches of well tended grass. School’s broken for the day, children weaving around on bikes and scooters or holding hands with their parents taking up altogether too much space. He loses you in the crowd.
Spencer stops in defeat.
Maybe if he puts the book back in your path you’ll see it on the way back.
He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Spencer keeps your book and starts to walk home. This isn’t how he’d usually get there, but he can manoeuvre around the park.
He keeps an eye out for you. Ridiculously, he’d thought about giving the book back to you and making you smile. He hasn’t talked to anyone who wasn’t a cashier in two days.
“Hi.”
Spencer looks down. “Hi,” he says, spooked by the little girl in front of him.
“Is that for the library?”
He shakes his head regretfully. “No, I– I found it. I’m trying to give it back.”
“Okie dokie. I never read that one before.”
“I’m sorry, it’s not my book to give away… Where’s your mom?”
The little girl points at a mom and a younger child playing on the grass near a circle of benches. There’s a huge dark cabinet with its doors skewed open in the middle, and when he squints he realises it’s full of books. “Oh, is that the library?” he asks.
“Yes!” the little girl insists.
“Okay, well, here’s what we’ll do,” he says, looking desperately for you, disappointed when he can’t see a sign of your nice blue shirt or your sunny smile, “let me go see if I can find the lady who dropped this book, and if she says it’s okay, I’ll keep it for you to have. But you can’t run off from your mom again. Deal?”
The girl grins, thick hair shiny in the sun. “Deal!” she says, running in a burst toward her mother, who startles when she realises she’d left in the first place.
Spencer creeps toward the library. He can’t leave the book here now, he’s promised he’ll try to find you.
You come around the back of the library cabinet with a smile. Free Library, the sign says. Take one if you want, leave one if you can.
You stop in your path when you see him. You smile again, you’re prettier for it, lovely with the sun on half your face, your slight squint. You open your mouth to speak.
Spencer beats you to it. “Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you,” he says, raising your copy of Charlotte’s Web to his chest. “You dropped one of your books.”
You take a half step back.
Spencer grimaces. “I promised a little girl I’d ask if she can have it, I’m so sorry. I get stuck and I don’t know how to say no.”
Your eyes flash down to your hands. “You’re so handsome,” you say, and Spencer’s heart stops dead in his chest, your lips shaping each word without measure and somehow the prettiest anyone’s ever looked as they move, “I can’t believe it’s you.”
His shoulders sag with a deep breath.
You raise your arm to show him the contrasting font laid against your pulse. Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you.
Spencer shows you his. You’re so handsome, I can’t believe it’s you.
“It’s you,” he says.
You press your hand to your mouth. “I was walking too fast, right? When I was a kid I thought if I made everybody chase me that eventually somebody would have to say it, but then it stuck, and I rush everywhere I go.” Your voice turns breathless. “But you’re the person who was supposed to catch up to me.”
He smiles softly. “I think so.”
“And I just told you you’re handsome. I’m sorry, I bet that was embarrassing to… carry around, all this time.”
“It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he says honestly.
“I didn’t think you’d be so pretty,” you explain.
“I knew you would be.”
You hold your hand out. He’s about to tell you he doesn’t shake but he finds he really wants to, and you’re not shaking his hand anyways, you’re holding it, looking at the cursive on his arm with a disbelief he echoes in his own smile. You rub the tip of your thumb over the word handsome.
“Do you like books?” he asks.
You nod distractedly. “I love them,” you murmur, looking up.
His entire arm is alive with tingles.
“Do you read much?” you ask.
Every word you trade with one another has this shy longing he’s never felt, like you’re desperate to know about one another but worried you aren’t allowed to ask. Spencer’s about to tell you all about it, how he’s always reading, how books have been with him through everything, but there’s a tug on his shirt that stops him.
“Hi,” the little girl says.
Spencer laughs. “Hi.”
“What did she say?” the little girl whispers.
Spencer looks to you for guidance.
“Of course you can have it. It’s an amazing book,” you say.
“Thank you!” she says, holding out her hands.
Spencer doesn’t mind handing it over. If she didn’t ask him for it earlier, he might’ve never had the courage to look for you. He could’ve left the book in the cabinet and turned around, but he didn’t. And now he’s met you.
You step into his side. “Did you– do you want to get coffee?” You peer down at the bag now slipped from his elbow down to his wrist. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Do you want to have a picnic with me?” he asks.
You nod for so long he has to laugh. “I’d love to,” you say, offering your open hand.
Spencer threads your fingers together. That one day he always dreamed of seems a lot closer than it did before.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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Step Daddy
"You really need to get over your stepdad man." My friend tells me, concerned.
"Look, I'll try this one last thing and if it doesn't work then I'll give it up." I respond. "Did you bring the sunglasses?"
"Yes, but just remember he's like 25 years older than you. He's probably not going to be into you, even after this." He says as he hands me a pair of old pilot shades.
I told him I could let it go, but I can't. I'm just putting all my eggs into this basket, the sunglasses. Apparently they're supposed to transform someone who wears them mentally and physically to match my type. He already is my type, but I guess I wouldn't mind him bulking up a bit and growing some hair. It would be sexy if he got more charming, but he's already charming as it is. I guess there's only one way to find out.
I wait on the living room couch watching tv. He always gets home from work at the same time, so I know he'll be here any minute. I sit and stare at my reflection in the glasses. Am I really ready to change this man's life so drastically. My friend said no one else would take notice of the change, so it'll be like nothing happened. As I'm thinking over it, I hear the roar of his engine from the driveway. I try to calm down, but I can feel my body vibrate from the nerves. The door flies open.
"Hey buddy, hows it goin?" He asks me with his hot southern accent.
"Not bad. By the way, I found these sunglasses lying around, and assumed they were yours." I try to play it cool as I lie to his face.
"Oh, thanks. But these aren't mine." He responds.
"Well you might as well keep em, they don't fit me anyway." I try to convince him to take them without seeming too pushy.
"Well alright, thanks kid." He swipes the glasses and throws them on.
That was easier than I thought. As soon as he put them on, he stopped moving. His jaw slacked as if there was not a thought running through his mind. It started slow, his button up started to look a little bit tighter. His once flat chest started to push against his shirt and the shape of a belly started to show. Then it started to speed up. His chest started to pulse, growing in size with each one. They grew until the button on his collar popped off, then another button popped, then another and another. His juicy pecs flopped down after being released from his shirt. His stomach was next. His midsection widened and his stomach grew into a respectable beer belly, straining against his shirt. It wasn't long before more buttons began to pop, until his shirt was completely open. His arms also looked like they doubled in size, filling out his sleeves with thick muscles.
Next his legs start to look like they're gonna burst out of his dress pants. I can hear the rips ripple through his pants as his thighs grow inside of them. His ass fills out all the space in his pants and proceeds to rip open his fly and snap his belt in half. I can tell his underwear is barely staying in one piece as a large bulge formed in between his legs.
Finally his face begins to change. His once skinny face fills out with fat, giving him a rounder look. I can see that hair is falling out of his hat until he is left completely bald under there. Though in return his clean shaven face grows a bushy beard. But the hair doesn't stop there. It continues down his chest and to his belly, and presumably the rest of his body. He finally regains control of his body. He sighs as he stretched out his arms and cracks his knuckles before looking right at me.
"Come here, son." He says in a deep buttery voice.
A shock travels through my spine as I think he might know what I've done to him.
"What'd I say boy!" He raises his voice.
I jump a bit before I walk closer to him. I realize how imposing he is up close. He must have gotten taller because he seems well over six feet tall now, and at least 250 pounds.
"Daddy had a stressful day, why don't you help him release some tension." He says as he pushes me to my knees.
I blush, this is everything I wanted from this, it just happened so much faster than I thought.
"Don't be shy, boy. This will be our little secret." He says as he pulls his underwear down.
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A friend, a mate, and all things in-between
18+ MDNI, fem!reader/werewolf!bsf!kiba
premise: after finding out the truth about the role you supposedly play in kiba’s life, you settle on a compromise of taking things slow and seeing where the wind takes you while you’re at it.
cw: monsterfucking, knotting, implied breeding, mounting, size difference, omegaverse themes, werewolf saliva used as aphrodisiac. college/modern AU, friends to lovers, established mating bond, jealousy, descriptions of a close call-cheating encounter in the past, usage of sweetheart and bunny as pet names for reader.
wc: 22.8k
find part one here!
———
On Saturday, Kiba takes you out for dinner, exactly like he’d promised.
The restaurant by the lake that you’ve decided to visit is quaint as much as it is familiar. The lighting is dim but warm, and the tables are clean even if some of the edges have been smoothed out with age and use. Pictures and framed newspaper articles cover the walls. All of them feature your little town in some way or another.
There’s a pleasant tune playing on the tiny, white speakers that are fixed in the corner. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard the song on the radio before. The easy-going notes resemble the elevator music you sometimes hear whenever you go shopping at the local mall and have to reach the garage underneath, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad, necessarily.
If you had to describe the place, it reminds you of a diner that’s gotten stuck in the past, that is if a diner was situated next to a lake and the modern aspects of it were entirely excluded, of course.
After all, there is a shiny new coffee machine sitting behind the counter, and the waitress is wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt instead of a uniform and rollerblades — the latter being a missed opportunity in your opinion.
But speaking of time; both yourself and Kiba used to come here all the time back when you were younger, even going so far back that your feet were left dangling in the air as soon as your butts had plopped onto the same plushy chairs you’re sitting in now. Making choices was easier back then — the only food you ordered had come from the kids menu.
You can still hear his, ‘Are ya gonna finish that?’ somewhere in the back of your mind.
As well as his mother’s immediate hiss of disapproval, ‘For goodness’ sake, boy, let the poor girl eat her food in peace! With the way you’re acting, people are gonna start thinking that I don’t feed you enough.’
In the beginning, you both ate here with your parents. Afterwards — when the soles of your sneakers were able to firmly touch the floor and Kiba had won the bet and got his driver’s license well before you did — it was mostly just the two of you.
But as you sit across from him at the table that’s situated right next to the window, and which you’ve personally favoured for years — you know that he prefers the one that’s in the corner — you come to realize that this date is different from all the previous ones that you’ve been on in this exact place with him.
Because unlike the rest, this one is actually for real.
And it shows, you think. In many ways, with the most obvious one being the fact that your best friend has tidied himself up rather nicely despite the high temperatures outside.
There are jeans instead of gym shorts on his strong legs, and clean shoes on his feet instead of the busted sneakers that he swears up and down are still holding on just fine. He’s even gone through the hassle of putting on a short-sleeved button-up with a pretty pattern that cleverly melds into the colour of the cotton if you’re looking closely enough — not that you are!
In classic Kiba fashion, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone; open just enough for the glint of a thin golden chain to catch your eye whenever he tilts his head to the side or stretches his neck.
You haven’t been staring at the piece of jewelry for long, wondering where or who he’d gotten it from, however you can still tell that there’s no pendant hanging off the necklace. No charm or initial either.
Good.
Wait, wait, wait… why is that good? Are you by any chance hoping that he’ll agree to wear yours because of it?
The thought succeeds in heating up your face with stress — a popular emotion this entire situation has been evoking as of late. Ever since he had admitted that you were his mate back in the tent, you’re still feeling the pressure of deciding if you actually want to be one.
And placing a mark like that on him, clasping your golden initial around his neck and consequently announcing that he’s your property now… It’d signal just that, now wouldn’t it?
Attempting to whisk away the dilemma that’s been plaguing your mind for the last couple of days, you force your eyes to dip from your best friend’s neck, down to the plate of half-eaten food that you’ve still got sitting in front of you.
Your grip on the fork is tight as you chew. The food is good, even if you can’t taste it all that much from how absent-minded you are.
In a mere instant, Kiba is leaning in to ask, “You okay?”
He’s always asking that as of late.
Are you all right?
Is everything okay?
Are you sure?
“Yeah.” The nod you give him is so stiff and fast that it comes across as unnatural instead of genuine. “I’m fine.”
You try to ignore the curious smile that curls his lips as he continues to watch you eat, undoubtedly inhaling the anxiety that riddles your scent in subtle waves now.
He’s learned that it intensifies whenever his foot accidentally touches yours underneath the table. That it doubles in strength whenever he looks you in the eyes for too long. Sometimes it even happens when he grins. Practically everything seems to be setting you off today.
You’re nervous, that much is clear. Are way up in your head about this entire thing just like you are with everything else that happens in your life. And while finding out that you’re basically a perfect biological match for your best friend is no small feat, the young werewolf’s opinion remains: you need to fucking relax.
With how hard you’re squeezing that fork, it’s making him fear that you’re trying to split it in half — an act that he definitely wouldn’t mind doing to you again.
Woah there, reel it back in, lover boy… Easy!
Willing himself to push the dirty thought away by thinking about the food he’s eating instead, Kiba swallows the bite of steak he’d just been chewing on with a small, albeit conflicted sigh.
The meat tastes rich despite the fact that it’s been served nearly raw — the bloodier, the better when it comes to dining with a werewolf, you suppose — however, he finds it hard to fully appreciate the meal when unlike his taste buds, his libido is far from appeased.
“Anyways.” He pauses to glide the tip of his tongue across his front teeth, further appreciating the savory taste that’s stuck there before he leans in slightly closer again. “You look really pretty tonight.”
Hearing his compliment, you look up from your plate; carefully eyeing him from underneath your lashes which you’ve taken the time to coat with a thin layer of mascara before leaving the house. It was a decision made solely for your own peace of mind.
Well, probably.
Taking a shallow breath now, you ask, “I do?”
“What kind of stupid question is that… ‘Course you’re pretty, bunny. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on,” he says, chuckling quietly and propping his cheek against one palm with such ease that it’s almost scary.
Watching you succumb further into yourself in response to his niceness is entertaining as hell, he can’t lie. You’re lost, vulnerable. If looks as sweet as the one that’s sitting on your face right now had the power to kill, he’d be proclaimed a dead man ages ago.
It compels him to add, “You’ve always been pretty to me.”
Messing with you or not, what he says now is the truth. Sticking by your side in the role of your best friend for so many years, Kiba has seen you be at your best as often as he’s experienced you at your worst, and has nonetheless always, always thought the exact same thing about you: that you’re perfect.
Perfect for him, that is.
Whether you’re wearing trendy skirts or hoodies so big that they entirely hide your shape, he still likes you all the same. Whether you’re walking around with freshly washed hair and with make-up on your face, or you’re still stumbling around because you’ve just woken up from a nap that has left you all disoriented and sweaty — to him there’s no difference as long as it’s you.
Part of it is the bond’s doing. It veils you with an appeal that draws him to you no matter what. However, whilst that may be the case, he thinks that the majority of his wild infatuation has to do with plain familiarity instead.
After all, it’s your heart that is his favourite thing about you, that much he’s positive about… Even if the shy little smile that you give him now could be considered quite the competitor.
And quite the competitor it is! Kiba’s eyes are practically glued to the wet-like sheen of your lip gloss when you slowly shake your head to chide a meek, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he inquires immediately with a grin of his own.
“Stop flirting,” you say, placing the fork back onto your plate with a soft clink. Crossing your legs underneath the table, your body language is trying its hardest to appear strict as you add, “We said we were going to take it slow, remember…? Or are you just playing dumb on purpose?”
“What’re you talking about; we are taking it slow,” he says, his tone a matter-of-fact one. “Actually, I doubt it can get much slower than this.”
Your lips purse in response. “Talking in a way that makes you sound like you’re trying to get into my pants does not mean slow, Kiba.”
“You’re not wearing any pants, though.” His gaze slips down to the light sundress you’ve put on for the night. It makes your tits look great, but he knows you wouldn’t be happy to hear that.
You snap your fingers in front of his nose, forcing him to avert his attention from your dress. “That’s besides the point and you know it.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He takes another bite of his food, then points his fork at you, seemingly in an accusatory type of way as he mutters, “I’m just saying… If we did it my way, I would’ve bent you over ages ago.”
“Can… Can you not?! God.” You fight to extinguish the heat that immediately begins to simmer on your cheeks, but it’s proving to be quite difficult. The warmth is so strong that it even manages to travel down to the base of your neck. “Just… be quiet for a second, okay?”
His upper lip twitches as his grin widens. “Why?”
“Just ‘cause!”
Kiba huffs a laugh at the slightly higher pitch that you speak in now, shoulders shaking the tiniest bit. He watches you clear your throat and readjust in your seat, and even goes as far as to drag his gaze from your face to your neck when you reach over to take a small sip of the cocktail you’ve ordered. It still sits on the table looking half-full; creating a prominent circle of moisture on the crispy white table cloth underneath.
The drink is colourful and summery. Even has a little paper umbrella on top. He had joked about how girly it looks earlier, but had secretly considered ordering the exact same thing just to see what the inside of your mouth must taste like. After some consideration, he’d ended up settling on a coke though.
He knows you’d nag him to no end about drinking when he’s the one who’s driving… even if alcohol doesn’t do shit when it comes to him.
Still, girly drink or not, the ice somewhat succeeds in cooling you off and poses a challenge to the sudden heat of bashfulness that threatens to sweep you off your feet. It’s like all your senses have gone acute all of a sudden.
The sigh you let out because of it is one of only partial relief.
“What’s the matter? You hot?” Kiba teases instantly, his voice dropping so dangerously low that you can almost feel it reverberate in your bones. “Hot and bothered?”
“Shut up,” you hiss before taking another sip, this time a larger one. You need it if you wish to endure this menace of a man.
“What’s in it for me?” the mentioned menace questions now, taunting you with that infuriating half-smile that he knows damn well provokes you immensely. He even goes as far as to wiggle his eyebrows as he gives his best effort to purr, “Does it make you feel things, mm? Makes you wanna— Hey!”
His taunting gets replaced with a huff of disapproval when you suddenly kick him in the shin, making the fork rattle atop your plate. The kick itself is nowhere near to being powerful enough to actually hurt him, considering his thick skin and the firm cords of muscle that hide underneath, but it does get the message across. Kind of.
“What’d you do that for?” A playful little pout sits on Kiba’s mouth now. It makes him look younger than he actually is; makes him resemble the kid that you spent all your time with back in high school, as well as all the years prior to that.
“Because it was well deserved, you dumbass,” you mumble, still staring at his face. A small, slightly less nervous chuckle bubbles up your throat when he bristles in answer. “Now be quiet and eat your dinner.”
Not even batting an eye, he blurts out, “I’d rather eat you, though.”
You give it your best shot to scowl at him even if the tease sparks heat somewhere inside your middle all over again. It’s the reason why your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to be when you say, “You’re hopeless, you know that? Actually hopeless.”
“Actually, I think I'm quite on my game tonight.” He gives you a wink, reaching for his fork again. “But you can keep tellin’ yourself that if it makes ya feel any better, sweetheart.”
He’s right.
It makes you sigh.
———
The rest of your first proper date with your best friend goes well. Scarily so.
In fact, neither of you picks up the phone during the entirety of it. The only exception is when you decide to stalk your old classmates from high school together and share a good laugh about some of the results you stumble upon.
“Oh shit, he’s actually completely bald… What the hell?”
“Called it! I fuckin’ called it!”
Your face hurts from laughing so much and with the initial nervousness gone, dinner goes smoothly. You end up sharing dessert and talking nearly until closing time — releasing the growingly impatient waitress from your clutches at long last and mumbling sheepish apologies along the way because of it.
To be honest, the entire outing isn’t much different from all the previous ones you’ve indulged in the exact same restaurant all those years ago.
However, you soon find out that that is because the change in your dynamic presents itself afterwards; when he turns to look you in the eye the second you sit in his car and asks you if you want to go to his place, despite the fact that it’s getting late and he doesn’t live with his mom anymore.
And you go. You nod your head yes and you fucking go. For what reason, you, yourself don’t know, but you might as well find out while you’re at it.
So around quarter to midnight, you arrive to the little apartment that Kiba calls his new home. It’s cozy and a little messy, though not to a degree that should cause concern. Otherwise, it’s lived in and definitely your standard guy apartment.
He shows you the kitchen, immediately rolling his eyes when your gaze lands onto the small pile of dishes in the sink — two cereal bowls and a mug that for some reason says ‘World’s Best Dad’ on it — and points you in the direction of the bathroom, his roommate’s bedroom, and finally, his own room, which you tell him you’ll take a look at some other time, preferably during the day and when you don’t have three sugary cocktails coursing your blood and clouding your better judgement.
You did say that you were going to take it slow, after all.
By the time he drags you into the living room, you let out a small gasp of joy when you come face to face with Akamaru, who lays curled up on the couch, depicting the epitome of comfort.
Scurrying to sit down next to the big pup and offering him your hand to sniff so that he can hopefully recognize you despite not seeing you in years, you begin to understand what Kiba had meant with the term ‘senior dog’ during your camping trip earlier.
Christ, he’s gotten so old.
“So, what do you think?” your best friend calls out from the hallway now. He’d gone there to hang up your jacket for you at first, but it seems like he’s also using the chance to turn off the lights as he goes.
…As well as to run off into his room to change his fancy clothes for a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a simple T-shirt. Typical.
“It’s a nice place. Pretty spacious.” You’re too busy petting Akamaru, pretending you aren’t interested in him when he throws himself onto the couch right next to you, even if your body tenses up just the tiniest bit at the closeness.
You’ve already fucked him, for crying out loud — several times in the span of one night. What are you acting so damn nervous for?
“But?” he mumbles, seemingly not noticing the subtle change in your body language as he crosses his ankles and flicks on the television.
“What do you mean but? There’s no but,” you chide in answer, still scratching the white canine behind the ears and really trying to put all your focus into the movement instead of the warmth of your best friend’s body that is slowly spilling into your side now.
The brown patches in Akamaru’s fur have gotten dull in colour with old age. His eyes look tired and he’s also nowhere as lively as he used to be, though he still puts in the effort to give you an appreciative little wag of his tail when your fingers dig into the sweet spot that you remember is hiding underneath his chin.
“There’s always a but with you,” Kiba insists, changing the channel yet again. He’s not paying attention to the TV, not really anyways, but he pretends that he does just so that you can breathe a little easier.
However, when you turn your head so that you can shoot him a glare for the sly remark, you catch him staring right back at you with that stupidly lovestruck smile playing on his lips.
Lowering your gaze, you try to act like it doesn’t cause butterflies to start fluttering inside your belly. Meanwhile, he tries to act like he can’t smell the sudden sweetness that the feeling evokes in your scent.
“Oh, fine.” You pause, ceasing the petting for a moment. “I suppose it could use a little bit of a woman’s touch here and there… And you definitely could’ve washed the dishes prior to inviting me, but that’s all.”
“For your information, I didn’t wash the dishes ‘cause it’s Kankuro’s turn to do ‘em,” he says. And grins. “And if the place really needs a woman’s touch as badly as you say it does, then you’re more than welcome to touch it all over.”
“Kankuro is your roommate, I take it?” you ask, choosing to skip over the thing he’s hinting at. The butterflies still continue to flutter, though.
“Yep,” Kiba replies, playing with the remote now. The symbol on the power button has long since faded out with use and it doesn’t surprise him really. Him and Kankuro had found the TV on Facebook Marketplace. Bought it so cheap that it felt like a steal.
You listen to the quiet click of claws as Akamaru slides off the couch and ventures down the hallway, aiming straight towards Kiba’s bedroom. He’s probably going to use the chance to hog up as much space on the bed as he possibly can before his owner can beat him to it. Smart dog.
“What’s he like?” you inquire. “This Kankuro guy?”
“He’s, you know… Kanks is just a regular dude as far as I’m concerned,” your best friend says, still staring at the remote. “Cleans up after himself and is good with Akamaru. He does that cosplayin’ shit from time to time, though… Paints his face for those anime conventions that you see online and stuff. It’s pretty dope.”
“Does he know about,” you trail off, making sure to lower your voice just in case, “you know… The whole howling at the moon thingy?”
“Fuck no.” Kiba shakes his head, his lips curling into a smile. “You, Hana and mom are still the only ones who know, but now I’m kind of starting to think that I should’ve kept it a family secret instead of telling your dorky ass about it… Howling at the moon thingy? What are ya; twelve?”
You stick your tongue out at him at the remark. He tries not to stare at it for too long.
“Say…” A couple of moments pass. Your gaze dips to your lap as you ask, “How come you never told Tamaki?”
The mention of his ex-girlfriend makes Kiba want to cringe. His smile falters, twitching downwards at the corners, but he forces it to remain at least semi-present despite the fact that you’re not looking at him. Either your hands must have become the most interesting thing in the world, or you’re ashamed for inquiring about his past relationships.
“Ah, you know,” he mutters after a short moment of silence. His tone sounds very distant out of the blue. “Just never found the right time for it, I suppose.”
You hum at his answer; just a little noise of acknowledgement. “You never found the time even after being with her for… several years?”
How could he, if it also meant having to explain that he was eternally tied to his best friend; the girl he’d always assured her that she shouldn’t be worried about?
Kiba gives a hard, obvious swallow, unable to stop his jaw from clenching a little. “Yeah.”
You pick at your nails, pretending there’s something underneath them in order to appear busy. “Do you miss her?”
“I, um… I think I used to, but I definitely don’t anymore.” He sees the dumbfounded look you give him now and scrubs a tired hand over his face. “I know it sounds awful when I put it like that, trust me, I know, but the bond between me and you doesn’t let me feel things like… that anymore. For other people, I mean. It’s just… It’s a bitch to explain.”
He had loved Tamaki. Perhaps he still does; in a way that would never be enough for her and that is considerably less than what she actually deserves, but after finally connecting with you, his mate, the mere thought of ever being intimate with someone else again repulses him greatly.
He’d tried to make it work. To give her what she’d desired, deserved. Every embrace, kiss, conversation, trip, and so much more. However, you’d always been right there, sitting in the back of his mind during it all. And now that he’d gotten the chance to place his mouth on yours, and had tasted you, had been inside you, he feels so fucking stupid for even attempting to do such a thing in the first place.
It’s either you or nobody.
“So, anyway… Cosplay, huh?” you ask randomly, clearly trying to brush the heavy topic away despite being the one who initiated it.
He blinks, slowly. “What about it?”
“You really think it’s cool?”
“Yes,” he snips all of a sudden. The change of tone makes you even more puzzled than you already are, especially when he adds, “Is it that hard to believe or somethin’?”
“Well… yeah,” you mumble while scratching your cheek. It’s a challenge to contain the surprise that tries to show on your face now; your eyebrows are insisting on rising up nearly to your hairline. “I mean, the Kiba I know would’ve straight up bullied a person like that.”
He blanches at your statement. “That was one time! I was just being honest with the poor suckers when I told them that carrying Yu-Gi-Oh! cards to school is the reason why they’re all still virgins… In fact, I was probably doing them a favour!”
“No,” you object. “You were being mean.”
“Then it’s a good thing that we’re not in high school anymore, I guess.” He flicks the remote onto a nearby pillow and crosses his arms behind his head before he says, “And just so you know, I’m not just some mean asshole that you constantly keep referring to me as. People can change. Myself included.”
“I didn’t–... I didn’t mean it like that,” you reply a bit too fast, feeling every blink your eyelids make. His gaze is unmoving from your face and it’s causing you to become hyper-aware of your body. “I know there’s more to you than just acting like a prick, come on. I wouldn’t be friends with you otherwise.”
He sighs in answer, his face tight. You do the same.
Awkwardness settles in.
“Uh,” you utter at some point, finally daring to look up at him again. “Want to tell me the reason why you like it, though?”
“Like what?” he asks dumbly.
“Cosplay.”
“Oh.” A brief second passes before he, at long last, chuckles. You’re relieved to see his shoulders sag a bit with it. “Well, if I’ve gotta pick one thing, I guess it’s ‘cause most of the chicks are dressed in those hot, skintight bodysuits?”
“Seriously?” A pang of jealousy resonates within you, but you do your best to repress it. It’s too early to be feeling all that. “That’s the best thing you can come up with? Girls in tight bodysuits?”
“No, I’m just messin’ with ya, hah…” He grins, but swallows thickly again and runs his fingers over the back of his head before he continues, “While those are nice, don’t get me wrong, I guess I really like it because it’s like Halloween, in a way?”
“Halloween?” you repeat, even more confused.
“Yeah.” He gives you a nod that could almost come across as sheepish. “Someone can dress up as something that’s supposed to be big and scary, and when people see it, they aren’t… Well, they aren’t afraid of it, necessarily? Instead they just think it’s cool and fun, you know?”
Finally, Kiba tears his gaze from your face, allowing it to settle onto his lap instead. Silence stretches between you once more as you continue to stare at him. Your head tilts to the side just as his drops lower, and you make the decision to reach out so that you can gently pat his knee in understanding.
Your entire body begins to glow from within when his hand rests atop your own. He traces your knuckles and gives them a gentle squeeze. The sensation is truly something you haven’t had the chance to experience before with anyone other than your best friend. There’s just so much nostalgia hiding in the small portrayal of affection.
The tone of your voice slips into something soft because of it, so soft that it comes across as barely above a whisper even to his sensitive wolf hearing when you ask, “I take it that that someone is you, in your… other form?”
“What? No, I, uh… It’s not me.” He lets go of your hand to awkwardly clear his throat, trying to ignore the sudden ache that appears in it before he sits cross-legged and rests his elbows on his knees.
By the time he’s ready to speak again, he’s already fiddling with his fingers. “Besides, even if I actually wanted to go, I still couldn’t. I’m far too big for that. Far too… scary-lookin’.”
He wants to though, you can see it bright as day. Can see that he’s tired of hiding a whole other half of himself — a half that he’ll unfortunately have to keep hidden for as long as he lives. Tired of making excuses and being overly cautious when he’s the exact opposite of it, and missing out on important events whenever they’re set on days following up to a full moon. Tired of receiving weird, uncomfortable glances whenever instinct takes over and his true nature pushes forward a bit too far past the barriers, when all he yearns for is to be liked.
Just… fed up with it all.
However, you also know that Kiba hates being perceived as vulnerable. So rather than moping with him and indulging his sadness and thus worsening it, you instead use the chance to snort and playfully nudge him in the shoulder.
“Oh, yeah?” you say, making sure the lilt in your voice is overly noticeable. “Is that so?”
The nudge you give him makes him look up, as does the sudden change in your tone. At the sight of your friendly smile and the challenge simmering in your eyes, his expression eventually lightens to something a bit less stormy.
You’ll do just about anything to drag your best friend out of the bubble of melancholy that he’s surrounded himself with.
And the best thing about it? You know that he would’ve done the same for you.
“Yeah,” he says, playing along now, albeit reluctantly. He’s still not quite where you want him exactly, but you’re getting there.
“Well, how big and scary are we talking, big boy?” you continue to inquire, wiggling your eyebrows.
“I–” He snickers at your flirtatious prodding, rolling his eyes right afterwards. “Too big for anyone to handle,” he says, “and that includes you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Can he truly get that big? You’ve never had the chance to see him turn full wolf yet, so his statement causes your stomach to fill with warmth. Heat travels downwards, over your thighs and between your legs, and you swear that you can hear him inhale a breath that’s slightly deeper than usual when it happens.
The unannounced nerves are making you want to start pacing around the room, but you force your body to keep still.
“Well, you not believing me ain’t my problem, now is it?” he says, his smile suddenly wistful now. The light that comes from the TV makes his unnaturally big canines glimmer with moisture. It’s hard to not look at his mouth because of it.
Words slightly wobbly, you manage to say, “I’m your mate, though.”
Mate. He perks up at the word, just like he always does, but his voice doesn’t make him sound particularly fazed as he utters, “And?”
“And that makes me your problem,” you explain, finally daring to move so that you can scratch your cheek again. It’s nothing more but an attempt at self-soothing. “Doesn’t it?”
You’re unsure why you’re pushing on this specific topic — especially after being the one who had once again suggested taking things slow in the first place — however, to be fair, you’ve been curious about it for a long while, even before you’d tangled yourself into this whole ‘bonded for life’ mess.
But now that the link has been revealed, the desire to lay your eyes on the unthinkable has become as potent as ever.
There is just something so undeniably appealing about the idea of seeing him in his werewolf form. Something thrilling in discovering the unknown; touching it with your hands and grazing it with the tips of your fingers. Something reassuring in accepting all of him, especially after he’d just partially trusted you with his insecurities revolving around this specific topic.
So yes, it’s either that, or it’s the newly discovered monsterfucker that’s been hiding inside you this whole time that’s talking and coaxing him into showing himself now. Or perhaps it’s both. Who knows?
You try to feign indifference to the best of your capability as you wait for his answer, even if every single inch of you is buzzing with relentless expectation.
With bated breath that could very well match your own to perfection, Kiba inches ever so slightly closer, seemingly completely unintentionally. His gaze is laser-focused as he studies every feature that your face provides. The curve of your jaw, the shape of your lips, the colour of your eyes — he burns it all into memory before he at long last settles on the upper corner of your left cheek.
His burning stare causes your heart to pound faster than it normally would, and you know that he can hear it despite the fact that his ears are nowhere near your chest. Still, you insist on not moving a muscle. Insist on being brave.
“I’m too big for ya,” he says finally, gesturing over himself with his hand. “This is all you’re gonna get after you’re done playing the ‘takin’ it slow’ game with me.”
You bristle, clearly displeased with his answer. “But I’m–”
“It doesn’t work like that,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “Believe me, I wish it would, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re only human.”
“Humans can adapt! And being one, as you’ve so kindly pointed out, I’m pretty sure I can take it,” you object, heart still going thump, thump, thump! Something tells you that this isn’t just about cheering him up anymore. “Actually, I know I can.”
If he’s fucked you like a feral animal without transforming, how off the rails can he get if he doesn’t have anything holding him back anymore?
You tense up when he gives you a harsh, almost derisive kind of laugh. Sit straighter when he says, “I’d tear you to shreds.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“The point is that I could.” The corners of his mouth twitch downwards at the horrible thought. “And that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”
You roll your eyes. “Since when are you one to say no to taking risks?”
“Since last week,” he replies. “Give or take.”
“You mean…?” A quick wave of heat washes over your face again. You went camping last week and he’d slipped into rut whilst sharing a tent with you; accidentally confessing everything that’s tied him to you ever since he’d first laid eyes on you all those years ago.
He nods. “You’d be surprised how much being with a mate can change a wolf… I’m boring as fuck now.”
“But I don’t want you to change! I love you just the way you are,” you find yourself saying. The reason must be that last cocktail you persuaded yourself into ordering and eventually drinking. It’s untied your tongue like it’s nothing but a measly shoelace.
Nevertheless…
Love.
Kiba’s breath hitches at the word, deeply-rooted emotions swelling within his broad chest, however he — very painfully — chooses not to ask to hear it again as soon as the subtle whiff of anxiety wafts over to his nose.
You’re embarrassed because of what you’ve just said. It makes his chest squeeze to the brink of pain.
“I mean–” you start, fumbling with your words. “I–”
“It’s okay,” he says, patting your knee as casually as he’s able despite the fact that the smile he gives you now seems just a smidge too tight. “I know what you meant. Now stop making it awkward or I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
Hyper-sensitive — his touch lights your skin on fire. His palm barely moves from its initial spot, but you can feel every callus to adorn his fingers, every minuscule stroke, as well as the reassuring squeeze that makes you want to straight up jump his bones.
And fuck, it’s nice. So nice, in fact, that it persuades you to stop him when he goes to pull his hand off your leg.
“Wait… don’t.”
“Mm?”
“You can touch me.” The words roll off your tongue before you can reel them back in again, but you still decide to put on your bravest front even if your upper lip is a second away from quivering.
Short-lived surprise crosses Kiba’s face. You watch with nervous eyes as his hand falters before it eventually settles on its original spot again. He grasps it more firmly this time. Squeezes with intent instead of reassurance.
There’s a beat of unsure stillness in the air before he brings himself to ask, “Like that?”
You give him a nod, feeling a little more confident while also paying mind not to be so tense. There are so many things you have to keep track of; god, why can’t you just relax and be more like him? Everything has to be so darn complicated whenever it comes to you!
“Bunny,” he says, his tone still slightly unsure. “I thought I told you to stop making it awkward.”
Phantom lightning strikes your insides, melting them into liquid. “I’m not making it awkward.”
“‘Course you are. You’re completely stiff.” His grip tightens and it makes your eyes grow wide and your body turn even tenser in response.
His own eyes aren’t their usual chocolate brown shade when he lifts his gaze to look at you again, but they sure are dark as sin.
“See?” is all he says, a little out of breath.
“I’m not,” you insist, the sentence completely useless. Your throat feels terribly dry all of a sudden. It makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. “You’re just… imagining things.”
He quirks one brow. Repeats your challenge from earlier with the same tone, “Oh, yeah?”
You bite your lip — a lame attempt to refocus. “Yeah.”
But before you know it, he uses one hand to shove you until you’re laying flat on your back, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, causing you to let out a little noise of startlement.
His head pops into your field of vision as he hovers over you now. Aside from the light that comes from the TV, the room is shrouded in darkness. It makes only half of his face visible, however you can still see the glimmer of his teeth when he smiles down at you.
“You’re still sure about me imagining things?” he asks, clasping his fingers around the fat of your thigh. “‘Cause this is looking pretty real to me.”
“Y-yes,” you reply, challenging him further. “I’m sure.”
His grin turns wolfish as he drags his gaze over your somewhat disheveled form. Across both of your collarbones, now exposed due to the thin spaghetti straps of your dress slipping off your shoulders slightly, as well as the rising hem that’s slowly showing off more and more of your legs.
He’s looking at you like he’s planning to eat you. But rather than digging in, all he does is sneer as he says, “Brave words for someone who oddly resembles a plank right now.”
Well… that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.
“Fuck you,” you drawl in answer, a mere hint of disappointment crossing your features — disappointment you’ll never admit to feeling. Urging your body to relax once more just so that you can prove him wrong, you instead try to focus on calming down your breathing.
However, it’s hard to do so when your best friend is literally on top of you, watching you with hungry eyes and the most complacent of smiles. Hard to do so when his fingers are now toying with the string that ties the front of your dress together and holds your tits in place. Hard to do so when—
A small gasp escapes your lips when he jabs you in the side all of a sudden.
The bridge of your nose scrunches in annoyance. When you try to stop him from repeating the action, he just takes you by the wrist and uses the chance to pin it above your head. “Don’t do that.”
“Or what?” He huffs a laugh at your weak attempt to fight back. Pokes you in the side again, making you whine. “What are you gonna do ‘bout it, hmm?”
You don’t say anything as you squirm underneath him, trying to break free from his grip, but your efforts are to no avail. He’s got you locked in tight; has even made sure to pin your other hand the same way he did the first one when you tried to use it to push him in the chest.
“C’mon, bunny,” he taunts, his smile growing, growing, growing. Gosh, he really is such a wolf, isn’t he? “Is that really the best you can do?”
“No, it’s just not fair,” you say, trying to tame your pulse. The position you’ve wound up in is making your mind wander to all sorts of things. Dirty things.
“What’s not fair?” he asks, rubbing his thumb across your wrist.
“The fact that you’re so much stronger than me and expect me to throw you off like it’s nothing,” you mumble, huffing as you look up at the spot where he’s pressing down on your wrists. “I mean, how am I supposed to do anything, when you can hold me down with just one hand?”
The way his pupils widen with obvious excitement at your statement should concern you, but you know better than to think that he’d ever actually hurt you. It’s just the predator in him playing. A side he cannot stop from slipping into the spotlight every so often. A side he feels safe enough to share with you.
He likes being described as big and overpowering. Call it a guilty pleasure.
“Try using your legs,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with want. You can still distinguish the smile in it though. “I heard bunnies are supposed to have quite a kick to ‘em.”
“I’m not an actual bunny, shut up,” you fuss, but do exactly as he says. You kick your legs…
…and end up wrapping them around his waist instead.
Flustered warmth sears your face, neck and chest all over again as your ankles lock on the small of his back seemingly by their own accord. The skirt of your dress hikes up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs; offering him a glimpse of your cutesy underwear that you didn’t think twice about wearing because you weren’t planning on starting anything with him tonight.
And yet here you are.
The rise in temperature that you’re feeling all over blazes into something more profound now. Heat gathers in your stomach. Your legs. Between them, too. Anticipation tightens your skin, bringing the blood that runs underneath it to an angry simmer.
Kiba’s smile slowly fades when he senses the particular tension that now riddles the air around you. You stare at each other even if it’s hard for you and easy for him. For fuck’s sake, it feels like he’s burning holes into your fucking forehead when he looks at you like that.
“What is it?” you ask, nerves working overtime. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”
“You smell so fucking good when you’re turned on, did you know that?” he rasps in answer, completely ignoring your question and pitiful attempt at diffusing the situation. His nose is already leading him to that very tender spot hiding in the crook of your neck.
You flinch when he nudges your jawline, silently asking you for permission to give him more space. Not trusting the lump of nervosity that’s taken up residency inside your throat to not betray you all of a sudden, you allow it wordlessly and by angling your head slightly to the right.
“Your scent is so… I can smell how wet your cunt is even from here, god,” he trails off without an ounce of shame, every word lower and lower in tone. He takes another deep breath. Savours it with a soft groan. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”
Embarrassment flashes through you like lightning does a stormy sky. The realization that he can immediately pick up on the scent of your arousal — as well as the aftermath that the ability brings — is overwhelming.
It makes your heart thrum even faster than it did before. Consequently, your thoughts are now nothing more but a jumbled mess as you desperately attempt to tame your pulse back into a rhythm that’s normal instead of completely erratic.
But it’s not just you who’s having a hard time. The muscles in Kiba’s arms have gone completely stiff and his inhales are deep and audible instead of calm. He only pauses them to press cautious little kisses over your neck, most of which he eventually starts mixing with even smaller nips with the help of his teeth.
You’re pouring with sweat because of it. His apartment is warm, too warm even if it didn’t feel like that before, and his mouth is hot just like his tongue is as it repeatedly presses against your sweet spot. The action even causes goosebumps to appear all over your arms and legs. Great.
“Relax,” he mumbles, the tip of his nose practically smushed against your neck. “We’ve done this before.”
“What makes you think that we’ll do it again?” you hiss, fighting tooth and nail to appear authoritative. It doesn’t come off as strongly as you want it to, though.
“Call it a hunch,” he says, unable to resist a smirk. “Or whatever.”
Your lips remain a firm line. Unimpressed. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Sure am,” he trails off with a lazy grin as his fingers brush the side of your neck. He looks at you. And winks. “You can be too, if you wanna. Full of me, I mean.”
“N-no?! The hell,” you splutter out, squirming even more. Sly motherfucker, damn him. “I thought I told you-”
“Relax! C’mon,” he repeats, huffing another laugh. “You know damn well that I’m just fucking with you, sorry, messing… No need to lecture me all the time.”
You roll your eyes. “You say that as if you can actually be lectured in the first place.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Did it ever cross that naggy mind of yours that I don’t listen to you because I don’t want to, and not because I can’t?”
“Oh yeah, many times,” you reply, glaring at him. “Drives my naggy mind crazy.”
He muses like a satisfied cat at your statement. “You drive me crazy.”
“Stop hitting on me!” Your entire face scrunches up in annoyance. “Sweet talking isn’t gonna get you laid.”
“Then what will?” He drags his tongue along your pulse point. Blows air on the trail of saliva so that he can watch you writhe at the cold sensation to overcome you, then. “You want me to chase you around a lil’ bit first? Play a little game of prey versus predator with ya to get you to sit on my dick tonight?”
A small groan of agitation is the best you can do when it comes to answering his taunting.
“Or do you want me to really work for it, hmm, bunny?” His grip tightens around your wrists. As if to serve as a reminder. “Even though, judging by how you’re lookin’ right now, I could just take it all for myself either way?”
Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. “You wouldn’t.”
His upper lip curls, revealing those sharp canine teeth again. “Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t.”
But he could.
Still, your breaths continue to intermingle. Doubt gets overridden by lust. Hands explore; one pair of them courageous as it can be, the other perfectly timid in contrast. The former even uses that courage to hike the hem of your dress up to your waist, completely exposing your lower half amidst all the grinding and writhing that’s slowly, but surely, coming into fruition.
Kiba looks like he’s already won as he leers between your legs with that obnoxiously knowing glint in his eye and the equally as infuriating half-smile.
He seems to be aware that you’re trying your absolute hardest not to react to the obvious bulge that’s in his sweatpants now. That you’re trying to ignore the rushing thrill that surges through you whenever he presses it against your traitor of a cunt — which still hides under the plain cotton panties you apparently swore you wouldn’t let him see tonight.
So he pushes it against you again. And again. Applying pressure, rubbing, testing out the playing field, waiting for you to tell him to stop.
You don’t though. No, all you do is bite your lip in order to suppress the moan that’s impatiently waiting behind your clenched teeth and wiggle your hips whenever the hot contact strikes.
“Fuck, you’re so cute.” He can’t hide how entertained he is as he mumbles, “You want my cock? ‘Cause I’ll more than gladly give it to ya.”
A low hiss slips past your lips when his hard-on manages to bump your clit over the layers of clothes. It makes your brows furrow and your legs squeeze around his waist even tighter.
“I didn’t–” You pause to close your eyes and inhale a rather wobbly breath. By the time you open them again, he’s already staring right back. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, his own eyes flashing with what you think could be pride. “I can already tell from how fuckin’ soaked you are... Look.”
He reaches down between you then, running a single knuckle down your clothed slit. Your hips buck in answer to the touch almost immediately; the damp patch that’s formed on your underwear now turning more noticeable, shaping the outline of your pussy even further.
It makes him yearn to tug your panties to the side so that he can feel the slick coating his fingers before he can push them into your tight little hole, but he knows you’ll cause a fuss and close up on him if he moves even a smidge too quickly for your liking.
Still, the sight nearly makes him drool. His cock twitches. Starts to physically ache with need. It’s not as bad as it was during his rut last week, but fuck… this entire stage of foreplay and trying to lure you into pound town could be a close second, he can’t lie.
“Do you always get this wet whenever someone touches you,” he finds himself asking, “or is all of this just f’me?”
He hopes it’s the latter. Wants it so bad. The mere thought of someone else seeing you like this, touching you, spreading their scent all over you, claiming you, loving you… He’d let you go if you wanted to be with someone other than him, he’s told you so before, but that doesn’t mean that he’d be particularly happy about it.
Actually, he’d be quite miserable. Excruciatingly so.
You give him a pointed glare, face stern. He’s received the same look from you so many times over the years that he’s grown to love it, but you don’t fail to notice how his smile tightens with each passing moment that he waits for you to answer his question.
“Well?” he pushes, unable to resist. His eyes are getting more yellow by the second and his teeth are getting bigger. It makes his voice sound gruff as he says, “Who’s it for, bunny, mm?”
“I’m not telling you,” you say quietly, trying to make sense of all the emotions that are swelling up inside your chest now.
It’s a challenge to do so when they’ve been continuously swept under the rug for years on end and have only just recently been brought back into the open, though. When you’re unsure where your friendship stands. When you don’t even know if the love that your best friend feels for you is actually genuine, or if it’s just a thing that’s been forced forward solely because of the mating bond that eternally connects him to you.
You can’t help but wonder: would he still love you the same way he loves you now even if you weren’t his mate? If he were nothing more but a simple human, unable to connect with someone on such a deep biological level. Would he still fall for you — his best friend?
Or would he still be with his now ex-girlfriend, surely renting an apartment with her and exchanging doting glances and smiles during breakfast every morning, mind completely free from you the second you’d leave for college after every summer?
Would he even be your friend?
What if you’re just a burden to him?
“Hey.”
The sudden pinch that you receive to your left cheek tugs you out of your inner turmoil that has come to plague you all of a sudden.
Kiba’s eyebrows are cinched tight when you blink up at him. A small wrinkle of worry etches into his forehead and continues to deepen with the heavy silence to surround you. Even his jaw seems to be set firmly in place.
Instead of hot and bothered, he just looks plain worried now despite the gleam of sweat on his brow and the almost sex hair.
“Mm?” is all you decide to let out whilst rubbing your wrists that he’s since let go of.
“You okay?” he asks, choosing to stroke your cheek instead of pinching it this time around. The pads of his fingers are rough, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. “You’ve completely zoned out on me just now.”
“I’m fine,” you say, despite that your chest remains feeling unbearably tight. The urge to touch it as a means to console yourself is hard to suppress, however you’re well aware that it’d just cause him to worry even further. “Sorry.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you smell kind of sad all of a sudden,” he mumbles, wolf eyes still zeroing in on you. He’s following every minuscule movement you make and it’s unnerving. “And I don’t know about you, but that definitely ain’t a thing a dude would want his girl to feel when he’s planning on sinking balls deep into her.”
“Sad?” you repeat, ignoring the lewd comment even if it makes you feel tingly between your legs. His cock, albeit not as hard anymore, is still persistently pressing against your pussy.
“Yeah,” he says. “Kind of like rain.”
This fascinates you. Your expression lightens as a result. “You mean like petrichor?”
He gives you somewhat of a dumb look, biting the inside of his cheek. “What?”
“Never mind, it’s just something dorky we learned in school,” you say, chuckling faintly at the confused puzzlement that now sits on his face. “Forget I said anything.”
He doesn’t respond, so you sigh, running your palm over the side of your neck he’d just been kissing a moment prior. The skin there is still warm. Tender. It makes you shiver when your fingers graze it.
“C’mon, what’s wrong?” he mutters, still eyeing you just as intensely as before. “I can tell whenever something’s bothering you… Spit it out.”
“Nothing is bothering me, okay? Gosh,” you try to reassure him, but still turn your head to the side to stare at the television.
The movie he’d put on earlier is already halfway through and you doubt he has the option to rewind it. Oh, well.
Watching you dismiss the entire thing, Kiba looks like he’s about to fight you on it, surely getting ready to accuse you of being a liar like he’s had a habit of playfully doing in the past. However, just when his mouth pops open to say the words, you prevent him from doing so by pressing both of your palms on his front and gathering up his T-shirt between your fingers.
He stills only for a second before he starts to push out his chest at your touch, puffing up with male-like bravado as he goes. His shoulders square up. His eyes flash with that sublime yellow colour. And you might be imagining the whole thing at this point, but you swear that even his scent grows stronger in intensity.
The entire room is engulfed by that signature amber scent now. You peer up at him once more, mind slightly hazy and astounded.
But besides the astonishment, you also feel… soothed. Kind of.
Burden or no burden, he’s down bad for you all the same, isn’t he?
“What is it now?” he grumbles in answer to the wide look in your eyes. “You’re starin’ at me all weird-like again.”
You swallow the saliva that’s gathered in your mouth for what must be the millionth time tonight. It’s runny and thin, laced with adrenaline. “Are you courting me right now?”
“Huh?” His face twists into a look of pure confusion for a second time in a row.
“You’re pushing your chest out like a bird during one of those mating dances that you see on TV,” you explain, tugging on his T-shirt as if it’ll help you prove your point. “Are you trying to impress me or something?”
“Tsch… What? No... It’s just, ah… The fuck?” He blinks, shaking his head as if he’s trying to get his thoughts in order. His back hunches slightly with the action. You’ve caught him completely off guard.
You smile. “What is it, then?”
“It’s just my body reacting to a mate’s touch, damn… I told you about it in the woods last week, didn’t I? What’s with all the questions all of a sudden?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth once more, apparently unaffected by what you have to say, but also immediately draws back; causing distance until he’s lying between you and the backrest of the couch instead of on top of you.
You’re not aware of it, but he’s beginning to blush like a sucker after he realizes how that treacherously primal part of his brain had made him react just now — fully without his knowledge.
Trying to appear bigger and wooing you with his scent? What are you, animals? Besides, you aren’t even capable of distinguishing pheromones like he can, for fuck’s sake! What’s he doing all of this weird shit for?!
This time, heat continues to climb up Kiba’s neck instead of yours, and overtakes his entire face with such speed that it makes his cheeks itchy. Even the tips of his ears have turned hot to the touch. He feels like he’s on the verge of melting into a puddle of despair any second now.
Gosh, you must think he’s such a loser.
He doesn’t say anything else as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer until your back is pressed against his chest, feeling slightly relieved to not hear any protests from your side.
But to some extent, he’s not all that surprised. While you might be taking this entire thing slow, spooning is nothing new. You’ve done it even whilst you were both desperately trying to keep your friendship as something purely platonic instead of whatever it is now. So when you compare it to all the grinding that you did just now, this is angel city.
His voice is barely above a sheepish murmur as he says, “Whatever… Let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”
You don’t mention that the film is nearing its end and that you’ve already seen it in theaters a couple months ago with your friends from college. Nor the fact that you found his little portrayal of desire — as well as the feeling of embarrassment that followed it afterwards — outright adorable and that it helped ease your worries a little bit.
No, all you do is snuggle up closer to him and nod your head yes.
———
Summer passes by quickly when you’re reunited with your best friend again.
If you had to describe the last couple of months with one word, it’d be nostalgic. During the days when he’s off work and you’re not busy with your family, Kiba makes sure to take you on a trip down memory lane one way or another.
On some evenings, you drop by the small convenience store that you used to constantly occupy as kids, so that you can buy popsicles and then sit on a bench in the nearby park; taking turns licking the different flavours and talking late into the night, or at least until the artificial colouring has been wiped away from your tongues.
On particularly hot days, you drive to the lake where you’ve both been taught how to swim by your parents in order to cool off, and compete to see who's able to hold their breath the longest. He ends up being the winner almost every time, of course, and never misses the chance to rub it in your face.
You even still do shitty movie marathons, however this time they’re occasionally accompanied by Kiba’s roommate, Kankuro, who you’ve since learned is a pretty cool guy, despite his slightly odd obsession with purple face paint. He’s also the one who’d helped you bake Kiba’s birthday cake back in July.
All in all, things concerning your best friend have remained quite the same as they’ve always been. Well, most of them did.
There may have been a couple of changes here and there ever since you’ve learned you were his mate.
Some are pretty tame. For example, you can’t brush over the look of pure longing that appears in his eyes as he watches you lick a rogue droplet of sugar whenever you’re sucking on the popsicle he’d just handed you. Or the way his touch lingers on your shoulders and traces down your spine and hips when you ask him to help you apply sunscreen on your back after your swim.
But then there are some of the more twisted kind. Sometimes, whenever Kankuro can’t make it to your movie marathons, you also can’t ignore the way your best friend sighs and grunts and whispers the nastiest of profanities into the side of your neck as you sit on his lap and rub your clothed pussy against the hard-on in his pants.
It’s always done the same way. On his couch, in the dark, and never talked about afterwards since it tends to make you both agitated with even more lust. Your skirt is bunched up in his too-big hands — you’re always making sure they don’t go any farther than that because they try, oh boy, do they try — and there are zero kisses exchanged between you in order to keep things moving slow but still giving him the fix he needs so that he doesn’t slip into another unannounced rut, as he likes to call it.
So far, your compromise shows promise. Over the span of the last couple of weeks, there had only been one single occasion of actual skin on skin contact; when he’d somehow managed to distract you for long enough to pull your panties to the side and pull out his cock from the confines of his clothes without you being quick enough to stop him.
However, much to his — and secretly your own — misfortune, you’d been mewling his name and rubbing your pussy against him for a long while back then, consequently overstimulating him to great, almost unfair lengths in the process. The second his cockhead had gotten the chance to bump against your soaked entrance, he was not bound to last.
So he’d spilled everything he had with a sharp hiss and a frustrated “fuuuck” and just like that, you were safe from being pounded into oblivion once again — if you exclude the sticky, cloudy white mess splattering between your thighs, that is.
And that was that.
But now, with summer coming to a swift end and a new school year waiting right around the corner, the time has come for you to say goodbye to your best friend once again.
Kiba accompanies you to the airport and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug when it’s time for you to board your flight, his features unusually impassive during the entirety of it. He leans down to kiss your cheek, surely receiving curious glances from your parents with the act, and mumbles something about texting him when you land so that he knows you’re safe.
You do as he asks of you when you arrive to campus that day, even going as far as to send him a picture of your little student apartment that you share with two other roommates, jokingly calling it a dump. He reads your text message almost instantly, but his reply is curt. When you call him to say good night after you’ve finished unpacking your stuff and settling in, you barely recognize the sound of his voice.
“G’night,” he mutters. “Try not to be a dumbass on your first day.”
The jab is meant to be playful, but instead it comes across as void of any kind of emotion whatsoever. Flat and unlively. You can tell even if he desperately tries to cover it up with more teasing remarks and lame jokes.
It gets better over time, though. You’re well aware that he’s handling the distance way worse than any other regular human would, especially since he’s a semi-mated wolf now, so you try to keep him in the loop as often as you can. He, on the other hand, tries to give you space and keeps his more possessive side on a tight leash. His main priority is to make your friendship — or should you say situationship — work.
Speaking of his more possessive side, you’ve both made precautions to lessen the chance of the beast within him from going haywire. He makes sure to go completely off the grid during a full moon, and every so often, you mail him a T-shirt or two so that he still has a way of inhaling your scent and thus satisfying the urge to come seek you out. After the scent fades out, he sends your clothes back washed, but not ironed; typical for a man like him, before the cycle repeats itself again.
He’d once, jokingly, not so jokingly, texted you about sending him a pair of your panties instead, however all he got in response to that was an angry wall of text and a series of pissed off-looking emojis. He’d abandoned the idea soon after.
You do indulge him with phone sex from time to time, though. And while you do keep telling yourself that it’s done solely to keep him in-check, deep down, you know that that simply isn’t the case.
Because when the hour is late, Kiba likes to remind you just how badly he misses you in that warm, rich, confident voice that makes your back want to straight up arch from the bed. Likes to talk about all the things that he wants to do to you with zero hesitance — hesitance you wish you, yourself didn’t have — while he strokes his cock; all until you find yourself reaching into the drawer of your nightstand so that you can hurriedly press your trusty pink vibrator to your clit.
But it’s not just you who finds him hot — your roommates do, too. They’ve peered over your shoulder once or twice while you were FaceTiming him in the kitchen, fully clothed, of course, and have since been asking for regular updates on your so-called ‘boyfriend’, wondering when they’ll get to meet the guy who’s actually managed to swipe the rug from underneath your feet, in person.
And the answer is: on Halloween. They’ll meet him on Halloween.
———
Oddly enough, Kiba seems to fit right into the college party scene, despite never pursuing a degree of his own.
After successfully planning out his visit together, you realize that the frat house that you’ve dragged him to in order to celebrate this year’s Halloween in, is packed with people; some of them in costumes, while the rest have decided to go for a more casual approach.
Dressed in jeans, the same faded baseball cap that you saw him wearing back when you’d bumped into him in the grocery store at the beginning of summer, and a simple T-shirt and flannel combo, your best friend doesn’t particularly stand out amongst the latter.
He’d landed this morning, grinning tiredly and with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You nearly started bursting at the seams with joy the second you caught sight of him halfway across the airport. He wasn’t much better.
Hugging out all your emotions first, you then spent the entire day catching up, as well as healing the phantom wounds that the distance had caused. It was nice. So nice, in fact, that you’d almost forgotten how easy and complicated it was at the same time with him.
And now here you are. Together again.
Eyes glimmering with fondness, you watch as he leisurely chats with your friends who he’d already gotten to meet back at the apartment. As is expected for an extrovert like Kiba, he has no problem keeping up with the conversation.
His body language is relaxed even when he has to lie about wearing yellow contacts; swiftly feigning that it’s because he wants to keep the spirit of Halloween alive and because he, of course, couldn’t possibly have brought a full costume with him to the airport.
Meanwhile, you’re well aware that his reasoning couldn’t be farther from the truth. His eyes had shifted from their regular brown shade the second he’d caught you emerging from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and with a bunny ears headband sitting atop your head — a rather mediocre choice of a costume, but one that you knew he’d dig nonetheless.
“What, no heels?”
“Have you seen the floor of a frat house before?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to now, and then you’re going to understand why I chose normal girl shoes.”
While riddled with mischief at your answer, his eyes haven’t gone back to normal since.
And neither has he. No, instead he had spent a good twenty minutes scenting you in the privacy of your little bedroom; embracing you and running his rough hands up and down your arms and sides, touching your neck and face all over until you were almost late to the party and glittery highlighter coated every last one of his fingers.
“You do realize that normal people don’t have a heightened sense of smell like you do, right?” you’d grumbled by the fourth repetitive stroke, making a face when he even went as far as to lean in and start rubbing his cheek against your own. “Nobody is going to be like, ‘Woah, watch out! This one smells like werewolf property!’ if I get kidnapped or something.”
The laughter-like sound he’d let out had come across as terribly jeering. “You say that like anyone would even have a chance of forcibly taking you away from me.”
With a soft incline of your head, you had asked, “Wouldn’t they?”
“‘Course not, you silly bunny.” He’d looked you right in the eyes then, his pupils briefly thinning into feline-like slits, allowing the apex predator within to shine on through. “I’d rip out their throats with my teeth before they’d even get a chance to blink. Easy as pie.”
His gaze had been shiver-inducing. The words even more so. “But what if there would be like… ten of them?”
“I can take on ten people.”
“You can barely handle me whenever I’m in a lousy mood.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you don’t count, then.” The grin he’d given you in return had been sharp. Too sharp, despite the cutesy dimple digging into his cheek. Especially as he held your face between his palms and purred, “Also, you’re not my property, you’re my mate. It’s supposed to make us equals, so please try to act like one for my sake, yeah?”
And they said romance was dead.
“Yeah.” Attempting to not pay attention to the butterflies that were wildly fluttering in your stomach again, all you managed was, “Equals who are going to be late.”
“Shit.” His eyes got wide as saucers at that. He’d given one last stroke, one last squeeze, and had pressed a hasty kiss onto your forehead before saying, “Okay, I think I’m done... Ready when you are.”
You’re unsure if it’s placebo, but you think his scent still clings to you even two hours later, when the party is in full swing and you’re chatting away with one of your guy friends in the kitchen.
Besides said friend, there are only two other people in the room — none of which you can recognize, from the way they’re too busy eating face only a few meters away from you. Kiba, reluctant to leave your side despite your many reassurances, had somehow gotten dragged into a round of beer pong by a group of rowdy jocks.
Every so often, you can hear cheering coming from one of the rooms nearby. You don’t doubt that he’s acquired quite a crowd for himself already. His dream and your worst nightmare.
“So, what’s the deal with you and the dunce?”
Blinking at the sudden question that whisks away your brain fog, you look up from your plastic cup of cranberry juice that others have been using to mix their cheap vodka with. Not feeling like taking the risk of being hungover because of particularly shitty booze the next morning, you’d decided to stay sober tonight, hence the juice.
“Sorry, what?” you ask. “I wasn’t listening.”
Your friend, Shikamaru Nara is his name, looks at you with signature exasperation at having to repeat himself again.
“I was asking about your… friend,” he mutters after a brief pause, using the second chance of you not hearing the initial jab.
“Oh, you mean Kiba?” you say, bringing the cup up to your lips. “Yeah, what about him?”
“Are you hooking up with him?”
The sip of cranberry juice you’d just taken lodges itself into the back of your throat at the question. It hurts like a bitch as you fight to swallow it down, unable to resist squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation, however you manage to avoid sputtering and coughing yourself into embarrassment by the end of it.
Clearing your throat as discreetly as you can, your voice sounds slightly hoarse when you ask, “Why do you ask that?”
Shikamaru, without missing a beat, says, “I dunno, he just looks at you like he’s planning on eating you or something. It’s odd.”
You glance up at the man that’s leaning against the kitchen counter next to you, noticing how the whites of his eyes are red instead of as the name suggests. His pupils are so big and round and hazy that they remind you of a cat looking around in the dark. He seems to be so high that he doesn’t have a problem with saying whatever is on his mind.
Either that, or he simply doesn’t give a shit. Both are valid reasonings whenever it comes to him.
“Kiba’s just… protective,” you manage to say after a brief moment of thought, shoulders shrugging. “He’s been like that ever since I can remember.”
Shikamaru’s eyebrow raises at this piece of information. “Even when you were kids?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nod vehemently. “Back then, it was even more intense than it is now, I think. You should have seen him playing a friendly game of dodgeball when we were in high school.”
‘HEY! AIM THAT BALL AT HER HEAD AGAIN, AND I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL SMASH YOUR FUCKING TEETH IN NEXT, YOU LOUSY FUCK!’
The memory makes the corners of your lips curl upwards. You’re quick to hide the smile behind the rim of the cup.
“Hm.” Shikamaru hums, puffing out a tired sigh that you’ve had the pleasure of hearing countless of times ever since meeting him during your first year of college.
“What is it?” you inquire.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Just thinking.”
“You’re always doing that,” you say. “Thinking.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he answers, giving you a lazy grin that doesn’t seem to reach his dark brown eyes.
You huff a laugh at the tease. “And what is it that you’re thinking about with that brilliant brain of yours, Megamind?”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah.”
You turn to look at him, using the chance to drag your gaze over his side profile. Over his high cheekbones, as well as the sharp outline of his nose. The cigarette that’s tucked behind his ear. The slight wrinkle between his eyebrows that tells you he’s thinking very hard about something.
A couple of loose strands of dark brown hair have escaped his ponytail, framing his face in a way that flatters him greatly. Being so dark, they’re a perfect contrast to his creamy skin that’s so unlike Kiba’s sun-kissed one.
Come to think of it, they’re nothing alike. Shikamaru is lean in build despite being awfully lazy by nature, whereas Kiba packs muscle with hard work. He’s smart, rational, not at all prone to anger, and can sometimes come across as borderline aloof.
Besides a couple of other things, all he seems to care about is putting in the minimal amount of effort when it comes to getting by in school, so that he can achieve mediocre — but passable — grades, and thus has nothing left to worry about by the time the weekend rolls around and the bong comes out to play.
His tendency to be overly laid-back was the exact reason why you had decided to go out of your comfort zone and fool around with him last spring. With no strings attached, you’d fucked while still managing to remain friends afterwards. Besides that, he was such a perfect opposite to the man you’d left behind in your hometown, that it had almost been a, dare you say, refreshing experience.
But Kiba never did go fully away, now did he? Not even after you’d completely ghosted him and finally ceased stalking him on Instagram; trying to rid yourself of the sinking feeling in your chest that appeared whenever he posted a picture with his girlfriend at the time. Not even after you’d deleted the chat logs you shared with him on just about every app you could find, knowing you’d regret it afterwards. Not even when you’d left the pictures and other memories back at home, sealed away in a box underneath your bed.
You’d been sleeping with the deer while silently yearning for the wolf.
It’s why you broke the entire thing off with Shikamaru sometime after the New Year, aiming to rather try and move on solely by your own efforts — fresh start and everything. All whilst not knowing that you’d become a mate to your childhood best friend by the end of summer.
“Shika,” you utter, your gaze as soft as your voice. “I–”
“It’s okay. I think I got the gist of it,” he cuts in, staring at his shoes. “Whatever it is that you two have going on between you; it’s older than what we had. So, it’s more… fleshed out? From being best friends since kindergarten and stuff.”
“Yeah.” You sigh, angling your cup so that you can take the last sip of your drink. “I guess it is, when you say it like that.”
Shikamaru reaches out to wipe away the rogue droplet of cranberry juice that comes sliding down from the corner of your mouth, then. However, before his thumb can even make contact with your bottom lip, you’re quick to do it yourself.
“Am I interrupting somethin’?” a voice calls out from your left.
Kiba’s jaw is set and his eyes are hard when you turn to look at him. He stands in the middle of the doorway that leads into the hall; the light that’s shining behind his back obscuring most of his face from view, however you can still see that he forces his expression to remain fairly neutral as he begins to approach you.
Every step he takes towards you makes you feel like it could make the ground shake. It doesn’t of course, at least not in a physical kind of sense, but his anger is becoming so palpable the closer he gets that it very much could. For some reason, it’s even worse that he’s trying to hide how pissed he is.
After all, Kiba is prone to anger that resembles a wildfire — the kind that spreads quickly and consumes everything in its path. Once it’s started, it’s hard to make it fizzle out before it does too much damage. You just have to let it do its thing and pretend like everything is normal.
Burn, baby, burn!
“No,” you say when he reaches you, pretending like the entire ordeal doesn’t faze you at all, despite the fact that your heart is now pulsating wildly in your chest. “You aren’t.”
You’re well aware that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that doesn’t mean the others are safe.
He stands before you like a wall of muscle, emitting white-hot rage with every exhale. With how tense his shoulders have gotten, as well as the bulging vein in the side of his neck that’s surely there because of how harshly he’s gritting his teeth, he looks like he could crush someone to death.
However, his touch ends up being surprisingly tender when you allow him to grip you by the chin. You repress a relieved chuckle as he angles your head back slightly, making you realize that he’s touching the exact same spot Shikamaru would have if you’d let him. So possessive.
His brow furrows as he inspects you and his voice is rough as gravel as he says, “Why are your lips so red?”
“Cranberry juice,” you explain, pointing to the empty cup you’re still holding in your hand. “How did beer pong go?”
“It sucked ass,” he drawls, tugging on the brim of his hat with impatient fingers. The fireball of anger keeps on sizzling in the pit of his stomach. It makes his blood run hot. “The two dudes I went against were both so shit-faced that they could barely stand, much less score... I regret being sober.”
“Weren’t you drinking before, though?” Shikamaru asks all of a sudden.
Uh-oh. At the sound of the Nara’s voice, you watch as he slowly turns his head to the side in the same uncanny way a robot would have done.
Kiba looks the other man right in the eye, making a quick mental note to keep both of his arms glued to his sides in order to refrain himself from swinging just because he even had the balls to speak up while he was talking to you.
Jesus fucking Christ, since when did his temper get this short? He needs to work on it in the future or else it’s going to become a problem.
“Beer doesn’t do much for a guy like me,” he grits out after a brief moment of recollecting himself.
His tone is completely flat. Icy.
You stare at the muscle that keeps on fluttering in his cheek even if he’s trying his hardest to tame it. At how yellow his eyes have gotten, nearly glowing in the dimly-lit kitchen, threatening to ruin the ruse of being contacts. At the way his chest heaves; rising up and down in such a manner that it makes you fear he’s seconds away from pouncing.
Shikamaru, being the intelligent man that he is, must have come to the same conclusion, because now he pushes from the counter with an awkward bounce in his step as he says, “Well, I guess it’s time for my smoke break… If you’ll excuse me.”
Either that, or the more primal part of his brain is telling him to get the fuck out before it’s too late. It’s so bad that even the make out enthusiasts proceed to follow his example.
“Bye, Shika,” you utter quickly, giving your fellow classmate a small wave when he passes by. Meanwhile, Kiba only stares, probably drilling warning holes into the poor guy’s back all the way to the very end of the hall.
Alone in the kitchen at long last, your best friend allows himself to sigh as a means to relieve some tension. The muscles in his arms relax as he rests them on either side of you, successfully trapping you against the counter.
You don’t feel caged, though. That’s the important part.
Led by that comforting feeling, you place the cup onto the counter before reaching out to carefully stroke him over the chest. “You okay?”
“No,” he grumbles, trying not to preen right in front of you at the touch.
Your eyebrows draw together. “What’s wrong?”
His do, too. “You know damn well what’s wrong.”
“Enlighten me, please.”
“Not that it’s a you problem or anything…” He sighs again and this time the sound is way longer than earlier. “But I can’t leave ya alone for two seconds without someone immediately trying to sneak their way into your pants.”
“What?” The laugh you let out is a slightly incredulous one. “I know that you’re forced to see me in some kind of holy light because of the mating bond, but you’re seriously flattering me way too much with this one, Kiba.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” he says, his lips thinning into a firm line. “What do you think that the douchebag with the cig and the big-ass forehead was tryin’ to do just now? Ask you to join his debate club?”
You push aside the insult for now, making a note to prohibit him from saying it aloud whenever you’re in the company of others. “His name is Shikamaru.”
“I don’t care what his name is,” Kiba says, bristling. “All I know is that I could smell how hard his dick was getting around you from a mile away, and it made me-”
“Jealous?” you cut in.
He frowns. “I was gonna say grossed out, but sure.”
You giggle before biting your lip to stop the sound. “Come to think of it, that does sound pretty gross, you’re right.”
“Whatever.” He huffs, lowering his gaze. It’s not long before there’s an even deeper frown gracing his mouth.
“What is it now?” you ask.
“Nothing. Well… I just- Ugh.” He groans in frustration, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know I said that I’d always respect your decision when it came down to choosin’ between me or someone else, but I didn’t think it’d be this… hard.”
“What are you going on about?” You pry his hand away so that you can look him in the eyes. His pupils are nothing but slits. “I haven't made any kind of decision yet. Nothing happened.”
“Okay, but still… Seeing someone else trying to touch you like that, scenting it…” he says. “I thought I could handle it for your sake, but clearly that ain’t the case. I should’ve cooled off before trying to start shit, and yet I actively chose to behave like a dick instead.”
“Actually, I thought you did a pretty decent job at controlling your awfully jealous self. Give or take,” you console, giving him a playful wink. It only causes his brow to furrow further.
“That’s not the point. Jealousy might be all fun and games to regular people, but it’s different with me. I felt like I was seconds away from skinning the dude alive… And maybe eating him afterwards, I dunno,” he says, his expression turning even more troubled than before. “Bet he’d taste like shit, though.”
“Well… What matters is that you didn’t do that.” You pat his shoulders as a form of encouragement and quickly decide on not telling him about your history with Shikamaru just yet since you’re not particularly fond of the idea of having a body on your hands. “One step at a time, yeah?”
“I guess,” he mutters. Disappointment still continues to bubble in Kiba’s stomach. It brings forth a slightly bitter taste on his tongue.
You stare at him, raking your gaze over the great expanse of his shoulders, down to his forearms, which he’s got revealed due to the sleeves being rolled up to his elbows. Now that the initial anger has diminished from his face, he just looks plain miserable. Like a puppy that’s been soaked to the bone, despite that he’s far bigger than that.
“You wanna go home and cuddle it out?” you blurt out all of a sudden, tracing the tattoos on his left forearm with your index finger.
He peers up at you from underneath his lashes. Not wanting to come across as even more clingy or suffocating, all he utters is, “If that’s what you want.”
“I’m asking you.”
He looks down again, bright yellow eyes zeroing in on his shoes. If it weren’t so dark in this godforsaken kitchen, perhaps you would’ve noticed the subtle blush tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“I mean… If you really don’t wanna stay here,” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “Then, yeah. I suppose we could go back to yours and cuddle a little.”
You grin. “Look at you getting all mushy on me.”
Kiba gives you an eye roll. “Oh, shut up before I change my mind and just catch the first flight home.”
———
Despite initially not wanting to seem clingy, Kiba becomes exactly that after you both rinse off and clamber into bed that night.
In the dark, surrounded fully by your scent that lingers everywhere in your room, he feels safe enough to let his guard down; allowing himself to really dote on you properly — like he’s wanted to do for the last two months.
As a result, his arm is protectively slung over your waist, and his legs are entangled with yours as he spoons you. His hand is beneath your shirt, tracing soft, lazy circles over your stomach. There are no claws in sight.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he grumbles at some point, sighing with contentment and squeezing you even closer to him.
“Me too,” you admit, enjoying the close proximity. “Especially our dumb late night convos.”
You’ve been talking about everything and nothing in particular for the last hour or so; giggling and snickering like children and continuing on catching up, simply enjoying each other’s company. Just like old times.
Kiba clicks his tongue against his teeth in disagreement. “What d’you mean? They’re always dumb.”
“Well yeah, but that’s because they include you,” you tease, suppressing a tiny squeal when he pokes you in the side.
“As far as I know, it takes two to hold a conversation,” he fires back, squeezing your hip. “Unless you’re a nutcase, that is.”
“Hey, now… I talk to myself sometimes,” you say, turning your head to the side just enough to face him. “When I’m, like, thinking out loud and stuff.”
He quirks a brow at this. “Weirdo.”
“Pfsh.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “If anyone’s the weirdo here, then it’d be you, Mr. On all levels except physical, I am a wolf.”
“See, that doesn’t make any sense because I am a wolf on a physical level.” He drums his fingers against your skin playfully, hinting that he’ll maybe poke you in the side again. “Therefore, your joke sucks.”
“It’s still funny, though,” you protest. “And look at you, using your big boy words. Therefore. What’s gonna be next? Begging for a shilling?”
You watch as he smiles that wretched grin that shows off his dimple. His laugh is quiet, but it kindles a flame of affection inside your heart.
“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?” he says, still laughing.
“So I’ve been told, yeah,” you reply with a beaming smile of your own. His mood is contagious. “Multiple times.”
“Mm. I like it, though. This more confident, outgoing version of you.” After a brief moment of silence, he adds, “It makes me less worried.”
You ask, “Less worried about what?”
“If you’ll be able to stick up for yourself in case I’m not around,” he explains, not offering much more.
You blink as slight confusion begins to settle in. “And why wouldn’t you be around?”
“Well, you know,” he says, shrugging as a means to appear indifferent, but failing. “If you decide on being with someone other than me, then I guess there’d be no reason for me to stay in your life.”
“What do you mean there’d be no reason?” you say, frowning deeply now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re aware that the thing you say next is selfish, but you just can’t help it, “You’d still be my best friend… Wouldn’t that be enough?”
He smiles again, but this time it’s a little less beaming and a little more painful. “Bunny, of course it’d be enough. I’d spend my whole life trying to give ya the love that I think you deserve, even as just a friend. But let’s be real here… If I did that, it’d just cause… problems.”
“Problems?” you repeat, your voice hurt. “What kind of problems?”
“You’ve seen for yourself what happened tonight,” he says.
“Nothing happened tonight.” Quick frustration makes you groan. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that already, so why are we going over the same conversation again?”
“Exactly, nothing happened, but look at the way I still reacted to it,” he says, sighing out of exasperation instead of contentment this time around. “I was ready to go batshit crazy over nothing… How do you think I’m gonna react if we meet up and you’ve got your boyfriend’s scent all over ya? Who says I’m not gonna go and try to bite the guy’s head off?”
You stare at each other. The knot in your belly tightens at the way he looks at you; his eyes still burning with that striking yellow shade, despite the inner conflict that subdues it ever so slightly now.
“Do you think we were destined to be together?” you ask out of the blue.
Kiba gives you a look that tells you he’s starting to worry if you’ve gone a bit nuts. “What?”
“I mean, like, do you think that we had no say in this entire thing,” you attempt to explain lamely. “Or, well… that you had no say in it?”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” he says finally.
“Well, what would you call this thing between us, then?” you mumble. “I mean, isn’t a mating bond supposed to be just some kind of a wolfy version of it?”
“I- No, I don’t think so,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “I already told you that I approached you because of the bond at first, yeah… But over the years, I’m pretty sure that I’ve come to love you on purpose. Like, on my own terms.”
Your heart skips a beat. The world feels like it’s spinning all of a sudden.
“How can you tell the difference, though?” you croak out. “Between genuine love and the forced one that the bond is pushing on you?”
“Um… Because I’m willing to spend the rest of my life alone, fighting against the red string of fate or whatever the fuck you want to call it, if it means that you’ll be happy, I guess,” he whispers quietly, his expression suddenly thoughtful. “Come to think of it, it’d be like my own personal fuck you towards destiny, hah.”
There’s no one else beside you and him in the house right now — your roommates are still out partying and doing god knows what — but he says it like it’s a secret that he’s been keeping for years.
And you, well, you feel like crying. Like curling yourself into a little ball underneath the covers that you’re sharing with him at the moment, and simply sobbing your heart out until it’s leaking out of your chest.
But instead of that, you look at him. You reel the tears in as you really look at him, and you say, “All right.”
You’ve always been so cautious. So hesitant and unsure — nothing like him. Ever since he’d revealed the truth during that godforsaken camping trip, Kiba speaks of the love that he feels for you so openly.
Goddammit, he loves you. He actually loves you. Not because of the bond, not because you’re his perfect biological match, not because his instinct is telling him to do so.
No, he loves you because of the memories that you’ve made together. Because of the laughter that you’ve shared. Because of all the good and the bad and everything else that’s in-between.
He loves you because he wants to, not because he needs to.
“All right?” he repeats, studying your face. “What’s that supposed t’mean?”
“It means that I’m done taking it slow. I think,” you say, trying to stop your upper lip from twitching. Your body feels tense all over once again; you feel like you’ll start bursting at the seams because of the storm of emotions that’s brewing inside you. “For once in my life, I think that I’m choosing to go all in.”
Kiba’s heart begins to pound so hard that he can hear it ringing in his ears.
“You… You mean…?” he trails off, not even daring to finish the sentence.
“Yes,” you say as your breathing slightly quickens. “We can give this thing a try; properly this time. I-I mean, fuck it, right? We haven’t been just friends for a long while now, so what’s there to lose anyway?”
He smiles at that, and for a second it’s like you can see him again — your childhood best friend. Short and scrawny, but equipped with that brazen assurance that used to get him into all sorts of trouble.
“Yeah,” he says. His smile nearly grows from ear to ear. He feels like he could touch the sky at that very moment; unbridled joy is beginning to overcome him completely. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I, umm… I guess it’s time to admit that I’ve been crushing on you for years, then. Well, I think! I’m pretty sure I was always head over heels for you, even back in high school, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it too much because of… well, you know,” you trail off, still riding that high of confidence that allows every bit of truth to spill out of you now.
“So when we almost kissed before I left for college, I… I got scared. You were with Tamaki at the time, and I was leaving, and I thought you’d end up regretting it from the way it would surely mess up your whole relationship and our friendship.” You look at him, eyes apologetic. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like I did, but god… The entire thing was so messy, just chaos waiting to happen, and I was too big of a coward to deal with all that, especially after moving across the country and turning a new chapter in my life. And I’m well aware that it’s no excuse for what I did, but I just wanted you to know… the real reason behind it. And that I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have regretted it, though,” he says, his gaze softening. “If you’d kissed me back at mine that night, I would never have regretted it. My relationship with Tam was a fuckin’ bust either way.”
“I know that now, you dumbass!” You huff, eyebrows cinching with frustration and stress. “But what’s the use if I didn’t know it back then.”
“Bunny,” he coos, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Breathe.”
“Oh, shut up,” you fuss, pushing him in the chest. “I’m over here, pouring my heart out to you, and you’re basically telling me to calm down. Idiot.”
He snickers at your anger, thinking it’s so cute that it’s to die for. “Well, what do you want me to do, then?”
“I want-” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, chewing on it as shyness manages to creep up on you at long last. You don’t feel as confident as before when it comes to admitting to your desires out loud, so the only time you stop your incisor from digging deeper, is when you mumble, “I want you to kiss me.”
If Kiba’s gaze had been soft before, now it’s gone utterly sweet and gooey. It makes his lids drop very, very, very low on his eyes.
“Yeah?” is all he says.
“Yeah. But not like you did back at home,” you say, remembering the urgency and the forceful clash of teeth that he’d given you because of the rut that had been cooking his brain into mush at the time. “I want it done properly this time.”
“I can do that,” he says, chuckling quietly. “But don’t act like you didn’t enjoy our first kiss. I could smell how excited you got over it, remember?”
“Whatever,” you hiss, bunching up the front of his T-shirt into your fists. “Either you behave and kiss me like a gentleman, or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Hah, all right, all right! No need to threaten me, jeez,” he says. He’s still laughing as he caresses your cheek with one hand and angles your head so that he can do what you’re asking him for. “C’mere, you grouch… Let’s get smoochin’.”
“I hate you.”
“I thought you said you loved me.”
“I said I liked you, not-”
The rest of your sentence is broken off by a kiss.
Unlike the first time, it’s gentle. Perhaps you could even call it romantic. He cups your cheek instead of gripping it, and doesn’t become pushy; rather allowing you to take charge of the pace. There’s no tongue, only lip brushing against lip. Your breaths intermingle, to the point that you both start quietly panting in-between the short little pauses that you use for air.
Your stomach is doing backflips by the time he slowly pulls back to look at you. His eyes are not only yellow, they’re also ravenous, and they get even more intense when you reach out to comb your fingers through his hair.
The sudden yearning that swoops down upon him makes Kiba’s throat feel so dry that it’s like it’s burning from the inside out. It’s not quite the same as it was back during his rut, but he’s getting there. Oh, he’s getting there, all right.
“More?” he asks after the longest time of silence. His voice has turned completely hoarse.
“Mhmm, yeah,” you hum your approval, turning around to lay on your back. He instantly uses the chance to prop himself up with one elbow and drapes his upper half over you.
With his face only a couple of centimeters away from your own now, you end up nearly nose to nose. His golden chain dangles from his neck, the sleek metal occasionally cooling your skin in places that it comes in contact with. It causes you to giggle. He smiles when he leans in to kiss you again.
“Wait. I’ve got a question,” you mumble against his lips.
“Mhmm, spill,” he replies in-between kisses.
“I was thinking… Would it be… too much, if I maybe bought a golden initial of my name for you to wear?” you ask, gliding your finger along the piece of jewelry. “Like, as a not-so-secret birthday present for you next year?”
“Nah, I’d wear it,” he says simply. “Only if you wear mine, too, though.”
“Sure.” Your smile grows, little by little. “I’m in need of a new necklace anyway… Just nothing too flashy, okay?”
He snickers. “We’ll get you one of those big-ass golden dollar signs with the diamonds on top, all right?”
“Okay, yeah, that way I can always resell it.”
“Meanie.”
Your hands run through his hair for a second time as you proceed to explore each other’s mouths after months of nothing. They tug at the roots once or twice, making him grunt, before travelling down the nape of his neck and settling on his strong back. Nails grazing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, you nearly start to claw at it when his tongue touches your bottom lip.
Eventually, the kissing gets needier. More desperate. You part your lips for him and he takes his time dragging his tongue across the roof of your mouth, the flat of your teeth, tasting you fully and savouring the minty flavour of the toothpaste that you used earlier. So much saliva gets exchanged.
Besides that, there’s also phantom electricity sizzling across your skin when he carefully sinks one fang into your bottom lip and tugs on it. His caution is endearing and hot to die for, but it also feels like he’s edging you kind of. It takes you all the effort you can muster to not let a moan slip out.
What you do end up doing, however, is taking his hand and pushing it between your legs. Just like that, all by yourself.
And it’s warm there, between your legs — perhaps even a bit too much, Kiba thinks. He stiffens at your actions, hesitating only for a second before he cups your pussy right over the comfortable shorts that you wear to bed. Watches with semi-focused vision as your hips buck without any sort of doubt that would otherwise be common for you, searching for more friction despite the seam that is now pressing against your clit.
As you continue to rub yourself against the heel of his palm, more and more sweat begins to ooze out of your pores. You’re getting hot, so your hands work seemingly on their own to try and subdue the sudden rise in temperature as you curl your fingers around the hem of your T-shirt and hike it up — all until it’s touching the collar.
With your front now almost fully exposed, Kiba curses under his breath when the sweet, musky aroma of your arousal steadily begins to fill the room that you’re in. The door is closed and the windows are shut, so it hits him like a truck. His mind is getting foggier by the millisecond because of it.
“Something the matter?” you utter sweetly, honey dripping from every word. At this point, your chest has begun to heave with some untamed form of anticipation. You sound nothing like yourself.
“No, everything’s fine,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. Once again, he’s beginning to borderline drool, this time at the sight of your tits. It makes it hard to talk. “Just enjoyin’ the view.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that so?” You fondle your breasts, running your thumbs across the sensitive nipples, making a show for him just to rile him up further. Who knew you had it in you? “Wanna tell me just how much you’re enjoying it?”
Spit threatens to drip down the corner of his mouth. He sucks it back in the last second. “Bunny… What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing’s gotten into me? Well, not yet at least… But come on, tell me.” You continue your ministrations, testing his patience. “You love to talk, don’t you?”
“I love to show off more,” he says before he moves his hand from its spot between your legs just so that he can grab you by the wrist and make you touch him below his waistline. “Here... This is all ‘cause of you. Happy?”
You blink as he curls your fingers around the bulge that’s pressing against his boxers, wanting out. Let out a breathless, almost patronizing kind of laugh. “Fuck, you’re so hard… I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt.”
“It does hurt,” he says, voice incredibly strained now. His lips quiver slightly when you give him a stroke all on your own, without him having to ask or beg for it. It makes his mind shift to other things than whatever it is that’s making you behave this way. “I want you so bad; like, so fucking bad… You’re drivin’ me completely nuts.”
You smile at how honest he is. “Touch me and we’ll get there, okay?”
And he smirks, even if his teeth are getting bigger again from the way he’s slowly losing control, gradually affecting his speech. “Don’t hafta tell me twice.”
He kisses you again, but this time it’s harder than before and done in a way that mashes your lips against your teeth. When you open your mouth wider to ease the pressure, all he does is fill it with his tongue. He gets so pushy that you have to resort to tugging on his hair to make him relent.
“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, rather moving his hot mouth to your jawline and neck.
“It’s fine,” is all you manage to say before the grazing of sharp canines immediately shuts you up.
He moves fast after that, almost urgently, from how exhilarated he is to have you like this underneath him; only taking the time to get your T-shirt out of the way so that he can lick your collarbone next. You don’t even get a proper chance to react to it before he’s already dipping even lower to suck on your nipple instead.
“Ha-ah.” Your breathing stutters as you watch his nose smush against the fat of your breast. He’s swirling his tongue around the nipple, nipping it ever so gently from time to time and tugging on it with his lips.
Meanwhile, his hand has slid between your legs again. He’s running his knuckle up and down your slit the same exact way he’d done back at his place during the summer, making the seam of your pyjama shorts rub against your clit. The sensation makes your legs want to close up from the sensitivity that’s sparking there, but he makes sure you’re spread wide open for him at all times.
Eventually, he pops his mouth off your nipple only to begin paving a path of kisses down your stomach. And they’re audible, the kisses. He’s leaving little remnants of glimmering saliva on your skin as he goes, making your middle covered in it.
It’s almost fascinating how smoothly he moves for such a big guy. Before you know it, your shorts are tossed onto the floor right along with your panties, and your legs are propped on his shoulders, the heels of your feet digging into his back.
“Fuck, your pussy smells so good,” he rasps when there’s no barrier separating him from you anymore. He swallows hard at the scent of arousal that’s as strong as ever now, Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “It’s makin’ me drool… I can’t stop it, m’sorry. I know it’s gross.”
You want to hide your face into the pillow because of how timid his words are making you somewhere deep down inside, but instead all you do is arch your back when he noses his way between your thighs and presses a sloppy kiss there.
His tongue follows suit immediately afterwards and he wastes no time with licking your slit, nudging between your folds, groaning with satisfaction at the taste. Your hands dig into his hair in an instant, grabbing fistfuls when he suckles on your clit.
It’s all happening so fast but at the same time it doesn’t seem fast enough. Heat intensifies inside the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout your thighs, your legs, right to the very tips of your toes. You dig your heels deeper into his back, pull him closer by the hair so that you can receive more.
“Shit, fuck, oh, fuuuck,” you half-moan, half-whisper, borderline gasping for air when you feel his tongue push inside you. It’s longer than a normal human’s, slightly coarser too. It makes you wiggle your hips as you try to fuck yourself against his goddamn face in response.
You have no clue if there’s some secret chemical component in his saliva that’s making you act this feral, but you simply can’t stop writhing and moaning like a slut. What’s even worse is that he tongue-fucks you like his life depends on it. In and out, in and out, the occasional swipe up and down. It’s getting messier and messier, so sloppy that there’s surely a puddle forming on the bed sheet that you’re lying on currently.
And just when you thought you had it all, his tongue gets replaced by his fingers. You tense up, an alarming thought about his claws rushing through your dazed mind, however you’re quickly relieved to find out that they’re nowhere in sight.
They’re just normal, human fingernails on normal, human fingers. Reaching deep inside you. Fuck, reaching so deep inside you. Making you see stars behind closed eyelids. Stretching you and filling you at the same time, making you nearly jump out of your skin when they curl upwards and touch that especially tender spot.
The heat that’s swirling in your tummy worsens as a result — if that is even humanly possible. You feel it rising, feel your face scrunching up, feel your teeth gritting, feel your hips picking up pace, feel your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair again, tugging way more harshly than you otherwise would as your climax starts to approach fast.
“Gonna- I’m gonna-...!”
“Nuh-uh,” he says all of a sudden, turning his pace to something painfully laggard, to something that isn’t nearly as quick and fulfilling enough to make you cum. “You’re not gonna… Not yet, at least.”
It hurts, it physically hurts; that unsatisfied feeling that resides in the place where your pleasure should be by now. Especially when he purses his lips and allows a glob of spit to land directly onto your pussy, turning you practically slippery between your legs.
He pushes the spit in with the help of his fingers.
“Wha-?” Your eyes grow big as saucers, stinging with upcoming tears at his denial. He’s gotten you so worked up that you just can’t help but behave like a spoiled pillow princess now. Like a proper crybaby.
“What, hm? You gonna cry?” He sneers — surprisingly meanly — at the lost look that appears on your face now. Wiping his mouth against your thigh, he kisses it before he says, “Relax, you’re gonna cum… I just want your bunny cunt squeezin’ around my dick, not my fingers.”
“Then lemme sit on it…! C’mon, lemme ride you or something,” you cry out, voice cracking with urgency and desperation that even you, yourself, don’t recognize.
You push up from the bed with the help of your elbows so that you can clamber on top of him and ride him like the best cowgirl to ever live under the fucking sun, but all he does is press his hand into the middle of your chest and shoves you right back down onto the mattress.
For fuck’s sake, was this how he felt back when he’d begged you to help him find relief during his rut? Your body feels like it’ll drop dead any second now if you don’t get dicked down soon.
“No, you’ll hurt yourself if you do that ‘cause you ain’t stretched out enough yet. Besides, I’ve got a different idea anyway,” he says, reaching for the back of his T-shirt’s collar so that he can tug it off. “Turn onto your side.”
You stare at the rippling muscle, as well as at all the tattoos that run up his left arm to his shoulder. His hair is messy and his eyes almost glow in the dark. He’s buff, hairy, with sharp teeth and equally as keen-edged facial features.
In that exact moment, he looks like the embodiment of animalistic hunger. Either that, or it’s just straight up carnage if it were a person.
“Are you going to mount me?” you ask, guts squeezing with anticipation at the mere thought of it. “Like you did back in the woods? ‘Cause I really… enjoyed that last time.”
His brows rise, short-lived surprise crossing his face before he chuckles. “Hah… Later, okay? Gonna fuck you sideways first and stretch you out a lil’ so my cock can fit.”
While Kiba tugs down his underwear, you busy yourself with doing as you’re told. You lie onto your side, clenching and rubbing your thighs together with lewd suspense and bated breath. By the time he spoons you, finally completely naked himself, you’re already bending your legs at the knee, pushing your ass out for him.
“Somebody needs it bad, huh?” he taunts as he pulls you closer to his chest.
You’re in the same exact position as you were before all of this had started, the only difference is that you’re both naked now.
And, well, you’ve also got his cock sliding up and down your sticky pussy now. Got it smearing pre-cum and arousal and spit together, making you both groan out quiet noises of pleasure whenever the fat cockhead catches against your entrance, which feels like it’s fucking throbbing at this point.
He did something to you, didn’t he? He stuck his tongue fully inside your cunt for the first time instead of only licking and prodding it, and all of a sudden you’re forced to behave like a cat in heat.
“Kiba,” you whisper, breathing so fast that it’s almost frantic. You’re clawing at the sheets and rubbing your cheek against the pillow as you say, “Put it in... Fuck… Mmph, for the love of god, just put it in already…! I need your dick inside me.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying,” he mumbles, frustration making him bite the inside of his cheek. “But I gotta go slowly first so that I don’t rip ya to shreds, bunny... And you beggin’ me for it is not helping ‘cause it’s only making me want to do just that.”
“I don’t care about any of that, just… just put the tip in at least,” you mewl out between words, wiggling your hips, curling your toes. Turning your head to the side to look at him, you instead kiss him with the same forceful shove forward the second your eyes land on him. “Just the tip, yeah? Okay? Like we did it back in the tent.”
He stares at you, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together from how intensely he’s trying to keep himself in-check while also having to do the same exact thing for you as well now. He can smell your need, the sweat that coats your skin, the arousal. Can hear the heavy beating of your heart.
You’re both going to devour each other if one of you doesn’t have some self-control. So Kiba tries to be the one to have it, taking another long moment to grind against you before he finally lets his gaze slip from your nearly bewildered expression, and rather focuses it on guiding his cock straight into your cunt.
You arch against him when his cockhead spreads your folds apart and slowly makes its way inside. Jaw relaxing at the sensation of finally having something to ease all that painful throbbing that’s going on, you gasp for air almost in relief despite the pesky feeling of your pussy squeezing around the girth of his dick.
It’s already demanding more.
“Fuck, bunny,” he grunts, thrusting slowly, easing himself in. “What’s wrong with you…? You’re suckin’ me right in… Shit… Makin’ it real hard f’me to not push in all the way.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, just-... j-just keep going,” you whimper out, face turning hot when you feel slick dribbling down his length. He’s so big, perhaps even too big, but your cunt just keeps on taking more and more. It never seems to be enough.
Minutes pass and you’re gradually losing your sense of self right along with them. All you care about is having him inside you. So you fuck the tip first, then half of his cock, and afterwards — fucking finally — you start taking the whole thing.
And it feels good, relieving almost. He’s got his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling and drooling over the spot where your scent is the strongest as he holds your leg up for you and just slowly pounds away. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Meanwhile, you’re drooling all over the pillow as well, blindly reaching behind you to stroke his hair with twitching fingertips as your hips help him in meeting yours over and over again. Every time his fingers dig into the soft spot that’s underneath your knee, it makes you tighten up.
His cock twitches inside you when he buries it in to the hilt, really allowing himself to sink balls deep and making you do that cute little wince that wants to make him go batshit crazy. But instead of doing that, he steadies himself. Reels it back in. Tries to listen to your quick-paced heartbeat and even quicker breaths, despite that he’s paying attention to other things.
Because even if the sounds of skin slapping against skin aren’t that loud from how slowly he’s pushing into you, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t present. He can still hear them all. As well as the occasional gushy little noises that your pussy makes.
They make his balls tighten.
You don’t know how long you do this entire thing, but you orgasm three, three fucking times during it. To some it may be like a dream come true, however to you it’s exhausting. The overstimulation is wiping you out, and yet you keep pushing, keep asking for more, keep turning around to kiss him and whine out little pleas of ‘don’t stop, please don’t stop’.
The stretch stings, as does the spot on your neck where he sank his fangs earlier, but you welcome the overwhelming sensations with open arms. In fact, you’re so feral that you feel like you won’t survive the night if he doesn’t fuck and bite and squeeze this craving for pleasure out of you.
He does a pretty good job with it, though. With how wet you are, it’s fairly easy for Kiba to turn rougher; to turn more bestial and wild and relentless with every push and shove of his hips that he drills into yours. He even uses the vibe he’s had to listen to you pleasure yourself with over the phone these last couple of weeks, in order to help you with your little problem.
But you’re not just wet, you’re also insatiable — yes, that’s what you are! Constantly making noise and clawing at him like a little slut, looking at him with tearful eyes as the fever keeps on kicking you into the goddamn ground. So it’s only when he mounts you, aiming to fuck you like an animal, that you start feeling any sort of satisfaction that actually manages to stick.
He uses his weight to roll you onto your tummy, and pins you down by placing you in a headlock that has you gasping for air, but also has you cumming on the spot again. You’re pretty sure that it’s the sheer, utter strength and the size difference between your head and his arm that has you behaving this way now instead of the daze, but who knows?
“Already? Christ,” he pants out, his hot exhales tickling your naked shoulder. His entire body is slick with sweat — you’re pretty sure you saw it dripping down his temples earlier. It’s no wonder that the last couple of kisses you’ve exchanged tasted salty. “Who would’ve thought that a good girl like you likes to be fucked this nasty, huh?”
Your lips try to part so that you can answer his jab with one of your own, however your face is squished against his tattooed bicep, rendering that task nearly impossible. Besides that, he’s growling into your ear, crushing you with his weight, getting bigger and bigger, until he’s throbbing inside your cunt, making your voice useless either way.
“My lil’ mate,” he continues, seemingly in a daze himself. He’s whipped at this point, completely pussy drunk. “You are, right? Mine?”
You still can’t say anything other than choked up gibberish from how firmly he’s holding you, however you do make an effort to nod.
But it’s not like he waits for you to actually answer. No, all he does is start picking up speed; starts pounding away for real, eventually making you feel like he’s in your fucking guts each time he draws back and slams right back in.
“Nngh… I’m close, real fuckin’ close... Gimme one more and then I’m… I’m knotting ya, okay, sweetheart? Yeah?” he rasps between quick breaths, voice so hoarse and hot that it ignites a fire straight up inside your soul. “Jus’ one more and then we’re makin’ pups, ‘kay?”
That last sentence alone is enough to get you reaching your finish real fucking fast. Your eyes roll back, your ass pushes up so that he can reach even deeper inside you. His balls slap against your clit with every harsh, unforgiving thrust, and it’s like you’ve gone to heaven.
Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s got you trapped in a headlock. Besides it being the hottest thing that a guy has ever done to you in bed so far, it also ensures that you stay nice and quiet.
So it only takes you a minute or two to become undone underneath him because of all that’s happening. And the second you tighten around him — the strongest you’ve ever squeezed him tonight — his thrusting turns irregular and almost kind of jerky, picking up in speed more and more until he eventually reaches his climax and comes to a full stop.
Kiba grits his too-big teeth when he cums, spilling every last drop of his warm release inside you and closing his eyes during it. Every muscle in his body hurts from how overly tense he’d forced them to be whilst trying not to go too far since you’re so fragile. But as he wills himself to finally loosen up a little bit, he realizes that that hurts even more. The groan he lets out as a result can barely be registered as human.
But it’s not over just yet. You feel the now familiar, but equally as strange, sensation as his knot begins to swell inside you. The stretch builds up while it fills more and more space, pressing against your tender walls and causing your pussy to protest as it tries to accommodate all of him.
You’re stuck together once again, panting, sweating, trying to piece yourselves back into what you once were while also feeling completely, utterly fucked out.
His breathing is still heavy as he releases the headlock to ask, “What the fuck happened just now?”
“Oh, gosh.” You let out a small, muffled groan underneath him, fussing into the pillow, “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You acted like you were in heat,” he continues, concern shining in his yellow eyes. “Went all feral on me and shit.”
“I feel like I still am,” you say, whining when you feel his knot throbbing inside you in answer. “We’re probably gonna have to go for round two.”
“Fine by me.” He muses before a breathless snicker escapes him. “I’ll fuck you until sunrise if that’s what you want, baby.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t almost die from a heart attack just now.”
He grins from ear to ear. “Pussy so good it kills.”
You roll your eyes. “I wish it did.”
“All right, that’s it. You’re getting squished as punishment.”
“No, wait-”
Ignoring your protests, Kiba succumbs to the tiredness and drops his weight upon you exactly like he’d done the first time when he’d mounted you during the summer. However, before he can kiss you and shower you in praise for doing so well yet again, a small, sudden growl resonates from deep within his chest.
His sensitive wolf hearing picks up on the sound of keys jingling from the other side of the front door, as well as the drunken giggles and wheezing.
Your roommates are back. Great timing.
Looks like you’ll have to play it quiet.
———
Dating a werewolf is easier than expected, when said werewolf is also your best friend.
But even after being in a relationship with him for almost five years now — the last two of those spent living in an adorable little apartment together — you still can’t help but be fazed by how rough he ends up looking after every transformation.
Kiba’s shirt is torn in some places when he comes home the morning after he’d ventured out into the woods to cross off yet another full moon off his calendar. Besides the shirt, you also notice that his shoes are muddy and that his jeans are covered in dirt. Oh, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a twig poking out of his hair.
All in all, he looks absolutely dead-beat; so exhausted that he can’t even give you a proper smile as he kicks his sneakers off and drags his feet across the kitchen floor. When he finally plops down onto the chair he favours, it’s accompanied by a sigh.
You stand up from your own seat so that you can walk over and give him a kiss on the forehead. When you do, you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells earthy; like rich soil and wet moss. Like a rainy forest.
“Hungry?” you mumble against his tan skin, combing your fingers through his hair to get rid of the twig that’s definitely stuck in there. After a bit of effort, you succeed in pulling it out and make sure to toss it in the trash as you head for the fridge.
“Starvin’,” he answers behind you, his voice completely worn out. “My stomach hurts like a motherfucker from how empty it is.”
“Well, that’s your own fault, now isn’t it? If you’d transformed here like you did last time, I would’ve made sure you were fed throughout the night,” you chide, rummaging through the fridge to pick up the carton of eggs you’d bought the day before. “I even took a day off work because of it, and yet you still decided to go out there into the woods.”
“I gotta keep that dawg in me somehow, don’t I?” he says, laughing like a kid.
“You can keep that dawg in you while you’re lying on a warm couch instead of the cold, wet ground,” you reply, grabbing the eggs. “Bacon?”
“Yes, please,” he says, propping his cheek against one hand.
With his eyes back to their normal brown, Kiba watches you move across the kitchen that you’d built together over the course of an entire week after moving in. He’d boasted that he was entirely capable of doing it himself and had cancelled on the assembly guys without even as much as offering you the chance to argue back.
Nowadays, whenever he gets another similarly dumb idea, you use the kitchen as a firm example of the consequences that it may bring.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that you were trying to domesticate me,” he muses, feeling his stomach clench at the smell of food that’s beginning to sizzle on the pan now. “Or you just want to sit on my face when I’m in my monster form again. That’s also an option.”
God, he’s so hungry that it hurts.
“You’re lucky I don’t put you up for adoption just for saying that,” you say, tossing the egg shells away. With how fast embarrassment swoops in, twisting your expression into a flustered one, you’re happy that you’ve got your back turned towards him.
“What? You gonna tell me you didn't enjoy the stuff we did last month?” he asks, smirking at the memory. “‘Cause I seem to recall someone whining like a lil’ bitch in heat from only a couple flicks of tongue.”
He’s not wrong. Ever since he’d finally allowed you to see him in his other form a couple years ago, you’d been excited to experiment a little after the initial shock had worn off. So far, there’s been a lot of licking, plenty of dry humping and zero penetration whatsoever; if you exclude that one time when you tried to take him into your mouth but had ended up slobbering all over his dick instead.
He’s simply too big, and you’ve learned to accept it by now. Rubbing your pussy over the enormous length of his werewolf cock is all you can do, but it’s still satisfying either way. Especially when he cums because of how turned you are at the sight of him even when he’s fucking huge and equipped with sharp claws and teeth that could kill just as easily as they could protect. During those times, his release ends up covering your entire tummy and makes a mess out of his fur.
Nevertheless, Kiba feels so lucky that you’re willing to accept all of him. Feels like the luckiest man — or should he rather say wolf — to ever walk the face of the planet. It’s easier when he’s got a partner to lean on.
“Hey. Language,” you say, your voice stern.
“Sorry.” He lets out a soft little hum in apology that’s meant to appease you further. “I’ll stay home next month, okay? I promise.”
“You don’t have to,” you say, definitely wishing he did.
“I want to,” he says back.
When you go to place the plate before him, he pulls you down so that you can sit on his lap instead. After a little bit of squirming and whining about how he’s going to get your pyjama shorts dirty, you eventually settle down when he places his hand on your thigh and pats it affectionately.
“You sure you want to stay here next month?” you mumble. Watching your bare feet dangle freely in the air now, you stroke him over the back of his head with an absent-minded look in your eyes. “I don’t want you to feel cooped up just because of me.”
“Yes, because I can’t take another month of seeing you be so worried about me,” he says sweetly, grabbing the fork that you’d placed on the table earlier.
Your expression turns blank. “Who said I was worried about you?”
He gives you a look that spells bullshit.
“…Oh fine, maybe I did worry just the tiniest bit,” you huff, pursing your lips. “But can you blame me? I mean, look at the shape you’re in whenever you come back!”
“Yeah, I look cool as fuck,” he mumbles before swallowing, already munching on the eggs. You just know he’ll wolf them down the second you get off his lap. “Like Bear Grylls.”
You blink, slowly. “Bear Grylls drank his own piss on live television.”
“I mean, if I-”
“No,” you cut in, sighing. “Whatever you were about to say just now, the answer is no.”
“Meh,” he says, taking another bite. “You’re no fun.”
You stare at his side profile, at the way his jaw works as he chews, at how the sun filters through the window that’s across the room and paints his tan skin golden. It’s not long before your hand is reaching out towards him, cupping his cheek so that you can press a warm kiss on his temple.
“Sucks to be you then, I guess,” you say, smiling cheekily. “Since you’re stuck with a lame mate and all that.”
“Nah, you’re cool as a mate,” he says, angling his head more into your touch on pure instinct. “You’re just a lame best friend. Still love ya, though!”
But despite the teasing remark that he’s just thrown your way, the truth is that Kiba loves you as his best friend just as much as he loves you as his mate.
And judging by the little box that he’s hidden in the back of his closet recently, it seems like he’s going to love you as his wife very soon, too.
#biscuit fics#naruto smut#naruto x reader#kiba smut#kiba x reader#kiba inuzuka smut#kiba inuzuka x reader#cw monsterfucking#kiba inuzuka
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Losers || jjk. (M)
I get lonely when you're not here, and this darkness appears, leaving me stranded.
↠ Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader
↠ Summary : Jeon Jeongguk. Your brother's best friend, your mom's favourite human, and the man who is saved as, the certified asshole, on your phone. With black hair and piercings, tattoos and skinny jeans… Jeongguk has been your worst nightmare since you were 18. Six years later, getting along with him is still impossible. The only difference? His pastime then was to steal your diary and read it aloud. Now? Well… let’s just say, it’s most definitely not the same.
↠ Genre : pwp, brothers best friend au, age gap au, fuck buddies au (angst, fluff & smut)
↠ Warnings : explicit sexual content, swearing, bickering but they’re actually flirting, teasing (a lot of it), making out, grinding, dirty talk, degradation, breast play, unprotected sex (be safe), kinda dom!jungkook, power bottom!jungkook, riding, begging, creampie, mentions of oral sex, mentions of one-sided feelings and i think that’s all.
↠ Word count : 1.6k
↠ A/n : hello <3 here’s a little something that i put together when I was bored! I hope you enjoy brothers best friend!Jungkook as much as I did whilst writing. Your feedback will be appreciated 🤍. Happy reading 🦢
↠ Song : meddle about - Chase Atlantic.
You’re full. So damn full.
Jungkook’s thick and imposing cock is nestled inside you, the delicious stretch causing both of you to unleash the most desperate sounds.
“Ride me,” Jungkook’s voice is husky, and very evidently quivering with lust and need.
You gulp, licking your swollen lips before lifting yourself up and lowering yourself inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside again. The pressure between your legs is unbearable, body craving relief.
“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts, his fingers boring into your hips. “So greedy for my dick.”
And the taunting is back…
You roll your eyes, lifting yourself up again and slamming down so hard that you both groan. “And who was begging me to ride their dick?”
Jungkook whispers a string of curses, before thrusting himself upwards. “A-and who… who was begging me to have sex with them in the first place?”
You.
The answer was you, and you couldn’t even try to defend yourself.
Your brother had finally left the house, and in other words, you and Jungkook were finally able to fuck.
So here you were, in the living room, relentlessly riding your brother’s best friend.
Now, you weren’t that bad. Yes, you had made the first move, but Jungkook was no innocent bystander. Your thoughts linger back to where the shenanigans began.
“Hey princess,” Jungkook smirks as he saunters into the living room, interrupting your peaceful evening. “Missed me?”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the sight of him. “Not even a little bit, asshole.”
“Stop lying,” he sings as he reaches over to take a chocolate covered strawberry from your plate. “I know you did.”
You remain silent, hoping he gets the cue and leaves. You don’t forget to mentally curse your brother for leaving you with this man-child.
Jungkook chuckles and you already sense a foolish comment about to leave his lips. “I know you love me, Y/N.”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “In your dreams, Jungkook. Your dick? Maybe. You? Never.”
He moves to take a seat on the couch adjacent to you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You look cute when you're angry.”
You flush, hating how easily he gets under your skin. “Shut up, let me read.”
But instead of retorting, Jungkook leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Make me.”
You swallow hard, feeling a rush of heat between your thighs. "You wish."
His lips quirk into a smirk as he leans back, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe I do.”
You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to kiss him. Why did he have to be so damn infuriatingly attractive?
As the evening wears on, your banter escalated into a full-blown war of words, each insult laced with underlying tension. But beneath the surface, there's something else brewing—a desire that neither of you wants to acknowledge.
The three previous altercations between you and Jungkook had led to sex… there’s no way you were going to let that happen again.
“I’ll just go keep myself busy with Areum. You know your really pretty friend? She’s been begging me to come over.” Jungkook grins mischievously, knowing he's finally pushed you to your limit.
But instead of storming off in a huff like usual, you surprise him by closing the distance between you, lips crashing against his in a heated kiss.
He responds eagerly, his hands tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, your bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need.
“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire.
You smirk, trailing my fingers down his chest. “You love it.”
He groans, his grip tightening on you as he whispers, “I’d be a liar if I said no.”
And that was what had brought you to your current state. You begin to ride Jungkook in a fast, unrestrained pace, leaning forward so your clit can brush against his pubic bone, deepening your own pleasure.
“So big, Jungkook.. So deep,” you moan gratifyingly, throwing your head back as you relish in this complete heaven.
Jungkook smirks whilst watching you fuck yourself on his cock, pleasure vividly overtaking you as you roll your eyes with each bounce. “Good girl, ride my cock just like that.”
“J-Jungkook,” you whine faintly, his hands forcing you down completely and making you go faster. His low grunts and growls of your name make you warm up more, adoring the pleasurable sounds he makes. Your eyes meet his and you heat up as he gazes at you with lust stained eyes.
“Feels good?” Jungkook asks, helping you bounce on his dick. He looks extremely sexy right now with swollen lips, tanned skin and messy, tousled hair.
The sound of heavy breathing and the way his cock easily slides in and out of you reminds you just how blissful it is to be intimate with Jungkook. It was a shame you couldn’t call him yours.
“Mhm,” you inform him, slowly riding his dick up and down, your cunt swallowing his thick girth with ease and allowing yourself to be distracted from mellow thoughts. Jungkook thrusts up and you gasp at the sudden action, whining his name louder.
Jungkook scoffs at your reaction, smirking as his hands come to rest at your hips. You notice his lust filled eyes and it urges you to ride him faster.
“Going to miss this pussy when I leave,” Jungkook grunts, his deep, throaty voice making your heart race faster.
You ignore the ache that settles in your heart at the thought of him leaving.
“Mhm.” You respond, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Jungkook’s cock deep inside.
Jungkook’s lips brush over your clavicles whilst his hands slide up and down your back, eventually stopping on your ass, grabbing it to help you ride him. Your hips rock back and forth at a steady speed, relishing in the current moment.
“Ohh fuckk,” you cry out, savouring each drag of his monstrous cock. Your hips continue to rock back and forth and Jungkook simply wishes you both were on a mattress right now so he could pound into you hard and fast. You feel the way he contains himself from thrusting upwards, knowing very well that he’ll lose control.
The mere sight of you in the throes of pleasure, throwing your head back and lustily moaning has Jungkook weak. Your partly lidded eyes, flaming skin and heaving chest tells Jungkook all that he needs to know. You look alluringly beautiful, using Jungkook’s body to catch your release.
“Always ride me so fucking well, baby.” Jungkook rasps, lips moving to wrap around your nipples and sucking on them vigorously. He fondles with the other, neglected breast, pinching at your nipple and your whines only heighten.
“You look so sexy and you’re all mine,” he growls, his hips moving to thrust up against yours. His throaty voice impels you to shiver, dominance and possessiveness lacing it. “No one else can have this.”
“All y-yours, baby,” you croon, your walls tightening and clenching as his low grunts and moans turn you on. “There’s no one who’ll make me feel like this.”
And that’s true. You have no clue if you’ll ever stop craving Jungkook. The idea of him fucking someone else, paired with the idea of someone else fucking you, leave a distaste in your mouth.
“I’m close, Kook,” you whine whilst reaching for his veiny hands to rub against your palpitating clit. Jungkook understands the message, instantly moving his hand to thumb against it. He circles his finger around the bud and you helplessly mewl, aching to come.
You pull on Jungkook’s tresses as your hips begin to stutter in their grinding. “Such a good girl for me, always so good.” He encourages you and that simple sentence is all you need as your pussy clenches and slick cum squirts out of you.
“Just like that, baby girl. Just like that,” Jungkook harshly breathes, painting your insides with his seed. He lifts his hips, fucking into you through your orgasms. You moan loudly before falling against his chest, pressing firm kisses against his sweaty neck.
“I love it when you come inside me,” you purr, sucking deep, purple marks into his skin. Another thing that should not be happening. Looking after a baby, Jungkook’s baby to specify, was not something you imagine yourself doing anytime soon.
A husky moan escapes from Jungkook as he pulls your face towards his, pressing a searing kiss onto your rosy lips. He kisses you with love, purpose and sincerity. The third thing that should not be happening right now.
You shiver at the feeling of his cock being nestled inside your wet, warm walls. Jungkook’s hands move to your ass, gently grinding you against him. You pull back and are met with a sly grin on your temptations face.
Temptation was the word your mind had settled with. Is that what he was?
“Again?” He cockily mutters, moving forward to rub his nose against yours.
“Well, why not?,” is all you whisper back before pressing your lips against his, swallowing his giggles as you push him to lean against his seat, ready to be destroyed all over again.
Jungkook’s fingers are lost in your hair, and his other hand rests against your waist, gently caressing your exposed skin.
You think back to days upon days with him, starting with a simple kiss to now fucking at every chance you get.
You dwell on your feelings for the man in front of you. Who would’ve thought that the Jungkook you passionately hated would be the one who’s on your mind constantly? The one who’s name comes to mind first thing in the morning. The one who’s worth every risk and battle.
Maybe you could tell him, whisper your fondness for him in his ear, but you don’t.
Instead, you snuggle into his warmth, hoping it’ll satiate your aching heart for now.
And there we go. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback and comments are always appreciated ; it really makes me feel better about what I write so please do tell me what you think of this if it is not too much of a hassle <3
Until next time,
🤍
#jungkook smut#bts fics#bts smut#jungkook fics#jungkook#bts x reader#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook x reader#bts x fem!reader#bts x y/n#bts angst#jungkook x y/n#kpop smut#bts fluff#fic: losers
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A Growing Love
It was the best night of Kyle’s life. He had finally worked up the courage to ask his gym crush Alex out, and to his absolute surprise he had said yes. They’d met up for lunch on Saturday and the date was going so well that by dusk there was little space between them as they cuddled on Kyle’s leather couch. The movie on the TV had no one watching it as Alex’s hands worked their way under Kyle’s shirt, tracing over his well defined abs in a way that made Kyle shudder with pleasure. He locked eyes with Alex, the man’s short brown hair glowing in the last purple rays of the sunset. Alex moved his hands upward, pulling Kyle’s shirt up and over his head to reveal his toned and smooth upper body. Kyle was always a little insecure that he wasn’t super muscled but what he did have he kept in good shape. Alex felt his hands along Kyle’s body, moving up from his abs to his pecs, before pinching his nipples to get a moan out of Kyle. Alex could feel Kyle’s cock pushing from inside his sweatpants, growing harder by the second; he moved one of his hands down to address it personally.
Kyle was in absolute heaven. Alex continued making advances, stripping Kyle of all his clothes and feeling his smooth body move under his touch. Alex grinned at the state he had Kyle in. He leaned down and whispered into Kyle’s ear.
“I want you to grow, babe,” he said softly.
“Wha-” Kyle began to say before Alex put his finger to his mouth, shushing him.
“Don’t worry about it, let me take it from here,” Alex said assuringly. Kyle’s eyes closed as he fell back into his relaxed state. Alex bent his head down and began kissing Kyle’s chest. Within seconds the pecs began pushing out, inflating slowly as they put on years worth of size in seconds. The massive pillows looked out of place on the rest of his thin body. But that wouldn’t last for long, as Alex began kissing his way down Kyle’s torso, with the same growth following. Kyle’s abs, only visible from him being so skinny, vanished as his stomach packed on mass, growing out into a large belly. Muscle was definitely growing under there, but under a thick layer of fat and bulk now. Pleased with this, Alex continued further, his lips gracing Kyle’s rock hard cock Kyle felt himself getting harder than he ever had before, as without knowing his cock began to grow, pushing 6, 7, 8 inches and growing thicker around. His balls swelled in size and hung lower in their sack. Another moan slipped out of Kyle’s mouth as precum gushed from his now massive cock. Alex moved back up and planted his lips straight onto Kyle’s, cutting his moan short. Locked in that passionate embrace, Kyle’s jaw began to square and sharpen and his brow jutted out just a little more than it had.
He was really starting to look more masculine now, to Alex’s delight. But those twiggy arms and legs had to go. He started at the bony shoulders, planting kisses along Kyle’s collarbone and moving towards his bicep. The area inflated like a balloon, his shoulders packing on size and growing to truly boulder size. The bicep was next receiving the same treatment, exploding with muscle mass with his tricep not far behind. Thick veins appeared as the muscle stretched his skin and pushed out from his previously skinny frame. Finally his forearms and hands bulked up, becoming thick and manly. Alex repeated with the other arm until his upper body was sublime; Incredibly strong and muscled with a good layer of fat covering it, giving him the look of almost a strongman. Alex quickly moved down to his legs, kissing down his thighs as the quad muscles enlarged to unreal proportions, before softening just a bit from fat. His calves follow suit bulking up nicely, and lastly his feet expanded to size 16 from what had been puny size 9 feet. Kyle was a beast of a man now, built like a truck and oblivious to it all. He had been in a trance of ecstasy, the growth felt so good that he couldn’t move or resist if he had wanted to. Alex leaned back and laughed as he took in what he had done.
Alex went back to rubbing his hands over Kyle’s body, feeling the new mass of his frame. It was sexy, but he felt something was missing. Paying no mind to Kyle’s moaning, Alex spat directly on Kyle’s chest and began to rub it into his skin. Kyle groaned loudly as thick, blonde hairs began to break the skin, curling out first from around his nipples before spreading like a wildfire across his chest. The hairs grow thicker and denser as they coated his pecs in a thick rug of hair. His follicles were working in overdrive pumping out hair after hair, his chest hair growing so thick you couldn’t see the skin below. He worked his way south, watching Kyle’s gut erupt with thick blonde fur. The hairs raced down from his chest and erupted across the expansive, coating his muscular belly.
Satisfied, Alex raised Kyle’s arm to reveal a pitiful few wispy hairs in it. He spat into the nearly bare pit, working it into the skin. Immediately, blonde hairs began worming their way out. The hairs grew and grew, twisting through Alex’s fingers as they blossomed from the formerly smooth skin. His pit filled up with an incredibly thick bush of dirty blonde hairs, enough to really trap the sweat in there and stink. And stink they already did. Alex stuck his nose in and took a whiff of the sweaty musk that was already building. He repeated the process in Kyle’s other armpit, his body squirming as hair burst out. More moans escaped Kyle’s lips as the pleasure built and built.
Alex spat into his hands and began massaging Kyle’s bulky shoulders, causing hairs to start springing up. The fur worked its way from his chest up and over his shoulders, with more curly hairs sprouting by the second. His arms were not spared as thick coarse blonde hairs coated his forearms, hands, and even his upper arms. Alex watched as the back of Kyle’s thick hand sprouted long hairs, slowly inching their way from his wrist towards his knuckles.
Kyle groaned as he felt fur engulfing his body, but was too enraptured in the feeling of absolute bliss to care. His mouth hung open, allowing Alex to lean over and spit in his mouth, following it up with a full kiss. Kyle’s jaw itched as blonde stubble began to poke through, giving him a light chinstrap before spreading out. It grew thick and bushy, a real beard beginning to sprout on his face. The hairs crawled up his cheeks giving him a lush coating before the growth descended, racing down his neck. The thick hairs quickly met up with his chest fur, connecting and making sure it would always be visible above his shirt.
With a fittingly masculine beard to match the rest of his upper body, Alex was pleased with the bear he was turning Kyle into. He scooted down on the couch and spat on Kyle’s thighs, which were definitely looking barren compared to the rest of him. As he rubbed it in the bulky expanse was quickly encased in a thick mat of hair, covering his thighs completely. Alex moved down to his calves, which were also fully coated. Then Alex got to Kyle’s bare feet. He took his time, slowly massaging them in his hands as curly hairs began to sprout on the top, quickly spreading to coat the entire surface. Thick hairs popped out of the tops of his toes as his feet grew a coat to match the rest of him.
Alex was nearly done, but upon looking over Kyle’s lusciously hairy body he saw one spot left. Alex spat into his hand and began slowly stroking Kyle’s erect cock, which was still leaking copious amounts of precum. As Alex’s hand slid up and down, pubes began to sprout from Kyle’s groin. What was originally a small, sparse bush was quickly growing into a thick forest, as curly blonde hairs erupted from his skin. Kyle uttered a loud moan, feeling the growth in his most sensitive region. Spreading like wildfire, the blonde fur claimed his balls as well, growing into a carpet making them look even larger. Hairs continued to shoot up across his groin, reaching up above his waistline and giving him a thick triangle of fur. Smaller hairs even started sprouting up the base of his cock. Kyle’s buddy shivered from the intense sensation of the hair growing in, and with one final pump of Alex’s hand, his cock erupted. Kyle groaned in pleasure as ropes of thick cum shot into his dense chest hair. He had never felt this good in his life. His cock still dribbling out the end of his massive load, he opened his eyes to see Alex licking the cum caught in his fur.
Kyle finally took stock of what had happened to him while he was under Alex’s trance. He now had a hulking, hairy body of a bear, complete with muscle gut and a fur coat. He could feel immense strength in his beefy body, rubbing his hands through his dense chest pelt. Alex, who had been much larger than him before, now looked small next to him as he laid Kyle’s hairy pecs. He looked up from the furry mounds at Kyle and grinned, feeling accomplished in what he’d done.
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Blast Off
『♡』 fem!reader x bakugo
╰➤ ꒰ aged to 21 | friends to lovers ꒱
-`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist
summary: your favorite metal band is in town, the same one you used to listen to with bakugo back in high school, and you decide to go to the show together! after a long week, a night out in Shibuya is exactly what you need.
tags & warnings: brief violence, cursing | friends to lovers, pining, protective bakugo, fluff, first kiss
a/n: bakugo would be such a fun person to go to a show with when he’s the one interested! otherwise he’d rather stay home lol
꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,714 ꒱
“Yo, you ready yet, dumbass?” Bakugo shouts from your living room, impatiently tapping his foot as he’s waiting for you to finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom.
“Just a sec, Kat!” you call back as you’re leaning over the sink, cleaning up the corner of your eyeliner with a wet cloth.
“Y’don’t even need makeup, dammit!” he retorts, a backhanded compliment to get your ass moving. “Ya probably won’t even -,”
His words die in his throat as you emerge from the hallway and enter the living room.
Woah. She looks fuckin' gorgeous.
You catch him staring as you’re clipping in a pair of earrings. “What? Too much?”
He scoffs as he sneakily checks you out a second time. “Nah, you look great.”
You smile and wink at him. “Thanks, Kat. Right back at ya.”
“If some slimy fucker creeps on you, I’ll punch his lights out.”
You can’t help but snort as his comment.
The outfit you chose to wear fit the scene of the band you were seeing, one of your favorite metal bands that you two would listen to back in high school. It wasn’t too over the top, at least you didn’t think so. An all black ensemble - a thin long sleeve mesh top under your band t-shirt, tucked lazily into a pleather mini-skirt and a pair of tinted sheer tights hugging your legs. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few stray pieces of hair framing your face alongside your bangs.
Bakugo wasn’t as dressed up as you were, donning a simple grey t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and black boots. A stack of his favorite bracelets hung on his wrist and a pair of black studs adorned his ears.
“Figure out where you wanna eat?” you ask as you’re looking for your boots in the hallway closet.
“The curry place by the station. We can hop on the train into the city afterwards.”
Boots in hand, you return to the living in room and plop next to him on the couch.
“Those things could squash a damn kid,” Bakugo jokes, pointing to the platforms of your boots as you’re lacing them on your feet.
“They’re literally the same kind you wear on patrol!”
“And you’re still shorter than me with those fuckers on.”
You punch him in the arm, maybe a little too hard, to be playful. “I don’t need to be your height to kick your ass!”
“Ow, shit! Watch it, those hands are fuckin’ deadly!” he scolds, rubbing the reddening mark on his bicep.
“My bad,” you chuckle, patting him on the shoulder as an apology. “Let’s get outta here.”
-
“Hand it over,” Bakugo orders as you pick up the check from the table, flexing his palm toward you.
“Huh? I told you -,” you start to remind him until he cuts you off mid-explanation.
“Just ‘cause I heard ya doesn’t mean shit. Give it.” He snatches the paper and booklet with one hand while fishing his wallet out of his pocket with the other. “Stop bein’ a brat and let me pay for your damn dinner.”
“I’m not being a brat! I was just trying to treat you to dinner for once,” you say defensively.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I let you buy the tickets.”
Bakugo consistently paid whenever the two of you would grab food. It didn’t matter what it was - coffee before work, snacks from the convenience store, lunch outings, dinners in the city - he’d shove you aside and take your card, or be the one to order so you don’t have the chance to hand your card over. The few times you did get to pay for him, he immediately sent you the money back. It’s been a consistent staple in your friendship since Junior year of high school.
While leaving the curry shop, you see the train approaching at the station.
“Shit, Kat. That’s the train we need to catch to make it on time!” you utter in a panic as you grab his wrist. “C’mon!”
_
You arrive at the venue an hour before the show starts, giving you both enough time to get inside, grab drinks and find a perfect spot as planned.
Once inside, the two of you make your way over to the bar while the crowd was light.
“Are you at least gonna let me buy you a drink?” You tease, elbowing Bakugo in the arm.
He sighs dramatically, the tell-tale sign that he’s no longer going to fight you on it. “You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”
Beers in hand, you both head to the general admission area of the venue and situate yourselves near the back - not too squished between loads of people but close enough to see the stage.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you beam, leaning against him as a token of thanks.
He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “Of course. Woulda been mad if ya didn’t ask me to come see the band we had on repeat together through all those study sessions and sparring matches.”
The lights begin to dim and the crowd cheers as the band takes the stage. He lets you take a step back and shift next to him, but keeps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you cheer in unison and hold up your beers for the band as they set up for their first song.
_
The show has been a goddamn blast! The two of you have been singing and dancing together the whole time, screaming every single lyric. Bakugo loves watching you throw your hands up and yell along with the crowd, having the time of your life and not letting anyone get in your way. It’s infectious - his grin not wavering the entire show.
“We have one more song for the night!” The lead singer announces into the mic. “It’s a special one - thanks for coming out!”
The song they begin to play is one of their slower numbers, one that you know Bakugo adored. You watched as his eyes lit up under the spotlights, taking in the moment as the band progressed through the song. You loop your arm with his, rocking back and forth in unison with the rest of the crowd.
Bakugo removes his arm from your hold to spin you around to face him, pulling you close and holding you to his chest. He gently sways with you in his arms as you embrace him, mimicking a slow dance. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his chest alongside the subtle vibrations of him humming to the song. Your eyes flutter closed, absorbing every ounce of love in this moment between the two of you. His hold encased you in a sense of security that you didn’t find with anyone else.
Once the song ends, the band is saying their goodbyes to the crowd as he releases his hold on you.
“I didn’t think they were gonna play that tonight,” you say, smiling up at him. “Guess we gotta buy t-shirts now!”
Bakugo laughs, shaking his head. “Matching ones?”
“It’s either that or we buy one and I constantly steal it from you.”
We?
Bakugo smirked at the suggestion.
“You steal my shit all the time, ya brat,” he teases, pinching your cheek. “I’ll buy two. Which one do y’want?”
“You pick, you have better taste than I do. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” you say as you pat him on the shoulder before skipping off to the bathroom. He heads over to the merch table to stand in line for your t-shirts.
It’s been a good 20 minutes since you wandered off. Bakugo meanders over to the bathrooms, the t-shirts he bought for you both draped over his shoulder. He’s poking around, searching for you in the crowd as he spots your ponytail in a sea of others.
You’re talking with some guy that he doesn’t recognize. The guy slithers into your personal bubble as Bakugo stalks up behind you.
“C’mon doll, you’re fine as hell. Don't you -"
"Beat it, jackass. She's obviously not interested," Bakugo interrupts, stepping to your side.
He scoffs and takes a step back from you. "And who the hell are you?"
"Her boyfriend. Now fuck off."
Your cheeks flare at his comment - did he mean that? Or was that just to get this guy off your back?
You turn to leave as the guy slaps your ass - hard. "Have fun with this loser."
Bakugo doesn't even have time to react before your fist crashes into this guy's jaw, clocking him so hard that he stumbles to the floor. The commotion causes one of the security guards to scurry in your direction, beckoning for you to come over to him.
"Shit, we gotta go!" you yell, interlocking your fingers with Bakugo's as you bolt through the crowd and away from the guard before getting caught.
The two of you manage to escape, rushing out of the venue's exit door and into the busy Shibuya streets. You don't stop running until you round a corner and duck into an alley way, hiding from any potential security that could have tailed you and letting go of his hand.
Out of breath, you lean on to the wall and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.
"S-shit, sorry Kat, didn't mean to thrash you around like that."
He takes a second before deciding to box you up against the wall with his frame, catching you off guard. "I'm not complain'."
"Boyfriend, huh? Was that your way of asking me out?" you joke, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt.
Bakugo snickers as he's shutting his eyes, lowering his face to level with your own before your lips meet. The kiss is brief, but enough to get his point across.
"I bought matching band shirts with ya, who the fuck else would I do that shit with?"
You giggle, pulling him back in for another kiss - longer and sweeter than the previous one.
This isn't where you thought the night would end, but you're over the moon.
bakugo just couldn't resist confessing after watching you beat some dude's ass in one punch ;)
Divider by : @/saradika
#bakugo katsuki#bakugo x reader#mha fanfiction#katsuki bakugo#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bnha bakugou#bakugo x y/n#bakugou x y/n#bakugo fluff#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo mha#☆.rei writes
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; harry styles x fem!reader
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; harry’s grumpy and y/n’s never had a valentines date
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 𝟐.𝟐𝐤
masterlist • talk to me! • request a valentines prompt
Y/N never really goes out unless she’s with her friend, Sarah and her boyfriend Mitch. It’s not that she has no reason, she just doesn’t like going alone. She doesn’t like being surrounded by large groups of people she doesn’t know, so the majority of the time she stay in her room surrounded her stuffed animals, wrapped up in her soft and fluffy blanket either reading a book or watching a movie.
The past two weeks all she ever heard is everyone’s plans or ideas for how they want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, whether it’s showering their significant other with presents and love, or simply choosing to spend the day with friends. While she’s happy for her friends, she doesn’t get the point. Why would you wait basically a year to show your partner love and spoil them, when you can just do that every day.
Some might she say she’s only grumpy because she’s never had a true valentines, only spending it by third wheeling Sarah and Mitch at home watching sappy rom-coms and eating as much junk food as her stomach can handle. She would honestly agree, she’s mainly grumpy because she hasn’t had the chance to experience that, but it still doesn’t make any sense!
Sarah’s been hinting at trying to get Y/N a Valentine’s but she doesn’t wanna go with someone she doesn’t know, it’d be even worse than third wheeling in her opinion. She refuses with a simple wave of her hand and a laugh, telling her she’d be too boring and they’d fall asleep at the table.
Sarah will laugh along, but she has a plan. She refuses to let her friend go without the joy of a date any longer! So she gathers Mitch after their lunch date and they begin their plan.
- - - -
Sarah’s been taking an oddly long time getting ready today, normally she only takes roughly thirty minutes to do her hair and makeup, but it’s taken her an hour and she’s still not done! Y/N knows something’s up by the way Sarah keeps giggling and looking at her dressed in her sweats and oversized hoodie, but she simply says she’s just happy.
A knock at the door disrupts Y/N’s thinking as she watches Sarah run to the door, she smiles lightly thinking it’s Mitch coming to pick her up. As she goes back to the kitchen to make her some water, she can faintly make out Sarah and Mitch’s voice as well as someone else’s.
She comes back out and stops in the doorway when she sees Harry with a small smile on his face. His hair looking as fluffy as always, his dimples prominent thanks to the smile he’s trying to hide. His muscles straining against his white dress shirt, and his black skinny jeans complimenting his toned legs and she swears she can feel the drool pooling in her mouth.
Conveniently Sarah turns around and spots her in the doorway, smiling even bigger somehow as she beckons her over.
“Y/N/N!! Look who’s here!” She says and Y/N sighs softly. As she heads over to the group, she can’t help but to trail her eyes over Harry’s physique once again, a small smile gracing her lips.
She gently pinches Sarah’s arm when she reaches the group as she gives everyone a hug. She can’t help but notice how tense Harry is when she wraps her arms around his frame.
She wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but they’ve always made polite small talk whenever they happen to be in the same room. She doesn’t understand why he’s always so short with her but can have a conversation for hours with Mitch. She doesn’t understand why he doesn’t like her, she hasn’t done anything!
She sighs as she removes herself from the awkward embrace and tugs on the ends of her hoodie sleeves, a habit she does whenever she gets anxious or overwhelmed. Stepping back, she smiles softly as they all engage in conversation.
“Y/N. Harry’s taking you for Valentine’s.” Sarah says and Mitch nods once in agreement. Her mouth parts and she stares at Harry, confusion etched on her face.
“Wha- no. Wait, huh?” She asks and Sarah laughs softly.
“Well you’re always complaining on how Valentines is such a shit holiday, and we wanted you to see how cute it can be, so we got H to do it so no strangers.” Mitch says and her eyes narrow at Sarah.
“This is some sick prank right?” She asks and they shake their heads.
“Wouldn’t do that you lovie.” Sarah says and she scoffs.
“Harry’s never even had a girlfriend! Why would he want to take me on a date? Are we forgetting Valentine’s is for couples, which we aren’t?” She says, a heat beginning to warm her cheeks in embarrassment as she shakes her head and tugs on her sleeves again.
“M’a nice person, Y/N.” Harry says as he fiddles with his rings, his voice soft as if he’s scared of angering her. She sighs softly as she looks up at her friends.
“You don’t even like me Harry. If this is something out of pity, I don’t want it. I’m perfectly fine doing what I always do.” She says and he nods.
“Go get dressed then.” He says, his voice just a tad deeper and she shivers as she nods absentmindedly and runs back to her room.
While she’s getting dressed, the three continue to have a conversation.
“You know where you’re taking her?” Sarah asks and he simply nods in response .
“You think she’ll like it?” Mitch asks and nods again
“Did you have to use that voice?” Mitch asks and Harry laughs.
“What voice?” Sarah asks and both of the guys laugh.
“His intimidation voice. Scares the crap out of the girls but they listen.” Mitch says
“She listened didn’t she?” Harry says with a small smile on his face.
A couple minutes later, Y/N comes out and Harry swears his heart stops. Now it’s not like he hasn’t thought she was attractive beforehand, he always thought she was pretty. But he has to be mean because he knows he’ll hurt her. She’s so sweet, so soft, so angelic, and he’s the complete opposite. She was right, he’s never had a girlfriend, he just wants to have fun and not be tied down. After all, he’s young, it’s not like he’s gonna be getting married in a couple years, so he sticks with his one night stands and aimless flirting with anyone who’ll fall for his charm.
But seeing her right now, her brown silk dress hugging her curves perfectly, her black heels wrapping around her toned calves, her hair styled in a sleek ponytail, and her jewelry shining when the light hit, a simple necklace with a small gem wrapped her neck, matching bracelets on both wrists and a couple small rings sit on her polished fingers.
Harry can feel a small nudge on his chest and turns to look at Mitch who has a smirk on his lips. Harry shakes his head and clears his throat.
“Y’look beautiful Y/N.” Harry says as a small smile appears on her plump glossy lips.
“Thank you, H. Didn’t tell you earlier but you look good too.” She says and he fights back a smile.
As they all walk out the door and to their respective cars, Y/N tugs on Harry’s belt loop as she signals him to come back. He steps back and they walk together a little further behind the other couple.
“Haz, I’m serious. If this is out of pity, I don’t need yours. Valentine’s isn’t even a big deal to me.” She says and he scoffs.
“M’serious Y/N. I’m a nice guy, and I want to do this. Stop overthinking, I don’t pity you. I want you to have at least one good date.” He says and rolls his eyes.
- - - -
As he pulls into the parking lot, he can hear her gasp from beside him and he chuckles. He parks the car and they both get out, heading to the door and he quickly opens the door to let her in.
They walk in and she sighs happily as the different foods blend into one delicious smell, he watches her warily, a smile threatening to form on his lips. They walk up to the register and order whatever they’d like and when asked for the name and card Harry quickly slides his card in and mentions his name, she frowns lightly as she watches everything go down.
The lady ends up eventually walking away and Y/N turns to Harry
“I could’ve paid for that.” In response she gets a frown.
“Have you forgotten? It’s technically our first date and I gotta treat ya.” He says and nudges her shoulder.
“Well thanks.” She says and nudges him back with a small smile on her face.
They stand back some as they wait for their food, talking about random topics when she clears her throat.
“H, I really am sorry for everything I’ve said today. I guess I just judged you because I was kinda hurt.. I had to watch you be all buddy buddy with Mitch and Sarah but act like you hate me.. it’s so confusing.” She says and he grabs her hand softly.
“I don’t hate you, at all. If anything I really like ya.” He says
- - - -
After they eat, Harry drives her to a small flower shop picking up everything she picks up. After creating a big bouquet of her favorites, he hands it to her with a shy smile.
“Harry.. what’s this?” She says
“Uh.. I read you’re supposed to give your date flowers in the first date.. and technically I was supposed to give them to you when I first walked in to pick you up, but I didn’t know what flowers you’d like..” he says as she watches his cheeks begin to turn pink.
She can’t fight the big smile that spreads across her face. She squeals as she wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. She can feel him tense underneath her grasp, but she can’t be bothered. She’s just too happy! He actually put effort in researching what to do and wanted to be good for her.
She pulls away and smiles once again, taking in his flustered face and red cheeks, a downturned smile on his face as he scratches his neck.
“Um, you’re welcome.. I hope you liked it.” He says, his voice smooth and silky but she can tell he’s embarrassed.
“I loved it H. Thank you for this. Best Valentines ever.” She says and he smiles softly at her.
They spend the rest of the day chatting and walking around the town, enjoying each others company. He ends up carrying all her bags as they walk around, it reminds him of the celebrities and their security guards on a shopping spree.
As they head back, he reaches one hand over to her and hesitantly grabs her hand. She giggles quietly as she intertwines her fingers through his, and they drive in silence. She can’t help but daydream about them as she stares out the window, a dopey smile never leaving her face.
Once they reach her and Sarah’s apartment he opens the door and lets her in after she unlocks the door. She smiles and thanks him quietly, setting her keys in the bowl placed by the door on the small end table and he places all her bags in the living room. As soon as he sets her bags down both Mitch and Sarah emerge from Sarah’s bedroom, excitement written all over their face as they bombard them with questions about the date.
After answering their questions Harry turns to Y/N and nods his head towards the door. She nods and they both excuse themselves and head back outside, closing the door behind them and smiling at each other.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks and she nods.
“It’s gonna be hard to beat this mister. You ruined it for any other boy that tries, thank you again.” She says and he chuckles.
“That wasn't exactly my plan, I just wanted to show you what Valentine's is all about, that it isn't all that bad. You just have to share it with the right person. I had a good time tonight and I hope you enjoyed yourself as well. Tonight has shown me that I'm tired of ignoring you and being grumpy with you. If it's okay with you, I'd like for us to try all of this again.” He says and she smiles as she nods her head.
“Harry… can I kiss you? It’s the only proper way to end such an amazing date.” She asks and he nods.
He places his ringed hands on either side of her face and they both lean in slowly. She can smell the faint scent of the food he ate earlier combined with the mint of his gum he chewed earlier as his breath fans against her lips. He leans forward just slightly and they both smile as their lips touch, both soft and sweet. The kiss is nothing short of gentle and tender, only lasting for a minute max before he pulls away and kisses her nose.
Maybe Valentine’s isn’t so bad anymore.
#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fluff#harry edward styles#harrystyles#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles x y/n#writing#cupidsdolll love letters#harry styles fan fic#harry styles au
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is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)
desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client.
tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings.
recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies
"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"
Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore.
Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged.
Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest.
This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress.
"It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.
"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."
You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.
You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.
Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.
Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.
"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.
He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.
"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."
"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."
He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.
“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.
“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”
“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?
"Close your eyes."
You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.
"Keep 'em closed, baby."
You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that."
Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.
"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold.
"Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself."
"Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his.
"Can I open them?"
"You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.
"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.
"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."
It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.
"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw.
"I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel."
"You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.
It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.
He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.
Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana.
"I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."
"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here."
"You're really good here," you tease.
"Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here."
"Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle.
"Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress.
"No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now."
"So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.
"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"
Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down.
When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.
"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years.
Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress.
"She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.
"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that.
He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next.
While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all.
He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.
"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed."
You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow --
"Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now.
Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'.
"Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.
"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.
"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.
"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks.
"Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."
By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that.
"Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."
You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight.
"You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."
The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.
The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way.
"How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night."
"It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.
"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.
Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.
"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.
"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.
"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss.
"Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.
Now there was $8,000 on the floor.
His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.
"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."
"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."
"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.
“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.
“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”
“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.
“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."
“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"
He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt.
“Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."
“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.
Now there was $8250 on the floor.
He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length.
It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”
“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.
“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.
You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.
“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows.
"Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."
Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need.
It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.
“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”
You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.
“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?”
You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."
His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees.
"Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.
"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."
"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light.
"Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."
"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.
"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain.
You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed.
"Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.
"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.
"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.
You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.
"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie."
"I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.
"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.
"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."
You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.
"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"
"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it.
"Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?"
You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again.
"I fucking love you," he grits out.
"I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..."
"Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit.
"How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"
Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess.
"It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."
"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?
Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed.
Now there was $48,250 on the floor.
Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.
"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."
Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes.
You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet.
Now there was $198,250 on the floor.
"Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel."
You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting.
"Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.
"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl."
He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white.
"Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing.
"We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses.
"Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?"
"Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into.
"I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his.
"A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly.
"To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers.
"To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.
"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x thick!reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fan fiction#pbv!steve#steve harrington fluff
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don’t have to pretend | blake hughes au
blake hughes au
summary: how blake hughes and nico hischier finally confess their feelings for each other
word count: 4.1k
“Nico, you know you don’t have to keep coming over anymore,” Blake whispered. she had been thinking a lot about their relationship lately, or lack thereof. she didn’t know how much longer she could take being so incredibly infatuated with him but unable to say anything.
Nico looked confused, like the idea of not coming over to visit Blake was incomprehensible. Blake stared at Nico, waiting for him to respond. she hoped he would say that he wanted to be with her, that he had feelings for her… anything to suggest that he wasn’t just here to make her brothers playing less sloppy. she had watched the games, she knew that Jack was struggling and the reason was probably her.
“I want to come over,” Nico finally responded, and although that's what Blake wanted to hear it wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be.
They both sat in silence for a moment, drinking hot chocolates out of mugs decorated with little ice skates. “yeah but, if you’re here just because of Jack then-”
“I’m not,” Nico butted in. They both stared at each other.
“Right well,” Blake was the first to shift away from Nico’s heated gaze, uncomfortable in whatever awkward tension she had just created.
Nico cursed himself in his mind. She doesn’t want you like that, he kept repeating over and over again. Although, no matter how many times he told himself that Blake wasn’t interested in him, he would still hold out on any string of hope that he had.
They had really connected over the few months that they had gotten to know each other, and either would be damned if they let that all go to waste. So, they both held on without knowing that the other person felt the exact same way.
*
“You're going to get cold,” Jack had pointed out to Blake as he picked her up to go out. but of course, she decided against better judgement and had decided to wear her sluttiest top without any form of coverup so that she wouldn’t chicken out.
Jack hadn’t mentioned Blakes tiny top, and so she counted it as a win that his critique came in the form of needing something warm. “Like, I'm seriously not going to give you my jacket when you start complaining,” he continued with the roll of his eyes.
“If all goes well tonight i won't need your jacket,” Blake had rebutted to Jack's distaste.
“Yeah well, with your luck you're going to be single forever so I'll be waiting for you to complain about the cold,” Jack teased.
“Right and… where’s your girlfriend?” Blake played into the sibling banter. “Last I saw your ex was on a lingerie mag and here you are… coming over to your sister's place before going out so she can help you pick out an outfit….”
“Right, okay I'm done fighting now!” Jack said, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. “But seriously, do these pants match with this top,”
“You're wearing black skinny jeans, anything you wear is going to match, now go!” Blake responded, shooing Jack out of her apartment and into the hallway. She looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time before leaving, making a mental note to put on some more lip gloss in the car.
“Who are you trying to impress anyway?” Jack had shouted once he and Blake got inside the bar. He was trying to find his teammates among the crowd, but it was no luck.
“None of your business!” she shouted back, catching the boy of her affections eye from across the bar. “Nico’s over there!” she yelled, turning to her brother who was already being pulled into conversation by somebody else. It seemed like fate was on Blake's side as she made long strides over to Nico who was, luckily, alone.
Nico looked hot, and god… the things Blake wanted to do to him… she should be locked up.
Blake wasn’t the only one appreciating the view though, because Nico was very clearly checking out his teammate's sister. His eyes trailed down Blakes face and onto her top, and if Blake had noticed him shift in his seat she hadn’t said anything.
“You look good tonight!” Nico had leaned over so that Blake could hear him through the loud music. Blakes face burned at his comment, and she was glad that the bar's lighting was dim otherwise it would be very obvious that she liked her brother's captain. although, liked seemed like a very meager word when her whole world turned upside down upon seeing his dimples.
“And you look very handsome!” Blake had turned her head close to his. She was going to need a few drinks if she was going to be this close to him all night. Especially, when all his teammates were here.
Nicos face lit up with a smile, and Blakes immediately matched it with a bright smile of her own.
“Sit beside me,” Nico said, pulling out the last empty chair beside him. He was still waiting for his drink.
Blake easily complied, smoothly sliding the bar stool as close to Nico as was possible without raising suspicions. “So….”
“Soo…” Nico copied Blake, both giggling at each other. They were two lovesick fools and yet, they didn’t recognize that the other was also helplessly in love.
“So, how have you been?” Blake smiled, leaning an elbow onto the bar so that she was even closer to the brown eyed man. She was so down bad…
“I’ve been good, just waiting for a pretty girl to come sit with me, you?” he replied flirtatiously.
“I’m really good! just waiting for a hot man to order me a drink…” she trailed off, focusing her gaze away from Nico and back to the bar staff.
“What do you want?” he said, already pulling out his wallet.
A bartender came over to their section, dropping off a cold beer in front of Nico while offering all sorts of apologies for the wait time. He waved the waiter ramblings off, and instead looked towards Blake for her order.
“A vodka cran,” she told the bartender, “double shot”
Nico had handed over the cash.
After some more harmless flirting, Nico led Blake back to the team’s table where she was greeted by everyone.
“Nice outfit,” one of the boys piped up, eyes trailing down Blakes body. she was wearing some jeans and a tight corset top that pushed her boobs up just right…
“Don’t talk to my sister,” Jack huffed, swatting the guy in the chest.
At Jack's words, your eyes immediately turned to catch Nico’s who was already staring at you. He looked torn, and before you could make any sort of move to question him he was shuffling chairs and sitting as far away from Jack as was possible.
All night, Blake had been trying to catch Nico’s attention from down the table. He barely glanced in her direction for the rest of the night, and now she was afraid that when he did she’d start to cry. She felt so pathetic as the other guy's attention fell to her chest, reminding her that the guy she was trying to get wanted nothing to do with her at this moment.
“I'm going to get another drink,” Blake said as she swirled the ice around in her cup. Jack nodded at her, and then she was walking towards the bar by herself.
Blake let the bartender make her “something special”, and she sat at the bar watching him pour a shit ton of juice and gin into her cup.
“Hey, you new here?” Some guy, blond and skinny sat in one of the many available seats next to Blake.
“uh no i’m not. Is that your opening line?” she huffed, giving the bartender a tip when she finally came back with her drink. Yes, Blake was being rude to the guy but she wanted nothing more than to be alone. Something that was impossible to happen in a bar at 1am.
“Uh, can I have this dance?” The guy tried to correct himself, and Blake cringed as a mix of two songs from 2010 blared through the bars speakers.
“No you cant-” Blake said, just as her head turned just enough for her to see a girl approach Nico. she couldn’t make out what they were saying, just that he was smiling in the same way he was earlier.
“Actually,” Blake corrected herself, and the blond guy turned to his group of friends as if to say “i told you so, girls cant resist my charm…”
the girl touched Nicos arm… “I’ll dance with you!” Blake forced a smile onto her face, turning back to the bar one last time to take a large swig out of her drink.
The blond guy grabbed her hand, and with a deep breath Blake let herself be dragged onto the dance floor which was coincidentally right beside the table filled with her brother's friends.
The blond guy, who still didn't have a name, spun Blake around so that her back was against his front. she tried to lean back into him, but it all felt so wrong.
The guy guided her hips, and her face heated up in shame as her brother's teammates started turning their attention towards her.
Blake turned herself back around, now facing the guy who brought her to dance. they swayed together for a few more minutes, and as soon as the next song finished Blake was immediately bidding her goodbyes.
She rushed over to the table, ignoring the blond guy's shouts for her snap. she grabbed her purse from her brother's chair. “Can we please leave Jack,” she practically yelled in his ear.
he turned to his sister with a look of concern in his eyes. “Did he do something..?” he said, gesturing to the guy from earlier who was now retreating back to his group of friends.
Blake shook her head. “I think i’m getting a headache,”
Jack stood up then, waving to his teammates as he bid them all goodbyes.
Nico had tried to catch Blakes eyes, but she refused to look in his direction.
By the time she and Jack got out to the car, she could feel tears of frustration threatening to fall. She had to keep her head glued to the window so as to not raise any suspicions with Jack, who was well… oblivious to all things that weren't in his direct line of sight.
“Thanks for driving me home!” her words were rushed as she scrambled out of his car. “I’ll call you in the morning!”
When her apartment door slammed shut behind her, Blake broke out into quiet sobs. She just wanted the mood from seeing Nico at the bar to continue for the rest of the night. It seemed that despite how hard she tried, nothing would ever come out of whatever she and Nico had going on.
*
When Blake was 15, she had dated this guy who had lived a few doors down from her. The relationship didn’t last long, but sometimes Blake liked to think about the boy who broke her heart. Usually at night, usually when she was upset, and usually when she had nothing better to do than upset herself with her own life's events.
He had been nice at first, someone Jack had talked to a few times when he was out playing street hockey. She couldn't remember if Ryder had ever joined Jack and her brothers games, but that didn’t matter much anyway.
What mattered was Blake overhearing him tell his group of friends that the only reason he was dating her was because she was going to compete in the olympics.
“she’s like, the perfect girlfriend to have,” he had said to his friends. “i never have to see her, she's a champion, and like, I can make out with her and shit whenever i want,”
The last part hurt the most. Ryder was the first guy she had ever kissed and really been with. She didn’t have time to have boyfriends that weren’t always at the rink or the gym. Her seeking out Ryder and being with him was her own little act of deviance.
Now that she’d gone to enough therapy sessions though, she was sure that the reason she wasn’t upset that he was with her because of her titles was because she wanted to be with herself because of her titles. When she was younger, she was solely defined by her medals. Therefore, it came to no surprise to Blake that her relationships would be defined by her achievements too.
Anyway, that didn’t stop her crying to her older brother about the whole thing.
She had bursted through Quinn’s door, tears silently streaming down her face as she fell face first onto his bed. He had brushed her hair from her face, asking her what was wrong.
“He’s using me,” she had said, and Quinn looked upset enough for the both of them.
“He’s such a fucking asshole,” he had said, looking at his younger sister with so much pity. “He doesn’t deserve somebody like you,”
At the time, Blake wasn’t sure what “somebody like you,” had meant. All her life she was defined by her skills, her body, her wins and loses… she wished figure skating and relationships didn’t have to be so difficult.
She hadn’t seen Ryder again after that. She had made no effort to go and see him, and Blake could’ve sworn she saw him slowly sneaking back inside his house whenever her brothers would go outdoors.
Now at 20, Blake lays in her bed and reminisces on all the shitty parts of her life with a new lens. She remembers Ryder and how he had used her, her coach and how she forced Blake to compete through injuries, and then her mind turned to Nico. who hadn't necessarily done anything to hurt Blake but his lack of action made her feel pathetic.
How is it that a man can flirt with you at a bar, make you believe for weeks that he truly likes you, and then refuse to make eye contact with you later?
Blake’s head spun like one of those spins she used to practice. She had thought of calling Quinn but then what? She had already told him how convinced she was that Nico had liked her. It would just be embarrassing now to have to tell him that now she wasn’t so sure.
So, Blake did what she did best, wallowed in her own self-pity until she eventually drifted off into sleep.
*
A few days later Nico came knocking on Blakes door. She wasn’t surprised to see him, but she had already decided that she shouldn’t talk to him anymore.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come over anymore,” she had told him. She hadn’t let him step through the threshold of her apartment, and she hadn’t changed her mind under his soft gaze.
“But… Blake?”
“Nico, I'm really busy right now. There's a lot of stuff that i’m going through and I cant handle-”
“You can’t handle hanging out with me?” he had said, voice quiet.
Blake had to look away from his pointed gaze, wanting nothing more than to just confess her feelings. But if Nico did like her like she thought he did, then his reaction to what Jack had said at the bar a few nights ago just proved to her that a relationship just wouldn't work out. And so, as Blake always does, she prioritised what she thought would end up working in the long run. Instead of pushing through pain to win medals, she was pushing through her feelings for Nico to protect her heart.
“I’m sorry,” she had whispered to him, gaze falling to the floor when he finally walked away from her.
*
Nico had thought that he was doing the right thing. Sure, he had let things go too far when he started flirting with Blake at the bar. But come on, she was so gorgeous, and she was exactly the kind of person that he wanted to be with. Forget “kind of person”, Nico thought. She was literally the only person he wanted to see or talk to.
He thought that maybe he was taking advantage of her in some way. after he had started stopping by her house and visiting, and they had become friends… Jack had started telling him stories of Blakes abusive childhood. He couldn't even imagine growing up in a sport so toxic. And then of course there was her career ending injury, which is the reason behind them even starting to hang out.
Blake Hughes was vulnerable, she was hurt and she was upset, and Nico wasn’t sure if love was even something she was looking for right now. He felt like he was stepping over some sort of invisible line, and that if Blake didn’t reciprocate his feelings, she wouldn't want to talk to him anymore.
But he was proven to be right regardless, because Blake wasn’t talking to him and he had no idea why.
*
blake.hughes added to their story!
The devil’s holiday event was lackluster. Jack had caught the eye of some pretty brunette and so he was off flirting and doing god-knows what. She had hoped that by now that Jack would stop insisting she came to these kinds of events and outings. But Blake guessed watching Titanic every night for the last week counted as a setback in her recovery journey.
She swirled the drink in her cup, watching mindlessly as couples mingled and talked amongst themselves. This was just getting depressing.
As the night continued nothing changed. She sat in her spot by the bar, conversing with the bartenders with as limited a vocabulary as possible. If her mother were here, she would definitely be scolding Blake for being rude.
“You okay?” one of the girlfriends had asked Blake as they waited at the bar for another drink. Blake had nodded respectively, and when that didn’t appease the girl she sighed.
“Boy troubles, you know?” she laughed, hoping that the awkwardness would be too much and that the girl would take the hint and leave.
“Hit me,” she had said instead, and so that’s how Blake spent the next 45 minutes explaining to Jesper Bratts girlfriend all the ways in which an anonymous man had shown feelings for her.
“I mean, it really sounds like he likes you. you know how men are, maybe you should make the first move?” the blonde had replied.
“But there’s a lot at stake here… this guy is.. Well,”
“Standing over there?” Bratts girlfriend said, pointing to Nico Hischier. He looked gorgeous, and if Blake wasn’t so shocked that she had guessed correctly she probably would have melted to a puddle on the floor.
Blake fumbled with what to say, opening and closing her mouth pathetically as her gaze moved from Nico to the girl perched in front of her.
“You guys aren’t very subtle, Blake” she said, patting the girl on the shoulder before launching into strategies in which Blake could “get her man”.
After the talk and another drink, Blake was ready to pour out all of her feelings to Nico because when she really thought about it, could life get anymore awful? she was already never going to be able to figure skate again, and she and Nico weren’t talking… nothing could possibly be worse than this.
Wrong.
In the 35 minutes it took for Bratts girlfriend to convince Blake to confess her feelings to Nico, he had moved on. Like, literally moved on from the group of guys he was talking to and onto a far too attractive blonde.
Life was actually cruel.
Like they always do, Blake and Nico caught eyes, and before he could make a move to come talk to her she was pushing past people to get towards the exit. She’d text Jack that she left when she was far, far, away from this cursed event.
*
Blake had just taken off her heels and pulled the backs of her earrings off when loud knocks echoed off her front door.
“Jack, I literally told you I was going home. I’m fine!” she stressed, yanking open the door without really looking at who was standing outside.
“It’s not Jack,” Nico’s voice was soft. Blake paused where she was standing, slowly turning so that she was face to face with the man of the last few weeks… Nico.
He looked even better up close. His beard was shaven, tie a little loose. He was her weakness if that kind of thing even mattered anymore.
“Nico,” she had breathed out, like she hadn’t imagined a single possibility in which he could be standing right in front of her. The weeks had seemed that long. Like there was no possibility that he’d still be waiting for her.
“Blake,” he sighed, walking into the apartment and shutting the door softly behind him.
“I really like you, you know that right?” she admitted. “Like, every time I'm with you I feel so calm and yet so overwhelmed with the idea that you were made for me?”
Nico didn’t have a chance to react before Blake continued saying her thoughts out loud. “Whenever I'm near you I get butterflies and I've never felt that way about anyone before. You're, youre so different to anyone I've ever known. And I know that you're Jack's captain and that I'm his sister and that could make things really awkward for you but I really don't care! Because I like you and Jack’s just going to have to get over that when the time comes,”
“I bought your jersey! I don't even own my twins jersey!” she continued, pulling out her phone from her small shoulder bag. She flicked it open, pulling up her duolingo streak. “And Duolingo! I have Duolingo to try and learn Swiss German!”
“Nico, if you don't feel the same way that's fine. I'm so sorry for thinking there was something between us,” Blake began apologizing, dropping the phone to her side as she started to calm down from the shocks of the evening.
“I have a notes app filled with all of your favourite things,” he interrupted Blakes ramblings.
“When I'm missing you, I make two portions of my dinner and bring some over to you as an excuse to see you. When Jack told me I didn’t have to come over to visit with you anymore, I was upset. My first thought was that I really liked you and that I didn't want whatever we have going on to end,”
“you liked me?” Blake spoke, her timid voice breaking through Nico’s speech.
“I still like you,” he responded, and not a second later was Blake’s purse falling to the ground as her hands wound themselves around Nico’s neck.
He grabbed her by her waist, fingers dancing over the small of her back as he brought her into a passionate kiss.
By the time they realized what they were doing, Blake was backing Nico into her room. “Are you sure?” he whispered, breaking away from their heated make out session to rest his forehead against hers.
“I need you,” she was basically whimpering, but Nico paid that no attention as he slowly started sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders.
“You're gorgeous,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her lips all the way down to her cleavage.
Blake moaned, gripping onto Nicos hair as the both of them sunk down onto her plush bed.
*
In the morning, Blake woke up to her and Nico cuddling. Blake ran her hands lightly through his hair, all of last night's events rushing back to her with pleasure.
Nico groaned when he finally came to, head moving against Blakes shoulder as he tried to shield himself from the light that was shining through her curtains. He placed a few soft kisses onto her shoulder before snuggling closer to her.
She set one of her legs over his, and then allowed him to pull her as close to him as possible.
They would discuss the nature of their relationship later. but now, all the two cared about was spending as much time with one another as possible before life got in the way. They went back to sleep peacefully, knowing that they don't have to pretend anymore.
#blake hughes au#nico hischier x reader#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier fic#nico hischier blurb#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes one shot#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes fic#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes fic#nhl imagine#nhl fanfiction#nhl blurb#nhl fic
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Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt 2.2
Note: Part 2.2! The Bane Incident from Kon's POV! 😁
~*~*~
Two days later, Kon was back at Arkham undercover again. The Bats had caught Bane nearly 12 hours earlier after Red Hood showed up midway through the fight, lept off the overpass, and landed a blow directly to the top of Bane's head with a metal pipe on the way down. The behemoth of a man had crashed hard into the cement, immediately unconscious, and been taken directly to Arkham's medical facilities as soon as he arrived. He'd been checked over and cleared to head to his usual room in less than 15 minutes once he woke up the following afternoon.
Kon found out all of this afterwards.
He was headed back to the briefing room for his nect assignment after lunch when he spotted four senior guards, Collins, Ryans, Dorr, and Miles, escorting Bane from medical to his usual cell. He stepped into a doorway to let them pass by before continuing on his way. Kon had spent a productive lunch break chatting with Jasmine "please don't call me Fenton" while she waited for Dr. Rylie before he had to head back to the guards room so he wouldn't be late. He'd have to make sure to catch up with Dr. Rylie on the way out at the end of the day instead, Kon mused.
There was a shout behind him. Two bodies slamming hard into the walls on either side of the hall. A rush of fabric sliding across fabric. Rapid pounding footsteps.
Kon spun letting out a gasp as he saw Bane grab Jasmine's upper arm and yank her hard enough to make her stumble. The large man turned to face the guards behind him as he pulled her firmly back against his chest. Kon had the dart gun in his hands and leveled at Bane before he even realized he was moving. Dorr and Ryans had also already done the same. Miles was scrambling to his feet, drawing both his dart gun and baton. Collins slid to the ground, right shoulder visibly dislocated from hitting the wall at the wrong angle but he drew his tranquilizer dart gun as well.
"Weapons down or I'll snap her skinny little neck." Bane growled out, shaking Jasmine as emphasis. Her braid swung from the force of it.
Kon expected her to panic. He was panicking; a full grown, fully recognized superhero. Of course, he expected her to panic.
But Jasmine didn't.
Her expression smoothed out turning from barely-there surprise to blank calm in the span of a few seconds. Her breathing stayed deep and even. Her heart beat steady was steady. Was she in some kind of shock? But he had never heard of someone reacting like that to shock before.
"Back up! Let him through!" Dr. Rylie shouted to Kon and the other guards from where he had pressed himself against the wall on the opposite side from Bane. He must have been just a few steps ahead of Jasmine.
"She's my student! Let him through!" Dr. Rylie screamed again. His voice high pitched with fear for his intern.
Kon didn't know what to do. From the way Ryans and Dorr were exchanging looks, he wasn't sure they knew what the best approach was in this situation either. Of the five of them, Ryans was the most senior guard but he wasn't one of the six guards trained for hostage negotiations either. None of the scenarios they had trained for would work here. Jasmine was too similar in height to Bane for a good shot and a single tranquilizer wouldn't knock him out anyway. They couldn't possibly circle around behind him in this narrow hallway either.
Kon could practically taste the panic building in the air. The tension was rising. If he didn't think fast someone else was going to make the first move and Jasmine would get hurt and -
She sighed.
Long, heavy, and disappointed. It felt like every muscle in Kon's body locked up suddenly.
"Mr. Bane, remove your hands from my person, please. I will give you to one to comply." She said voice calm and heavy like - like she was disappointed in him?
Kon's stared at her bland expression in shock for a moment before his eyes darted back to Bane. The rogue looked momentarily stunned then started laughing.
"Five." Jasmine said, ignoring his laughter. Kon felt himself paling. His colleagues were shifting, white faced with fear as they traded glances again.
"Four." She continued. Bane snorted derisively at her.
"Did you really think that would work?" He asked. His arms tightened around her. There was no way Jasmine was getting out of this without bruises.
"Three." She said ignoring Bane's question. Holy shit. Had she lost her mind?
"What can you even do if I don't?" Bane mocked with a rabid gleam in his eye. He's going to kill her, Kon realized faintly, even if we let him go now he's going to snap her neck for this.
"Two."
"Jasmine..." Kon whispered pained and horrified by his realization. Loosening his grip on the dart gun without meaning too. She met his gaze across the hall, eyes resolved.
"One." She finished, brows furrowing slightly in concentration as her lips thinned, pressed together. Bane gave a derisive snort.
And then the massive man was airborne.
"Holy shit." Miles breathed out.
Kon stared at the crater in the floor. Collins and Dorr were absolutely silent, hearts racing in their chests. Ryans took a half step forward, heart stuttering - Kon really hoped the man wasn't about to have a heart attack because he could rush him to medical right now. Dr. Rylie was half collapsed against the wall he'd been pressing himself against a strangled sound of shock coming from his throat. Bane was embedded in the floor breath wheezing as Jasmine half knelt on top of his neck. Oh wow, Kon registered, Bane's arm is fucked.
"Now, do you know what you've done wrong?" Jasmine asked looking down at the giant.
"Yes, Ma'am." Bane choked out.
"Fucked with the wrong HBIC." Collins muttered under his breath faintly still stunned.
"Jasmine for president." Miles whispered back automatically.
"Boys," Dorr scolded as he half lowered his dart gun, shifting his weight at the same time.
"Won't be making her angry around that time of month." Ryans mumbled to himself softly enough that Kon was the only person who could have possibly heard him.
"What did you do wrong?" Jasmine pressed. Collins choked back an inappropriate hysterical giggle at the question. Bane appeared to panic when he realized he'd have to respond.
No wonder, Kon thought, the man literally grew up in Santa Prisca's prisons. Did he even know how to respond to -Kon choked on air - a maternal scolding?! What the ever loving fuck? He bluescreened. Stood there in the hallway, absolutely stunned, completely unaware of his surroundings as he struggled to process the fact that Jasmine was giving Bane a maternal scolding in the middle of an Arkham hallway right in front of him. Maybe I've finally gone nuts? Kon wondered.
Jasmine gestured vaguely towards the group of them without turning to look and Kon snapped back to the present.
"Kyle here is going to take you to see the nurse and then back to your room then. I'm sure you'll behave for him?" Oh shit, that's me she's talking about. Kon walked towards her still a bit numb.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'll behave." Bane answered her. Kon watched as Jasmine stood up carefully and backed away from Bane far enough for him to pull himself out of the crater in the floor. Once he was on his feet, Kon led Bane back towards medical realizing as he did that there had been four other guards behind him this whole time.
Two of them darted forward and scooped up Collins, probably to take him to the guards medical ward along the outer wall patrol route. The other two fell in with Kon, Dorr, Miles, and Ryans. As they walked away Kon could hear Jasmine talking to Dr. Rylie.
"I'm fine, really. My mother was an extremely skilled martial artist. I've been learning from her since I started to walk." She explained honestly, trying to sooth the frazzled doctor's nerves. "I didn't know he was heavy enough to break the floor though!" Jasmine laughed.
That - heart beat uneven, vocal cords tense - that second part was a lie.
#Meta Jazz Arkham Intern Therapist#Meta Jazz#Arkham Intern Therapist#Meta Jazz AIT#AIT#MJAIT#dc x dp#dcxdp#dp x dc#dpxdc#Jazz/Kon#Feel free to add on#Not sure if I'll continue this or not#We'll see what happens#If I do it will still be under the same tag though so if you follow it you'll still be fine.#You have no idea how hard it was coming up with all these names#Most of them are the result of auto-correct saying no lol#If there's another part it will probably be either Jazz or Tim POV#Jazz might confront Kon about his super strength because she is hardcore judging him rn#Tim because when he hears about the Bane Incident from Kon he can definitely tell his friend has a crush#Kon hasn't realized it yet#Jazz has though#If Tim's POV Danny will definitely turn up#I have so many ideas ya'll#But like#No time to write#save me#my original post
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I tried to be creative for a hurt/comfort thing but you know what, I'm a very predictable creature of habit who likes what I like lol
A go-to headcanon of mine for canon or human au is that Hob's love language is providing food just as like, a caretaking thing. But of course Dream interprets it as Hob thinking he's ugly for being so skinny. 🥺
🤘five-and-dimes
@five-and-dimes this slots in well with math au so it had to be math au ☺️
--
"Dream?"
Dream doesn't realize he's drifted off mentally until Hob calls his name. It's possible he's called it more than once and Dream didn't hear. It must be some special level of dysfunction to be able to get so distracted during sex. All week he has thought about Hob, watched the play of his hands on his keyboard and wished they were on his skin, watched the flex of his arms as he ties his hair back, studied his mouth as he chewed on the end of a pen. Now he is here, and yet he's not. Here.
"Are you alright?" Hob continues when Dream just kind of keeps staring at him. "You're like. Not with me at all. I don't know where you are."
Dream doesn't know where Dream is either. Technically he is lying in bed with Hob kneeling between his thighs, and they haven't even gotten fully undressed yet. Hob's hands are still resting lightly on his hips, thumbs hooked under the waistband of his jeans. Dream is suddenly aware of just how sharp his hipbones are when he lies like that, the jut of bone visible through his skin.
He pushes himself up to sitting, dislodging Hob's hands. "I am fine."
"Sure," Hob says, not wholly convinced. "Long day I guess?"
Dream hums noncommittally.
"Want to watch a movie instead?"
"Yes," Dream says, though still distracted, "very well."
Hob moves away to grab his shirt, and Dream watches the flex of his shoulders, the strength of his back and bend of his neck. And he wants, and for a moment he considers saying, no, come back, I want-- but when Hob turns back to him it dies in his throat.
He puts on his own shirt, and Hob pulls him close, lets him settle between his legs, his back to Hob's chest, as he takes his laptop from the nightstand. "I heard about this one, supposed to be using maths to solve time travel. Figured we could watch and you could tell me all the ways they're wrong and stupid."
Hob knows him too well. "You have no confidence that the maths could be correct?" he says.
"Do you?"
"...No," Dream admits, and Hob laughs.
"It'd be no fun if it was right, anyway. Your commentary makes it way more entertaining."
Dream leans back in his arms as Hob boots up the movie, and then it feels easy again, comfortable again, as they fall back into their familiar pattern.
He doesn't know what was wrong with him before.
--
Dream likes to steal Hob's sweatshirts. He runs cold, but often forgets to bring extra layers with him when he goes places. Or perhaps he is intentionally forgetting to bring his own, so he can steal Hob's. Hob never seems to mind, after all.
And Hob's clothes are not so different in size to his own, they are almost the same height. Hob has broader shoulders than he does, but Dream never feels like he is swimming in Hob's clothes.
Except for now.
He's studying the way the sleeves of Hob's sweatshirt lie on his wrists, comparing it to the way they had looked on Hob's wrists when he had worn the same sweatshirt just this morning, before Dream had stolen it. Have his wrists always been this narrow? The jut of the ulna so sharp where the hem of the sleeve hangs? Has he always looked this bony, when contrasted with soft fabric?
"Hey, love, you hungry? I made you something."
Hob is standing before him, holding a bowl. He places it down on the table before Dream.
"Made me something?" Dream echoes.
"Dinner," Hob says. "You didn't eat anything today."
Did he? Perhaps not. He often doesn't, at least not until Hob reminds him. Which he often does.
"It's green curry," Hob says, pushing the bowl closer to him as if trying to tempt him to take a treat. "One of your favorites?"
Dream does not know if he is really hungry, but Hob is a good cook and besides, it will make him happy if Dream eats it, so he takes it.
Seeming satisfied, Hob gets his own bowl and sits down across from him, tucking in as Dream starts delicately picking at pieces of green bean and pepper, small spoonfuls of rice soaked in curry. It is, in fact, very good. He is just. Out of sorts, perhaps.
But he eats it, slowly, because he knows Hob will be happy. Hob is always happy when he manages to feed him. Perhaps Dream truly doesn't eat enough. Perhaps he is getting too bony.
He tries not to study his wrists as he holds the spoon.
--
Dream is... not having a good day. He doesn't fully know why. He often doesn't. Regardless, he's lying in bed, music blaring in his headphones, staring blankly at the wall, when Hob gets back from class in the evening.
He doesn't realize it's time for Hob to come back until Hob is creaking open the bedroom door, letting a sliver of light into the cocoon Dream's created. He says something, which Dream doesn't hear on account of the music he's blasting at maximum volume.
He takes out his earbuds as Hob repeats it. "Hey, love. You want some tea? A snack?"
Dream lifts his head to find that Hob's set down a cup of tea and a piece of toast with what looks like almond butter and honey on the nightstand.
"It's seven p.m.," Hob continues. Dream hadn't realized it was so late. He doesn't remember exactly when he laid down. "Have you eaten?"
He's sure Hob already knows the answer to that.
Dream sits up and takes the toast, as bidden. And then just. Stares at it.
Hob lays the back of his hand against Dream's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I don't know," Dream says. But he is not sick in the way that Hob means. He sets the toast back down and takes the tea instead, sipping it slowly.
"You don't feel warm." Hob lets his hand fall. "Should eat the toast, if you can. Do you want company, or should I leave you be?"
Dream swallows hard to clear the lump in his throat. Hob is... so tolerant of his oddities. "Company. If you can tolerate my silence."
"I can cope." Hob fetches his things, and soon enough he's sitting beside Dream in bed, laptop open. Dream leans against his shoulder. Hob's body is soft enough to be comfortable to lie against, while Dream's shoulder is... sharp. When Hob lies against him, are all of Dream's bones just jutting into him?
He sits up again, picks up the toast. If he ate enough almond butter toast he might not be so sharp-edged. But eating an amount of toast that hits even a baseline caloric requirement is already hard enough.
He eats it slowly and tries to pretend it doesn't stick on the way down.
--
When they were teenagers, Desire used to make fun of Dream for being too skinny. "It's all in the name of love," they'd sing, "just don't want you to end up alone, that's all." Then they'd poke him in the ribs--"You're so bony"--and start giggling.
It didn't help that Dream had jumped ahead two levels in school, and already felt gangly and awkward in comparison to everyone else in his year, who were invariably older. As years passed, he grew out of those awkward teenage proportions, but never lost his thin, angular frame.
Hob, for his part, still has a bit of youthful ranginess to him, but Dream thinks he will fill out wonderfully as he gets older. He does not know what will happen to himself.
What he does know is that Hob keeps trying to feed him.
He'll make breakfast for him, if he stays over. Even if Hob himself needs to run out the door to class with nothing more than a granola bar, he somehow manages to make sure there is something for Dream. He's always making Dream's favorite foods for dinner, more often than not foods Dream barely remembers ever mentioning. He brings him tea in a thermos when Dream is up late working in his favorite classroom.
Dream does not know what to do with this. He is finding it harder and harder to eat what Hob makes. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.
When he gets home from class, he finds that Hob is gone, but he's left an entire container of muffins on Dream's kitchen counter. Zucchini muffins!! the note taped to the lid reads. Very tasty and nutritious too!! ❤️
Dream stares at them for a long time, a lump in his throat. Then he closes the lid, carefully latches it so they won't go stale, and retreats to his bedroom.
--
Dream is straddling Hob's lap and he should be enjoying himself but he cannot. Stop. Thinking.
About how sharp his knees and ankles look. How Hob can definitely feel his ribs where his hands are laid on Dream's waist. About the deep cut of his collarbone, made more evident by the way he's wrapping his arms around Hob's shoulders as they kiss. Does Hob think about it? Does he look at Dream and wish there was softness to touch, instead of these hard edges?
"Dream," Hob says, still close enough that Dream feels his breath as he pulls away from the kiss. "Where are you, love? Because it's not with me."
It all feels so obvious when Dream thinks about it now. He got used to not thinking about his own body but it's impossible to ignore when he's pressed up against Hob, when he's only in his underwear. Hob has seen him, and touched him, and is always trying to feed him, and he would never say anything because he isn't mean but it must bother him, that Dream is so, is so--
"Do you think I am wrong?" he asks.
Hob just stares at him, thrown. "What?" he asks. "Wrong about what?"
"Wrong," Dream repeats. And suddenly he can't stand to be exposed like he is, and disentangles himself from Hob, reaching for the nearest article of clothing--which ends up being Hob's sweatshirt, the one he likes to steal. And so he ends up just holding it to his chest instead of putting it on, frozen.
Hob reaches for him, then lets his hands fall. "I don't understand."
"You want me to eat more," Dream says.
"I-- yeah? You barely eat one meal a day, of course I want you to eat more?"
Dream nods to himself, clutching Hob's sweatshirt closer. It all makes sense now. He doesn't know why he didn't understand it earlier. Or perhaps he did, subconsciously.
The wave of sadness that catches him under his lungs is more powerful than he anticipated. But at least now he understands.
"I don't know what conclusion you're making, but somehow I don't think it's right," Hob says. He reaches for Dream again, and this time wraps his hand around his wrist, slides down over the bones there until their fingers are tangled together. Their knuckles lock, bone to bone.
"I am hideous to you," he says, braced by Hob's touch enough to voice it.
"What?" Dream expects Hob to move away, but he doesn't, though he does sound... hurt. "How could you think that?"
"You think I should eat more," Dream says. Even as he says it, he feels himself curl inwards again, though it only makes the angles of his limbs more prominent.
"Yeah because you can't survive on one piece of toast every two days? I don't want you to starve yourself?" Hob sounds increasingly desperate as he says it. "Honestly you've been freaking me out, I feel like even when I make stuff you like you want to eat it even less."
"I... like what you make," Dream says quietly. He slowly thinks through what Hob's said. "I thought that... you felt I was too skinny. That you would be more attracted to me if I was not so... bony. And sharp."
He is very sharp-edged all around. And Hob already tolerates the sharp edges of his personality.
"Dream." Now Hob takes both of his hands. "Don't you know I was so attracted to you the moment I saw you? I wanted you so bad. And your attention. Your interest." He plays with Dream's fingers. "Look how beautiful your hands are." He cups Dream's face in his hand. "Your jawline is literally to die for. Modeling agencies would sign you."
Dream makes an expression of distaste at the thought, and Hob laughs.
"I know, you'd hate that." He kisses the tip of Dream's nose. "But the point stands. You're gorgeous." He runs his hand through Dream's hair, making it stick up all over the place. And the way Hob looks at him then makes any objection die in Dream's throat, makes him want to crawl into Hob's lap and press against Hob's body and let Hob do anything to him. "I mean, look at you."
A blush rises to Dream's cheeks. "So. You do not want me to eat so that I will gain weight."
"I want you to eat so you don't fucking die," Hob says, and something about the dramatic phrasing of it makes Dream laugh, and then Hob laughs, too, and pulls him close, pressing Dream's head into his shoulder.
"I am like a recalcitrant pet to you, then," Dream says, and Hob chuckles.
"Too right. You can lead a Dream to avocado toast..."
Perhaps... Dream might be better at being led. Now that he knows why Hob is doing the leading.
“I love you,” Hob says, kissing Dream’s temple. “And your ridiculous cheekbones, you angelic creature. You’re so incredibly beautiful.”
Dream’s blush only deepens, and he hides his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob rubs a hand up and down his bare back, catching on the knobs of his spine. He holds Dream close until Dream’s embarrassment subsides and he feels able to lift his head again.
When their eyes meet again, Hob just smiles. “Can I show you?” He traces his thumb over Dream’s lower lip. “How much I want you?”
Dream nods, tongue dabbing at Hob's thumb. Yes, he wants. He wants Hob. And he wants Hob to want him, desperately he wants it, for Hob to think he is desirable, no matter how embarrassing it may be to feel that want.
Hob kisses him again, pulling him close so Dream is half in his lap, tangled up in him again. Dream chases his mouth. And each touch of Hob's hands over the hard bend of his hips or the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, just as passionate and determined as Dream could have ever hoped for, makes him feel better, until he's not thinking about the shape of himself at all, just the feeling of Hob's touch, and his own pleasure.
And, maybe, the tea Hob might make for him afterward.
#dream has literally the exact opposite body issues that i do and yet somehow it's relatable...#complex mathematics#my writing#dreamling#ask#five-and-dimes#wow this got real sappy at the end tbh#disordered eating
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"You got the best of me."
Wips, different colours and context below the cut.
(TW: Religious themes)
If you're curious, this illustration is based on a comic (which is based on a fan fiction) I worked on for a long time called "You Got the Best of Me". Yes, it's a BTS song. It's a good B-side.
The idea is that traveller!Antonio finds his way to a small, wayward tomato farmed owned by this grumpy man called Lovino. He's the son of the village's head priest who had passed away from cancer when he was a child, not long after his younger brother, Feliciano was born.
Feliciano was always sickly and couldn't do very much. He was a crybaby. He was kind of pathetic but always cheerful and Lovino loved him very much, and worked hard to support him.
Growing up, Feliciano became very religious like their grandfather and trained to become a priest. Lovino didn't exactly disapprove, since it meant Feliciano would be taken care of, but he didn't believe in God as much as he used to. Afterall, God let his grandfather—the epitome of Godfearring—die so painfully. Feliciano tries his best to reconnect but their difference in faith made it difficult.
In the present day, Antonio and Lovino met when Antonio just stumbles into a village party one day. He leans against an empty barrel, exhausted, until someone taps his shoulder. He turns around and sees a handsome, albeit drunk as fuck young man giving him a bottle of alcohol, telling him to cheer up and drink. Antonio fell in love at first sight. That smile was gorgeous.
They meet again the next day when Antonio walks into the church and sees the same young man sitting at the back. The young man didn't say no when Antonio sits with him, and doesn't do anything when Antonio talks to him and asks to share his Bible.
After service, they walk around the church in silence and they go to a quiet stretch of meadow where Antonio plays some childhood songs on his guitar. Antonio was surprised when Lovino knew the words and could speak Spanish. Lovino said the 'weirdos' his grandfather made friends with taught him whatever he knew, which was surprisingly a lot.
They continue chatting and without knowing, it had been hours.
"Brother, it's lunch time," Feliciano said softly.
Lovino screamed. "H-how the fuck did you find me?"
Feliciano laughed as he pointed to the footsteps in the ground. "There's coffee! No alcohol, don't drink so much." Feliciano acknowledged Antonio with a curtsey and a suspicious glance. Lovino did not always have the best judgement.
The three of them walked together, Lovino walked ahead because he was hungry and knew that he needed to explain himself. Antonio and Feliciano introduced themselves. Feliciano was not as paranoid as before—Antonio seemed like a nice person. Antonio liked that Feliciano took things well despite his sickliness and hoped that he would get better soon. Feliciano gave him a look.
Antonio understood immediately. Feliciano was unnervingly pale and skinny. The only thing about him that was strong was his will to live. Antonio promised to never talk about it again and Feliciano smiled.
A few months go by and Antonio was helping Lovino harvest tomatoes and that was when Lovino pulls him aside and asks, "Do you know about my grandfather?" Antonio said vaguely because he and Feliciano slipped it in conversations here and there. Lovino nodded and then elaborated more on what Antonio 'vaguely' knew. Lovino usually wasn't this open so what happened now?
"Doctors said Feliciano won't have longer than a year left."
Antonio felt devastated. He did not know them for very long and yet he knew Feliciano was one of the better sort of people out there. He could only imagine how painful it must be for Lovino—his own brother!
"Is God trying to take a piss at me?" Lovino said angrily. "For not believing? For fucking giving up? For calling Him a bastard? If He feels bad, then maybe He should stop fucking killing everyone I love! My own family, Antonio! What the fuck is wrong with Him?"
Antonio listened. Lovino started ugly sobbing, understandably so. Antonio nodded.
"Feliciano's a good kid. He's always doing his fucking best. He never whored around, he's always nice. He cooked for old ladies. He prays and reads the Bible every fucking day. Why do you Hate your own, God? Is it because he's dating some guy? Well, I don't like the blonde son of a bitch either but I won't kill them. What the fuck is your problem? Aren't you the good one?"
Antonio pat his back. And then, Lovino said, "Why can't He just kill me instead? Let Feliciano go. Let him be happy."
"That won't change anything."
"Yeah that fucking won't but at least I won't be sad."
"Well, I would."
Lovino looked at Antonio like he was crazy.
"But you'll fucking bounce in what? A week? Two weeks? I know your type. You idiots never fucking stay in one place, always running around, bumming around without doing anything proper. Piss off, Antonio. You'll find another one in China or some shit."
"No, Lovino. I care about you. I don't want you to die. Feli's not dead yet. What would he say?"
"He'd tell me to pray."
"Praying isn't dying, sí?" Antonio said. The sun was setting and the birds were chirping. Antonio picked up a plump tomato from the ground, wiped it with his shirt and gave it to Lovino. "Eating this beautiful tomato won't cure you or Feli of your pain but it sure tastes really nice."
Lovino laughed at that childish response. He ate the tomato and smiled. It was quite delicious. Antonio thought he looked like an angel when he smiled, especially now. They looked at each other with an unspoken emotion, something at the tip of their tongue. Antonio knew it a bit better than Lovino but it was still scary because it meant giving up his freedom to stay here.
Forever.
Of course, he can talk about travelling with Lovino but he knew lazy bastard wouldn't want to do anything. He could try to get Lovino out of the house. He could lose his dignity and leave and reclaim that freedom. He could... Lovino laughed again and that smile was gorgeous.
#spamano#aph spain#aph romano#aph south italy#hetalia#my art#the green colours and red blush could've legitimately worked#but i resisted lmao i needed to stick to my VISION#ill definitely try that colour scheme again next time#thank you to this piece#anyways ive mixed up details in this recount of my fic#but i hope you liked this general idea#i wanted to adapt it to one piece#because it's my current fandom haha#but i seriously doubt it would fit as nicely as hetalia lmao
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— gloomy stalker
idia shroud x dom!male reader
somebody has been following you around, but every time you look behind you all you were able to find was an empty space. that is until you cornered the perpetrator and he had nowhere else to go.
nsfw — handjob, grinding, consent IS there it just wasn’t mentioned, stalker!idia, self-deprecation (it’s idia guys), popular!reader, reader is kinda into it, semi-public?, no actual sex
wc: 1,024
Again, just like every other day, the feeling of eyes following your figure accompanied you everywhere. It’s been weeks since this started. The irritation on your face whenever you felt the unknown presence made your friends concerned, worriedly asking if you were alright. You always made sure to tell them “Yes, everything’s fine, I just haven’t slept well.” At some point, they knew that was a lie, but they kept asking the same thing, hoping you’d tell them the truth.
One day, you had the great idea of separating yourself from your friend’s side. Your lack of presence goes unnoticed, for a short while, that is. And while they were running around like headless chickens trying to find you, you were already far gone, almost sprinting to an abandoned hallway —one that held rumors of ghosts haunting it.
Hiding behind an old, and dirty human-like metal armor, you waited until you were able to hear the footsteps of the one you were excited to catch. With their back turned toward you, all you could see was that they had their hood up, blocking their hair from view. They were also skinny and quite tall, but their hunched shoulders made them look smaller.
With them looking the other way, they didn’t notice you inching closer. Now, with you a couple of feet away from them, you could hear their heavy pants, almost like they weren’t used to running a lot.
‘Unathletic.’ You noted.
Hurriedly, you took long silent strides, slamming your left hand over their mouth while the other arm wrapped around their waist, dragging them back into the quiet corner.
Turns out, the somebody was the resident's gloomy house warden. He’d been following you around like a lost puppy, either by looming over your shoulder or by watching you through the hallway cameras. That would explain why he followed you in here. He didn’t know about this place, seeing as there were no cameras for him to use.
For weeks, he tried hard to get rid of his crush on you. Often spying, he hoped that he caught a slip in your persona, thinking about how nobody was that perfect. Sometimes, Idia wanted you to catch him, to reveal an awful side of you so the one-sided crush he had would forcefully fade away with the humiliation you would surely show him. After all, he was nothing but a gross otaku. An ugly loser virgin that was nothing compared to you.
This is why when he ran after your silhouette, the last thing he expected was for a deity like you to do something out of a hentai.
Which is what brings you to now, hand deep in somebody else’s pants, his face buried into your shoulder.
Your dick was hard, begging for some attention. Right now though, you were too busy making the third-year moan in pleasure, seeing as he’d never experienced something like this with somebody else.
“Mmh…” Idia let out, biting your shoulder with his sharp teeth, making you hiss at the pain.
“Tch,” you clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Don’t hide your moans, you don’t deserve it after what you did.”
He whined in embarrassment, reluctantly releasing your shoulder from his shark-like teeth. Instead, he tried to stop his sounds by thinking of something else, but that quickly failed when your thumb rubbed around his tip.
“Ah!”
You huffed. “Pay attention to me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Mmm— ‘M sorry..”
Your remaining hand then went inside his pants, grabbing the base of his cock. Rubbing it up and down, the other twisted at the top, your wrist aching a bit with all the movement.
“Ngh! Ohhh!” With Idia’s face in clear view, hood down, you could see the way his hair changed from blue to pink, eyes rolling back a bit.
‘Shit, he’s so cute.’
Not being able to take it anymore, you pulled out your hands and released his dick. Grabbing him by the waist, you turned Idia around so his face was against the wall, back arched towards you.
“O-ow.”
Quickly, you resumed what you were doing.
With Idia’s ass facing your direction, you pushed your hips against it, instantly liking the way his round ass and both of your pants created delicious friction. Rolling your hips and grinding, you saw the way Idia struggled with deciding on what to do. On one end, all he wanted was for your hands to jerk him off until he couldn’t cum anymore. On the other, he wanted and craved the way the outline of your dick just barely rubbed in between his ass.
Gosh, he couldn’t believe this was even happening. How could someone like you do this with someone like him? Were you not disgusted?
“What did I say about paying attention?” you groaned, increasing the pace of your thrusts and hands.
“S-sorry didn’t mean to.”
Hips shaking, you knew Idia was close, the twitching of his cock and the way his hair flared up gave it away. As if it wasn't enough, his moans and whimpers also grew in volume, and you saw how Idia’s nails scratched the thin wallpaper in front of him.
Your grinding against him turned rapid and damn near savage. One of your hands slid down, playing with the heavy set of balls below his dick. Not even five seconds later, Idia let out a pleasurable scream, feeling his orgasm come from the set of skilled hands that were still working.
With Idia’s hot cum all over your palms and fingers, you rutted your hips against him. Letting out a fat load inside your underwear, you could do nothing but wish that it was instead inside your stalker’s hole.
“HaaaAh— Please, it h-hurts!”
‘Oh shit.’
You forgot that you were still fisting his dick.
Hands instantly letting go, you had to wrap your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t collapse onto the floor. All you could hear were his loud gasps, echoing around the empty hallway.
Later on, you’d come to hear about a new set of ghost rumors. Ones that contained weird noises coming from the hallway you two were in.
notes: idia is so cute i need to give him a sloppy handjob and hear him cry about it. 😕
#twst idia#twst wonderland#disney twst#twst#twst smut#idia shroud#twisted wonderland#idia shroud smut#twst x reader#twst x male reader#twisted wonderland idia#top male reader#male reader#dom male reader#idia shroud x reader#idia shroud x male reader#x male reader#male reader smut#disney twisted wonderland
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Girl's Knight
It was supposed to be girl’s night. Tim was on Comms so Barbara could be here, and the rest of the Bats had all but forced them to take the night off, each of them promising that they would handle the crime of the city so the girls could relax for one night. The plan had been a movie at the theater, dining out in their fanciest dresses that were usually only used for stuffy galas, then returning to the clocktower for drinks and makeovers. Not to mention looking through Babara’s cache of black mail videos of all the fails of the boys.
Of course, they still lived in Gotham. When did anything go to plan in Gotham?
The theater had been attacked by Dr. Freeze. He basically turned the whole building into a snowglobe. Since no one was inside it, Batman was just going to leave the building to thaw normally. So they should be able to enjoy movies there again sometime in April. The fancy restaurant turned out to be a front for a mob family and while they knew that, Jim Gordon had jumped the gun on cracking down and shut the place down. Babs was going to give her dad an annoyed call tomorrow about that one.
So now the trio of Barbara, Cassandra and Stephanie were at Batburger in their gala finest. The night could still be saved if they could just get back to the clock tower. Then Condiment King strutted into the Batburger. All three of them sighed and Cass and Steph started silently arguing back and forth on who would slip out to deal with him. No matter who stayed and who left, there were even odds of all of them getting covered in something foul smelling.
However all three of them were surprised when a pair at another table were the ones to rise.
Cassandra had of course clocked them when she entered, that part of her brain that she could never shut off had cataloged every person in the restaurant before she was even fully past the door.
The woman was tall, taller than any of her brothers. Even taller than Bruce. She might even be as tall as Wonder Woman. She had long flaming red locks that cascaded down her back, restrained only by a teal headband. She had sat facing the entrance and had clearly clocked the Batgirl trio as fighters as well. She was well muscled and moved with the practiced grace of a trained martial artist. When Condiment King had appeared she had seemed more annoyed than scared or truly bothered by him.
Her companion was skinny and small in the same way that street kids usually were, the same way Jason had been and even Cass herself. Like no matter how much food he ate it would never be enough to make up for not getting enough as a kid. Even though he had his back to the entrance he had still been aware of every person as they came and went, cocking his head and tracking them by sound alone. He looked to be the same age Cass was. Cass could tell they were siblings, though they looked just about as different as possible.
The two of them had conversed in rapid sign language, the woman speaking and signing, while he listened and signed back. It made Cassandra’s heart leap, seeing someone else just like her. She had just happened to sit so she could read some of his signs while showing that she used ASL as well. Though he apparently didn’t like his food very much because he kept saying something about “nasty burgers.”
Right before Condiment King had walked in, the guy had sat up and shivered before looking around warily. His sister had sighed and carefully wiped her fingers on her napkin, unhurried by whatever had spooked him. Then one of Gotham’s least effective, yet most annoying, rogues walked in and declared he was robbing the place.
The guy stood up and pulled what looked to Cass to be a highly scientific soup thermos and snuck up behind Condiment King as he was threatening the tired, underpaid and overworked cashiers. Cass couldn’t help but notice how silent he walked, he glided over the ground like a dancer as if gravity was only the merest of suggestions. He thumbed a switch on the side of his thermos and a brilliant blue beam poured out, catching Condiment King’s attention.
Condiment King turned and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw a random civilian holding a soup container threateningly. The rogue and the stranger both looked down at the thermos in confusion. He opened his mouth as if to speak but instead some horrible combination of sparking electricity, cracking ice and distant screams came out. Somehow Cass could almost hear words past the noise and she was amazed that she could understand him.
“Huh. I would have sworn you were one of mine.”
Condiment King scowled past his confusion and readied his mustard cannon.
“Danny, now's not the time for quips.” His sister said as she pulled him out of the way of the yellow fountain. “I’m not letting you back in the apartment if you smell like mustard.”
Then she pulled a baton from the back of her belt that extended into a bo staff. Two quick strikes had Condiment King disarmed and on the ground, a third and he was dazed enough to not be a threat.
“Well done, Jazz!” Danny had set his thermos down on the countertop so he could excitedly sign to his sister, then he looked around in confusion. “But then what triggered my ghost sense?”
No sooner had he finished his signs, than a translucent being phased through the wall, a box in his hands. He looked to be dressed as a regular warehouse worker, though he glowed, floated and apparently could ignore solid walls. He immediately began flinging frozen hamburger patties from his box around.
“I’m the Box Ghost! Ghostly master of all things rectangular and corrugated! Beware!”
“Ah, there you are Boxy.” Danny said in his strange and crackling voice. Cass could see that Stephanie and Barbara couldn’t understand what he was saying as they both clamped their hands over their ears at the cacophony.
Cass watched Danny with this Box Ghost. Clearly the two knew each other, she could practically see the rapport Danny had. She couldn’t keep herself from admiring Danny’s form. He flowed like water around the frozen patties. Even when her brothers were at their most agile and graceful, there was an element of elegance that was missing from their movements. Yet with Danny he skated around the projectiles.
He was also aware of every person in the restaurant. One of the frozen burgers would have easily missed Danny, but hit one of the others, except he caught it and spun it right back at Box Ghost. That level of awareness was difficult for even seasoned heroes, and showed how often Danny had faced overwhelming odds, he knew exactly what would happen if he failed to be aware of someone in the line of fire.
She appreciated how in control he was of his strength. She could see it in the bunching and tightening of his muscles that he wasn’t using anywhere near his full strength in this fight. It was a level of restraint she knew far too personally. It was the restraint of someone who had hurt others before and would never do so again.
“Alright Boxy, you’re making a mess. Time to be done” Danny said, grabbing the thermos once more and again flipping the switch. This time when the beam of light caught the ghost it began to pull them in like a vortex.
“Darn your cylindrical containment device!” The voice of the Box Ghost diminished until it completely disappeared along with the ghost and the beam of light. Danny spun the thermos in his hand for a moment before he clipped it onto his belt with a flourish.
Cass glanced at the other Batgirls and, unsurprisingly, saw Steph almost salivating over the amazonian woman. Steph liked her women strong, tall and hyper competent. Meetings with the rest of the Justice League usually left her vibrating with barely controlled desire. She had almost needed a vacation the first time she met Big Barda. Steph was already half way up out of her seat to introduce herself.
Barbara seemed similarly impressed, though as she was currently dating Dinah Lance, her interest was different. She had her phone out and was typing rapidly, no doubt hacking the security system of the Batburger to remove any evidence of their actions, as clear a sign of her approval as anything.
With a smile Cass also stood and followed Steph. The two Batgirls would absolutely introduce themselves to these two, and hopefully that introduction would eventually lead to a date, or maybe more.
#dp x dc#danny fenton#danny phantom#jazz fenton#cassandra cain#stephanie brown#barbara gordon#dead silent#danny x cass#jazz x steph#babs x dinah#dinahbabs#I could write more for this#a sequel or something#maybe even a whole dating fic#what would you like to see?#girl's knight
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I can’t get this idea out of my mind !!! Y/n and Simon who are childhood friends but unfortunately seperated because of him going into the SAS, but never forgetting each other, one day when he’s back home he sees all the families tapping them out and then he sees y/n after a long time and they tap him out 😭😭😭😭😭
Ah yes, I remember this idea and I still love it so much. @itsscromp Dividers are also from @cafekitsune. Childhood friends y/n x Simon | Platonic.
Always find your side.
Warning: Not beta read, slight blimp of violence, mention of abuse.
You and Simon have been friends for years. Simon lived a quiet life, he was a shy kid. He wasn't tall, he was skinny and he was a bullies dream target. He wasn't much when he was a kid which made school as much of a hell as home was.
He was starting a new year, heading back to the same school that he'd been attending since pre-school.
Tommy parked the car and grinned and ruffled Simon's hair. "Get out. If you get into trouble, you're Dad's problem."
"I know..." *Simon mumbled and got out and grabbed his backpack. Tommy pulled away from the curb and left Simon to head inside. Slowly dragging his feet up the stairs, tugging his hoodie up.
Kids talked along the stairs, girls giggled and the high school equivalent of "couples" roamed around.
He slipped under the radar, slipping through the big glass doors of the school and looking around the halls. He saw old faces from last year and kids in his grade. He didn't ever talk to them and kept moving.
Pulling his hood back into place again as he searched for his locker. He quickly moved toward the locker where the janitor must have removed the ink on it.
He sighed and went for his lock and code when an arm wrapped around his neck. He grimaced and grabbed on as he was tugged back. "Hey little Ryry. Long time no see."
He squirmed and kicked, but his bully had always been bigger and fuller than him. "Let.. go-"
The bully grinned and tugged Simon back and up, gripping the side of his face with the hand he kept him in a headlock with.
"I just missed you, no need to go so fast." He tugged down Simon's hoodie. Simon grimaced and chewed the inside of his cheek, remembering Tommy's words.
The halls filled and kids barely paid attention. Most know to just keep walking and move on. The bully licked his finger, spitting on the fat finger and wiggling it toward Simon's ear.
Simon squirmed and grimaced. "Get away from me-"
The bully chuckled and slid his finger into Simon's ear, twisting it around and shoving it as hard inside as he could. Simon grabbed his wrist, squeezing and trying to push him away.
"Hey!" The bully looked across the hall as someone stepped forward from a group of kids and stood in front of the two.
"That's gross mate, let him go." You said firmly and gripped your backpack.
The bully huffed. "Newbie getting cocky?? You know what we do to newbies?? Don't we, Ryry."
"I said, let him go." You armed your book bag and gripped it tight. The bully scoffed. He took his finger from Simon's ear and shoved him. Simon gasped, stumbling and tripping on his shoelaces, smacking against the ground.
The bully snickered and walked off, leaving you to help the boy. "Hey, you ok?" You bent down and reached out for him. Simon grimaced and sat up, quickly doing up his shoes.
"I'm fine..." He dusted himself off. "You're new around here.."
"Yeah, I moved here a couple months ago. What grade are you in??"
"Ten..." He fixed his sleeves and hoodie.
"Cool, I'm Y/n!" You smiled and held out your hand.
Simon blinked and looked at your hand. "Simon..." He didn't shake your hand or anything.
"Well, stay safe, I'll see you around Simon." The bell rang and you quickly rushed off to find your classes. Simon tried not to think about you throughout his classes. His bully watching him, boring holes into his skull.
Until he reached PhysEd he didn't see you. He walked into the locker room and put on his gym outfit, walking out into the room seeing the kids running warmup laps.
He scratched at his scrawny arms, tucking his forearms against his side's. He didn't like wearing so little.
"Simon! Get in the run! Come on!" His teacher called, motioning widely for him to get in.
He groaned and trotted up, joining the circle. You noticed his head of fluffy short hair and rushed to run at his side. "Simon!" You smiled.
"I guess we share a class together!"
Simon looked at you, somewhat surprised. "Hello?" He raised an eyebrow.
You snickered. "At least you aren't alone now."
He hummed, and went back to his run. Throughout PhysEd you didn't leave him alone. You were the new kid and he was the outcast. That's how it sort of pieced together. The two of you hanging out all day as much as you could.
You sat together at lunch. Even though Simon was very shut down, you didn't push him. A part of you told you, you had to be gentle with him.
But you worked for it. Throughout the next three years you came to be friends with Simon. Your main time to spend together came from school and breaks, as Simon had a curfew of 4:45 to be home and no later. You'd already seen him near a panic attack at having to rush home.
You briefly saw his older brother pick him up once. But from what you could sense, his family wasn't in a good situation.
You walked up to Simon's locker, smiling when you saw him. "Hey Simon!"
Simon kept his head down, scuffing his feet. "Y/n..."
"Hey, you ok?" You tilted your head and checked on him.
Simon shoved his hands in his pockets, hiding his face away from you. You frowned softly, reaching out for his hand. You saw the bruises on his knuckles and fingers. The black and blue up his wrists and under his sleeves.
"Simon, show me your face."
"M'no..."
"Simon," You said softly, slowly reaching for his hood and pulling the side back. You saw the bruises speckling all up his cheek and around his eyebrow and cheekbone.
"Simon... We should get you to the nurse."
"No. You can't..."
"Simon, you're hurt."
He pushed your hand away but you had none of it. You gently took his hand and hugged him. "You can trust me..." You whispered and squeezed him gently.
Simon hesitated before leaning into you. His body is tired and wanting to rest. You slowly rocked him. "If you skip PhsyEd we can do homework in the classroom together instead..."
"Yeah?"
"Of course."
He nodded against your shoulder and hid his face. And you held him as long as he needed, damn to the school bell.
You and Simon had now gotten to your final year of school. You were excited. Both of you would be able to get out and finally try and figure yourselves out.
And then 9/11 happened. Just as the new school year started. That rocked the both of you when you heard it. The school day had stopped as the news played over the tv and radio.
Simon got quieter again after that. You didn't connect the dots at first from the incident, but Simon kept his head down and stayed away from you.
He had been spending more of his time at a part time job after school as well. You two were close, but something was off about Simon. You two were quietly eating lunch, Simon staring down at his barely touched meal.
"Something is bugging you??" You asked. Finally catch him in a moment to talk.
He looked up at you. He shrugged a little and picked at his food some more.
"Simon... What's going on in your head??" You grew concerned. You didn't know what it was but part of you was afraid it was something you wouldn't be able to stop if you didn't ask.
Silence followed for a bit. You were about to ask again when Simon finally spoke. "I'm leaving..."
"Leaving??" You frowned. "Where are you going??" Was he going to run away? Vacation? Moving...??
Simon sighed softly. "I signed up for bootcamp..."
You blinked, surprised to hear that. "What?? Bootcamp??" You put your plate down. "When are you leaving?"
"Soon... A couple months.." He kept his gaze down.
"Simon, why didn't you tell me this?? Is this why you are trying to avoid me?"
"I just... Didn't want you to miss me. So I thought maybe if I avoided you a little more you'd forget about me."
You laughed softly. "Simon, why would I forget you?? You're my best friend. I will never forget you."
Simon was quiet. You both sat at the table quietly. "So, you really want to do this, don't you?"
"I do."
You nodded. You couldn't help being worried for Simon. He had been working on bulking up a little bit, and he was a strong witted character. But you worried as a friend. What if he got shot, injured, or killed? You couldn't bear to lose him.
"Ok, then I support that decision. Are you going because you want to serve, or get away from... Him?" You leaned closer and reached out for his hand.
"Both... But I want to serve."
Simon wanted to serve. After 9/11 it pushed him over the edge of a decision and he signed up. He was old enough to scrape into bootcamp.
When Simon packed up and got ready to leave, you texted him to meet up. Before he left you met him. It was a cold, rainy day, but you didn't mind trudging out through the puddles and dark clouds to find Simon.
He had his bags and umbrella, standing at the corner of the road. You fixed your rain coat and quickly rushed across the road.
"Simon!"
Simon waved at you. "Hey."
"Hey! Sorry, I'm wet, can I hug you??"
He nodded, and you eagerly hugged him tightly. Simon wrapped an arm around you, "Stay safe."
"You too, don't die, and stay up to date! I want to hear about all of it!" You smiled up at him.
Simon nodded as the bus showed up. He picked up his bags and started down the sidewalk.
"Wait, Simon!"
He paused and turned back to you.
"Just, call me! I want you to text me as soon as bootcamp is over!"
Simon pursed his lips and nodded. You watched him get on the bus, rain pouring down on you. You stayed there and waved as the bus left.
"Goodbye!!" You waved.
Simon and you did talk. After he got through bootcamp and was accepted he could talk to you a lot more. He would text and email when he could. But slowly, as Simon ranked up the texts started to slow.
You also moved on with your life. Getting a sturdy job and trying to build your life. But you never forgot each other.
Simon still remembered you, but he didn't know if you remembered him.
You remembered him every day when you did your work. When you saw military signs you thought fondly of Simon. You sent him email after email over the course of two years.
And he never responded. His office was collecting dust and his computer shoved in a cardboard box. Emails piling up over the years he was missing.
You eventually gave up, unsure if he was just busy or didn't care to talk anymore.
Vernon walked over. He grinned and kicked Simon in the stomach. "Wakey wakey, Riley~"
Simon choked. His chains rattled and his wrists chaff. He looked up at him, blood leaking down his mouth. He laid his head in the ground, his wrists squeezing behind his back.
"Come on, Riley. Give us a bark." Vernon taunted. He stepped on Simon's head, digging his heel in. Simon grits, biting into his gag. Blood leaked into his eye and he squeezed his eyes shut.
He thought of you. That's one of the things that kept him going. It kept him from breaking. It kept him going.
Vernon's taunting words were static ringing in his ears as he remembered you.
He never forgot you. Even when he lost his family. He had nothing left. He couldn't confide in anyone. He couldn't trust anyone. He felt completely alone.
He stared down at his phone and rubbed his face. He hadn't emailed you in over four years. He didn't even know if you remembered him. He wouldn't blame you if you'd have forgotten such an insignificant boy in your life.
"Hey, don't know if you remember me. There's a ceremony happening back home. Don't know if you want to come down, you don't have to."
He stared at the email. He groaned and sent it, feeling his heart practically twist up in his chest.
He didn't get any reply back in the days leading up, so he assumed you'd forgotten or deleted it. He wouldn't have blamed you if it went to spam.
He dressed up in his uniform and fixed his collar, taking a deep breath. Back home, the soldiers lined up, ready for the usual ceremony and happy reuniting of families.
They all sat or stood around the area. He couldn't spot you from his view. He didn't expect you to come. He was foolish.
He stood there firmly as the general and captain spoke. The ceremony lasted a bit, but his feet were used to the pain.
Eventually families were allowed out. Children shrieked and ran to their fathers. Sisters and brothers ran to their siblings and hugged them tightly. Wives and husbands immediately went to tap out their lovers.
Simon continued to look ahead, hands firm at his sides.
He mate next to him hugged his little brother and walked off. People slowly flooded away and soldiers spared thin. Simon had no family, he had no friends, he had no one who could tap him out.
He'd once again stand around until the captain could tap him out at the end. He was waiting for chairs to empty and families to leave. Waiting for the area went quiet as people packed up and they cleaned.
The general would talk for a bit and the captain would come over. They'd thank him for his duty and finally tap him out so he could wander.
As people walked away, you picked up your bag and wandered through the people. "Excuse me. Sorry, sorry. I'm just gonna sneak through here." You said as you wormed past people.
You walked into the concrete and looked around, spotting him. One of the last men standing there firmly.
You smiled and walked in front of him. Wow, he had changed so much. Shaved his head, taller, much stronger. Scars all over his body from what you could see showing under the uniform.
Simon spotted you, keeping his face still. Wow, you have changed. Was that you?? It was. It really is...
You took a deep breath and kept still. You stood in front of him. "Hey Simon." You tapped his chest.
Simon relaxed his joints slightly. And without hesitation you rushed into his arms. Simon smiled, squeezing you tightly.
"I missed you..." You whispered, squeezing his uniform. "I missed you so much."
Simon squeezed you back and hid against you. You smiled warmly, and slowly rubbed his back. "I got your email." You whisper.
"Thought you'd forgotten about me..." He mumbled against your shoulder.
"Simon... I told you I'd never forget about you. Not my best friend."
His heart swelled and he smiled against your shoulder. He squeezed you and then put you down gently.
You wiped a few tears and looked up at him. "It's so good to see you buddy. You look good."
"I look like shit... Couldn't sleep on my flight..."
"Oh hush, you look good!" You gently patted his arm. "Come on, let's get something to eat." You took his hand and led him away.
Simon blinked, surprised. "What??"
"Come on, you're hungry aren't you??"
Simon hesitated and then nodded. Yeah, actually, he was hungry. Now that you mention it.
"Well, there's Five Guys not far from here." You chime and smile.
Simon finally chuckled and smiled, squeezing your hand and rushing to follow. "You really didn't forget..."
"I'd never forget buddy, I love you, y'know."
Simon's lip wobbled. You were truly the best. Just... The best.
"Yeah..." He rubbed your knuckle. "I love you too.."
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#call of duty headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#childhood#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x gender neutral reader#platonic soulmates#platonic relationships#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2#ghost cod
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