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Notes from the Batcave: I haven’t posted any smut in awhile, and this Inuzuka man has been heavy on my brain lately 🙂↕️
You knew something was off with Kiba the moment you walked into his apartment.
It was his eyes.
Low lidded. Dark with want. Glowing in a way that made your spine tingle, and the tension, all coiled in his muscles like a wire pulled taut, his jaw locked tight as you kicked off your shoes and smiled at him.
“Hey, babe,” you said gently, confused by the stillness in his posture, “Everything okay?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Just stared.
And breathed.
Inhale. Slow. Deep. Controlled, but only barely.
Your scent, your shampoo, the trace of your sweat from a long day, the underlying sweetness of your skin, it hit him like a punch to the gut. And it was too much.
Kiba clenched his fists and forced himself to look away.
“Y-yeah. Fine,” he said, but his voice was hoarse. Rough. Too rough.
You tilted your head at him, curious now. A bit concerned, “You don’t sound fine.”
And it wasn’t your fault, really. You couldn’t know.
Your clan didn’t experience it- this. The early rut that sometimes hit Inuzuka men hard and fast as their instincts matured. It wasn’t quite seasonal, but it was biological. Primal. A flood of hormones that sparked when a mate had been chosen, when bonds deepened, when desire turned to need.
And tonight?
Kiba was fighting every cell in his body to keep from pouncing on you the second you walked through that damn door.
His nose twitched.
You had no idea how good you smelled. No idea what you were doing to him just by standing there in that little top, those shorts, the way your thighs brushed as you stepped into the room. No idea that his cock was already stiff and aching in his pants, twitching with every teasing hint of your scent that filled his nose.
You approached him slowly, not sensing danger, just this broody stillness. You reached up, brushing your fingers over his cheek.
And he flinched.
Your brows pinched, “Kiba…?”
His hand snapped up, gripping your wrist. Gently, but firm.
“You shouldn’t touch me right now.”
You blinked. Confused, “Why not?”
He swallowed hard, “Because I don’t know if I’ll stop.”
Silence.
His eyes flicked down to your lips. Then lower.
Then slowly, so slowly, up to meet yours again, hungry and desperate.
You felt your pulse pick up.
“Talk to me,” you whispered, suddenly aware of the tension in the air. The heat lingering in his gaze, “What’s going on?”
Kiba turned his head and let go of your wrist. He dragged both hands through his hair and exhaled through his nose like he was trying to shake something loose.
“It’s a rut,” he said finally. “Early one. I thought I had more time, but- fuck.” His jaw clenched, “You came in and I smelled you and now my head is just- gone.”
A beat.
You stared at him, “Rut, like…?”
“Like I want to pin you down and fuck you until you can’t stand.” The words fell from him, raw and shameless.
You shivered.
He looked at you like he regretted it, but also like he meant every syllable.
“I can control it,” he said quickly. “If you need space. If you want to go- I’ll be fine. Just give me a few days. I didn’t mean to scare you, I-“
You silenced him with a touch to his chest.
Firm. Decisive.
“Kiba.”
His breath hitched.
You stood on your toes, kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and deliberate.
“You don’t scare me. How do I help?”
And with that, the leash snapped.
His hands were on you in seconds, gripping your hips, dragging you flush against his body as his mouth crashed against yours. Hungry. Possessive. Tongue sweeping over your bottom lip like he needed to taste every inch of you.
You gasped into him and he groaned deep in his chest.
“You smell so good,” he rasped, nosing along your neck. “Like you belong to me.”
Your knees went weak.
He lifted you without thinking, one hand under your ass as he carried you toward his bedroom, quick strides, growling low as you kissed up his throat and tugged at the fabric of his shirt.
By the time he laid you out on the bed, both of you were panting.
“Take your clothes off,” he said, voice wrecked with want. “Please.”
You obeyed, cheeks flushed, and he watched your every movement with predatory intensity. His pants were halfway down before he had the sense to ask, “Are you sure? This- it might get rough. I don’t know how much control I’ll have.”
You bit your lip and nodded. “I trust you.”
Kiba cursed under his breath. Then surged forward, kissing you hard as his hands slid over your thighs, parting them, spreading you open so he could settle between them. You were already slick, and he groaned at the scent.
“Fuck. You’re already wet,” he was already kissing down your body, muttering against your stomach, dragging his tongue along your navel. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”
You whimpered under his mouth, fingers threading through his hair.
He kissed lower, licked through your folds like a man starved, and it broke him the way you moaned.
“Kiba- oh-“
Your voice was too much. Your taste. Your thighs trembling around his head, as he ate like you were his last meal.
He ran his tongue all over you, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit as he fucked into your tight hole with tongue.
He groans against your core as your back arches, the sounds of your moans muffled by the way your thighs squeezed his head, the vibrations of his groan going straight through you.
“Fuck- fuck baby-“
His rut instincts screamed: breed. claim. knot. mate.
But he held back. Barely.
Only when you were gasping, hips bucking against his mouth, did he pull back, licking his lips to savor every bit of slick he had slurped up from you.
Kiba shifted himself over you, to line himself up with a shaky breath.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.
Then he pushed in.
Thick. Hot. Heavy.
You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping into his shoulders tight as he bottomed out.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, “So fucking good. You were made for me.”
The pace started slow, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, controlling his rut as much as he could but it twisting through him like wildfire. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, as he buried his face in your neck, panting, whining softly against your skin.
“You feel perfect,” he growled, “I can’t- can’t stop. I don’t wanna stop. More.”
“Then don’t,” you breathed, digging your nails into his back, “Don’t stop, Kiba. please.”
And that was it.
He snapped his hips forward, fucking you with everything he had. His hands pushed down against your thighs as he fucked you into his mattress. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, matched only by the slick, messy drag of your bodies and the broken moans you both made.
His teeth grazed your throat not biting, almost claiming. a silent reminder.
Mine.
Your climax hit like a wave, hot and sudden, clenching around him as you cried his name, leaving creamy frothy rings around his cock.
And Kiba lost it.
He snarled, hips jerking erratically as he came deep inside you, grinding into you as his knot began to swell. His body locked, holding you down as his cock pulsed again and again, stuffing you full with hot ropes of cum.
“Mine. mine. mine,” he whispered, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “Fuck, I love you.”
You stroked his back, dazed, aching in the best way, filling so utterly full of him, not even fully aware of what was happening as he rutted softly against you through the aftershocks.
Eventually he stilled, when his knot was fully inflated.
Pressed flush against you, panting hard, knot keeping you joined.
His voice was rough when he spoke next.
“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he mumbled against your skin, “I couldn’t- I couldn’t help it.”
You kissed his shoulder.
“You’re okay, sweet boy. I liked it.”
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, blinking.
“You’re not scared?”
You smiled, “Of you? Never.”
He exhaled, nose twitching again, and pressed his forehead to yours.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, “Already are.”
—————————
You woke to the weight of him.
The warmth of his skin against yours, heavy breath against the crook of your neck, arms locked around you like he thought you might disappear if he let go.
And inside you?
Still full. Still stretched. Still knotted.
How many times had you gone last night? You weren’t sure. The breaks were short between knottings, an hour or so until he deflated, and was hard and ready to go again.
You blinked your bleary eyes open with a soft sigh, the soreness between your legs undeniable, but not unwelcome. You felt wrecked, raw in every way, but by the gods, you’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Kiba stirred.
He grunted softly against your skin, shifting just enough to nuzzle your neck, licking over the bite he’d left there the night before.
“Still there,” he murmured hoarsely, “Fuck…”
Your voice came out rough, from all the moaning you’d done, “You awake?”
“Unfortunately,” he mumbled, “My body’s finally calming down and now all the guilt’s kicking in.”
You frowned, “Guilt?”
Kiba’s arms tightened slightly around you, “I used you.”
That made you snort, “Kiba.”
“I did,” he said, sounding wrecked but not from the sex this time, “I needed it, I couldn’t stop, I didn’t pace myself- hell, I didn’t even let you sleep-“
You turned your head, eyes meeting his. He looked miserable. Even now, sweaty, eyes still hazy, lips red and swollen from kissing and biting, he looked so genuine in his concern that it made your chest ache.
“Kiba,” you said gently, “I let you.”
“That doesn’t mean-“
“And I wanted it,” you added, a little firmer. “All of it.”
His brow pinched.
“I’m sore,” you admitted, “and you definitely owe me breakfast. But I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.” You touched his cheek, smiling faintly. “You needed me. That wasn’t using me.”
He swallowed thickly, guilt still flickering behind his eyes.
“I could’ve hurt you,” he whispered, “I kept thinking that every time I came back to myself- every time I realized I’d pulled you into another position without asking or started thrusting before you’d caught your breath or- fuck, I just kept going, even when you were shaking.”
“I was shaking because of you,” you said with a small grin.
That earned the tiniest of huffs.
Still, you reached for his hand where it was splayed against your lower belly, tracing circles over his knuckles, “If I’d said stop, would you have?”
“Immediately,” he said without hesitation, “I’d have snapped out of it. Forced myself to.”
You nodded, “And if I needed a break?”
“I’d’ve taken you to the bath. Let you rest. Anything.”
“Then you didn’t use me,” you said softly, your gaze settled on his, “You just… needed me.”
Kiba stared at you.
You could see it then, the crack in his armor, the weight of all that tension he’d been holding since the second he realized his rut was starting. And last night… you let him unleash it. All of it.
Even when he’d growled against your throat and bent you over the bed again, even when his knot hit too deep and he’d growled your name like a prayer, you took it. Again and again.
You were sore. Raw. Split wide open in the best kind of way.
And you’d never felt closer to him than now.
Kiba exhaled shakily, “You didn’t flinch. Not once.”
“I was too busy coming,” you teased, a short giggle leaving your throat at your own joke.
That earned a real laugh from him though. Warm and deep.
“I’ve never had someone just… let me go like that,” he confessed quietly, “Not without panicking, or Not without needing to pull away. You didn’t even hesitate.”
“I trust you,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “Even when you’re desperate and wild and half-feral… I trust you to take care of me.”
He swallowed hard.
The knot inside you finally began to soften, twitching faintly as it started to deflate. Kiba kissed your temple and slowly, slowly shifted to pull out of you, hissing softly as your bodies finally separated.
You winced at the mess between your legs.
“So much,” you muttered.
He grinned sheepishly, continuing with banter, “you’re the one wasting it.”
Your eyes narrow but there a smile on your own kiss swollen lips.
Kiba leaned up on one elbow, gazing down at you now that he wasn’t trembling from rut heat. His voice dropped a little lower, “Still feel okay? Not lightheaded? Cramping?”
“A little sore,” you admitted, stretching carefully, “But not in a bad way.”
His fingers brushed between your thighs gently, inspecting, not lewd, but concerned.
“No tears. No swelling. Just a lot of…” he bit his lip, “… me.”
You groaned and shoved him playfully, “Don’t say it like that.”
He caught your hand and kissed your wrist.
“I meant it when I said I loved you,” he said softly, that pretty brown eyed gaze soft on you, “Didn’t plan to say it while I was balls-deep and losing my mind, but it’s true.”
You blinked.
He smiled, gentle, “I don’t wanna freak you out-“
“I love you too,” you say barely a whisper.
He froze.
Then grinned so wide it hurt your cheeks just to look at him.
“I’m gonna take such good care of you now,” he murmured, nuzzling into your shoulder, “You’re never leaving my bed again.”
“I do have a job,” you muttered.
“Call out,” he said immediately, already pulling you closer again, “You’re still slick and warm and fuck… I could go again right now.”
You swatted his chest, laughing.
But his hand was already sliding low again, cupping between your thighs.
“Just one more,” he breathed, “Let me make you come one more time and I’ll definitely make breakfast.”
You raised a brow, “Do I get coffee?”
He smirked, “Whatever you want after you’re ruined all over again.”
His fingers were warm, slow, unhurried.
You laid there on your back, legs still parted from where he’d settled between them again but this time, it wasn’t fast or frenzied or needy.
It was worshipful.
Kiba touched you like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t quite say with words. Like he still needed you, desperately, but now he had the control to show you what that really meant.
“You’re still open for me,” he murmured, breath ghosting over your inner thigh as he kissed the soft skin just above your knee, “Still so sweet and wet and- fuck, I could live between your legs.”
Your breath hitched.
He nuzzled between your thighs and pressed a slow, wet kiss to your folds, licking up the mess he’d left hours ago with a reverence that made your whole body ache.
“Kiba…”
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Just lay back. Let me take care of you, baby.”
You didn’t argue. You let him.
Let him kiss and taste and tongue you open, soft but firm, gentle but thorough. His hands smoothed up your stomach, fingers splaying over your ribs like he wanted to memorize you all over again.
You gasped as his mouth sealed around your clit and sucked, just once, slow and wet, and your hips twitched beneath him.
“Sensitive,” he said with a smirk, lifting his head slightly. His lips were slick, eyes dark with want, but softer now. Less wild.
“Wrecked,” you breathed.
“Good,” he growled softly, “I want you ruined by me. Soft and sore and dripping with my seed for days.”
You whined and reached down for him, needing more, and he moved up your body with a low grunt, kissing your stomach, your chest, mouthing at your nipples.
“Gonna keep it slow this time,” he promised, voice low in your ear, “No rushing. No rut. Just me. You.”
You arched into him when he slid inside.
It wasn’t as tight this time, he’d stretched you open so much during the night, but it still felt right, the way he filled you so completely. The slow slide of him was overwhelming in the best way, friction melting into warmth as your bodies pressed flush.
“Still so fucking perfect,” he rasped.
Kiba moved slow. Hips rocking into you like waves, deep and smooth, his arms braced on either side of your head so he could watch your face.
Every twitch. Every flutter of your lashes. Every gasp.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, “Taking me so good. You were made for this.”
You whimpered his name, nails digging into his back.
He kissed you as he moved, really kissed you. Deep and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be but tangled up in you, feeling you clench around him with every thrust.
You were already close. Too close. Your body still sensitive from the night before, and his voice, his heat, the stretch of him, it was too much.
“Kiba, I-“ your voice broke.
“I know,” he whispered, “Go on. Cum for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”
And you did.
You clenched tight around him, thighs trembling, mouth open in a silent moan as he fucked you through it. He was slow but deep, groaning into your neck as your walls fluttered around him.
“That’s it. That’s my girl. Just like that.”
His rhythm stuttered.
And then, after one last thrust, he pushed in deep, moaned your name low in his throat, and spilled inside you again. Not frantic. Not messy. Just full and overwhelming.
He stayed buried in you as long as he could, his forehead resting against yours, breath shaky.
“Love you,” he whispered, “So much. So fuckin’ much.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, soft and slow, trying to catch your breath.
“I love you too.”
Eventually, he softened and slipped out with a wet noise and a soft hiss, you winced, and he was immediately on alert.
“You okay?”
“Sore,” you said honestly, “But okay.”
He kissed your shoulder, “Let’s clean you up, yeah?”
Kiba scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing and carried you into the bathroom, setting you gently on the edge of the tub. You watched him, bare, glowing faintly with the last flickers of the afterglow, turn the water on and grab a clean cloth.
He knelt in front of you.
Warm washcloth. Gentle hands. Kisses to your knee as he cleaned between your thighs, murmuring little apologies when you hissed from the sting.
You watched him with soft, bleary eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he murmured, glancing up.
“Because you’re being sweet,” you said, “Even after turning me into a puddle.”
He grinned.
“Didn’t think I had that in me, huh?”
“I figured you’d just knot me again and pass out.”
“Oh, I will again later,” he said, kissing your thigh. “But you deserve aftercare. You gave me your whole body last night. Let me be a good mate.”
You blinked.
Mate.
The word lingered. Echoed. Warm and heavy in your chest.
Kiba didn’t even flinch saying it.
He helped you into a clean shirt, his, oversized and cozy, and tucked you back into bed before climbing in behind you and pulling you close. His hand rested low over your stomach, protective, possessive.
His voice was soft, lips brushing your ear.
“You tell me if it ever feels like too much, alright? The rut. The need. The knot. Any of it. Just say the word and I’ll back off, even if I’m losing my mind.”
You nodded, heart full.
“And if you ever want it like that again…” he grinned, dragging his teeth over your earlobe, “…I’ll ruin you slower next time.”
You groaned and shifted, burying your face in his chest, but your smile didn’t fade.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
