Bulking up was probably the best and worst decision you’d ever made. On one hand, your strength had skyrocketed—stairs, bags of groceries, gym PRs, all easier than ever. But the downside? You weren’t as lean as before, not as cut. You’d traded sharp lines for broader shoulders and thicker arms, and it left you feeling exposed. Especially around people who’d known you before.

Especially around Shauna.

Did you know she was obsessed with how you looked now? No. She didn’t exactly try to hide it, either—she complimented you constantly. "God, your shoulders," she'd say, running her hand over your arm like she was discovering a favorite song again. You never fully believed her, not in that way, but you still gave her that small, soft smile. The kind of smile you gave when you wanted to believe something more than you actually did.

She’d begged you to come over for the weekend. Said it had been too long since you stayed. That she missed you. That it was boring without you.

You wanted to—God, did you—but the thought of changing in front of her, of her seeing how your body had shifted, made you hesitate. Still, you packed a bag and went. Hoodie on. You helped her in the yard all day, setting up the inflatable pool her dad had sent her as a “sorry I can’t make it” gift.

The day ran long. Sun dipped low. Your hoodie eventually came off, but by then you were both too tired to care. You changed in the bathroom, pulled on soft cotton pajama pants and a worn tee.

It was morning when you felt it—the shift of her body, the light tug on your arm. You were still mostly asleep, mind fogged, body warm. She was probably getting up, you thought. Maybe moving to grab her phone, or fix the blanket.

Then— bite.

Sharp, sudden, right on the bicep.

Your eyes snapped open. You blinked fast, the ceiling still unfamiliar in that just-woke-up haze.

“Did you—?” you started to ask, but stopped when you felt her palm gently rubbing the spot she'd bitten.

“Sorry,” she mumbled into your neck. Her voice was still husky with sleep, muffled by skin. “You just looked… soft. But, like, not… I mean, like a pillow. A really warm pillow.”

You blinked down at her, still half in a daze. “…You bit me because I looked like a pillow?”

“I bit you,” she said, lifting her head enough to glance up at you, “because you were warm and right there. And I was still sleepy.”

You stared at her. She stared back.

“Don’t judge me,” she added.

“I’m not,” you said slowly, voice still thick with sleep. “Just… processing.”

She dropped her head back down, clearly not ready to let the moment pass. You felt her mouth press against the bite mark again—not a bite this time, just a nuzzle, lips brushing warm skin.

“You’re so solid now,” she said quietly. “Like you’re made of brick. But nice brick. Like, soft, cozy brick.”

“You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You lay there for a few more moments, arm tingling, heartbeat steady. Her breath puffed against your collarbone. You realized, gradually, that her fingers were still lightly tracing the edge of the bite mark.

Then she bit you again.

“Shaauna—!”

“What?” she said, voice light and sing-song. “It’s like… addictive.”

You huffed. Not quite annoyed. Not quite amused either. She laughed softly and pulled you closer.

For the next ten minutes, she alternated between curling against you and sneaking in little nips—on your arm, your shoulder, the space where your neck met your jaw. Nothing too hard. Just enough for you to jolt, mutter something under your breath, and swat at her playfully.

Eventually, she sighed and pushed herself up, hair wild, expression smug.

“Okay. I’m done biting,” she declared.

“Thank God.”

“…For now,” she added, throwing you a wink over her shoulder as she climbed out of bed.