reblogblog atm

The first shell appears a week after your confession. Life had kept you from the beach, from your merman. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a bit of hesitation as well. Despite your desire to see him no matter what, that fear that he won’t show up keeps niggling in the back of your mind. You want to see him again, but what if that feeling isn’t mutual?

Then the shells start arriving.

You nearly step on the first, not expecting it to be sitting right on your welcome mat first thing in the morning. A big conch shell, colored in shades of pink and yellow. A glance both ways down the street gives no hint as to where it came from. None of the neighbors have them either.

With a shrug you set it on the table near the door before heading to work, leaving the mystery of the shell of circle in the back of your mind.

Another is waiting the next day.

A conus shell this time, cream speckled with black spots.

The thoughts circle at the forefront of your mind this time. Once is coincidence, twice screams intention. Someone is gifting you shells. You can’t think of any admirers. You’re not particularly close with any of your neighbors either.

Maybe you should have invested in that doorbell camera.

As the days pass, more and more shells appear, every morning a new one waiting for you on your doorstep. You’re getting quite the collection on your table. Still, you have no idea who’s leaving them for you. The temptation has been there to get up early, or pull an all-nighter to try and catch who might be responsible. Get a glimpse of your secret admirer. You wouldn’t act on it, instead it’s curiosity that drives this desire. Your heart already belongs to someone.

Guilt eats away at you. It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve gone to the beach. Does he think you’ve abandoned him? That you’ve lost interest? That you’re too scared to face him after your confession?

This weekend. This weekend you’ll go and finally face him.

****

The air is cooler than you’d prefer as your make your way down the beach. Despite this, warmth tingles in your belly in anticipation. There’s not as many people on the beach this early in the day, even for a weekend. Most were probably still in bed. You would be too, if you weren’t desperate to finally see your merman. Nerves twist low in your belly, but the warmth pooling there quickly shoves them aside.

He’s going to come.

You pick a spot, stripping yourself of your clothes before stepping into the water. It’s cool, goosebumps rising on your skin but you push the discomfort aside, sitting yourself in the sand.

The minutes it takes drag on forever. Those nerves are back, every wave sending your stomach clenching, your heart thudding. He’s not coming. Over and over your mind whispers it. You’ve ruined it, the one good thing in your life. You shouldn’t have told him, you should have suffered in silence.

But then a bulge appears in the water, speeding fast towards the shore through the waves. Familiar purple scales break through the water, a smile tugging at your lips as your merman pulls himself right up to you, so close you can feel his breath on your face.

“Hi,” you breathe, your heart pounding for a different reason.

He doesn’t say anything, but you don’t expect him to. His hands sink into the sand on either side of you, your thighs parting to allow his body close.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long,” you say, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “I’ve been busy with life and work.” You’re tempted to tell him of the shells, but it’s not like he could give you advice or his opinion. “I’ve missed you.”

He blinks at you, tilting his face into your hand. His slick skin glides against yours as he practically nuzzles you. Did he miss you too? Did your time away give him a moment to consider what you told him last time, time to mull over your confession? Does he feel the same way?

He leans forward, your arms wrapping around his neck as he presses his lips to yours. Sharp teeth graze your skin, careful not to press too hard and draw blood. He tastes briny as you part your lips, letting him in fully. Salty like the sea, but there’s another taste further below the brine, something distinctly him.

His arms wrap around you, flipping your positions. His tail splashes in the water as he settles below you, gills flaring as he breathes. Reluctantly you pull away from his lips, sitting yourself up over him.

“I meant it, you know,” you say quietly, trailing your fingers down his chest. He stares up at you, hands coming to rest on your hips. “What I said before. I don’t know if you understood, or if you even have a concept of love among merpeople.”

One of his hands slides up your side to your back, pulling you back down to hips lips. No talking, he seems to say, or perhaps it’s his way of saying yes. It only leaves you more confused as you kiss him, hands pressed against his chest.

You can feel him poking through his slit, the hard tip of his cock dragging against your folds. You slip a hand down between your bodies, teasing his tip with your fingers. He bucks in the water, splashing it up around your legs as his teeth scrape against your lip. He’s careful enough not to draw blood, but the skin feels raw. It makes you feel alive.

You pull away from him, shifting yourself so you can palm at his slit, coaxing his cock free. You wrap your fingers around the slick appendage, stroking him slowly. He’s hot and hard in your hand, his hips canting up against you. His nails dig into your thighs, stinging a bit but you pay it no mind, letting him guide you up over his cock.

A moan escapes your lips as your head falls back, your body stretching around his cock. You haven’t touched yourself in those two weeks, trying to avoid dulling any sensations you might miss in these moments. The ridges of his cock drag along your walls, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips at the pleasurable sensation.

“Fuck, you’ve ruined me.” You moan, pressing down until you’re seated fully against his hips. His cock presses deep inside of you, your pussy fluttering around him. “I’ll never feel satisfied by anything but this again.”

For half a second something flashes across his face, something you might have missed had you not known him as well as you do. Pride, maybe? Satisfaction? Something else?

The thrust of his hips upward distracts you from that train of thought, your thighs tensing as he presses his cock deeper into you. Message received.

You begin to move, rocking your hips as you brace yourself on his stomach. You can feel the muscle beneath his thick skin, hard beneath your hands as you use him for leverage. His own hands hold your hips, guiding your movements. The drag of his cock has your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. There’s nothing like this feeling, and there’s nothing that will ever be able to take its place.

His fingers flex against your skin as you bounce on his cock, the water lapping at your skin. You hadn’t paid attention to the tide charts this morning, far too eager to see your merman again.

Once more, those thoughts are driven from your mind as he thrusts his hips upward, meeting your movements almost desperately. Has he been neglecting himself as well? Does he truly only come for you and no one else?

That thought has satisfaction burning deep inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, nails digging into his skin as pleasure flows through you, your orgasm quickly approaching. “’M not going to last much longer.”

His fingers dig harder into your skin, his claws leaving marks. He doesn’t care and neither do you, far too focused on chasing your pleasure as you squeeze around his cock. His own back arches in the water, gills flaring as he ruts up into you, pulling you down hard against him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, thighs clamping around him as pleasure rushes over you like a wave, your body jolting.

You slip a hand between you, frantically rubbing your clit as he thrusts hard into you, his tail splashing in the water behind you. His head falls back, exposing his throat as he drives his hips up into you one last time. Your own orgasm rockets through you, your body clamping down around him. You shake above him, eye screwed shut in pleasure.

Suddenly he moves, your eyes flashing open as you suddenly find yourself face to face with him. He sits in the water, chest pressed against yours. His arms come around you, holding you close against him. You stare up into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze as he holds you there, still inside you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

For a moment you think he might take off into the water with you, stealing you away where no one will find you. You can only hold your breath for so long, but you would enjoy those last few moments with him. You’d drown for him, if it meant you got your answer, if you knew for sure what you’ve been hoping deep down.

Instead he tilts his head down, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It’s so tender, so sweet, so different from the usual lust-driven kisses he bestows upon you. You cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw, holding him against you as long as he is willing to stay.

The water is up to your waist by the time he finally pulls away, his tail floating with every wave that breaks around your bodies. “If there was a way…” you murmur, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “I would do it gladly.”

He stares down at you for a long moment, those dark eyes focused on your face. He looks like he’s considering something, thinking deeply.

He bends down to kiss you one last time before he moves, depositing you in the sand. He stares at you long and hard for a moment before he turns, disappearing back under the waves.

You sit there for a long moment, thinking over the interaction. What was going on inside his head? What did he seem to be thinking about so intently? Those emotions that flickered across his face...what about them?

The water is tickling the underside of your breasts when you finally move, rising on shaking legs as you make for your now damp clothes. The tide had reached them, soaking the fabric but you don’t care. You’re far too focused on what just transpired, what this means for the future with your merman.

****

It’s two days later and you’re still thinking about your merman. The thoughts refuse to leave, refuse to let you rest. Something happened, but just what...you’re not sure. It’s eating you alive, and the thought was there to skip work and head for the beach, just to try and pry some kind of answer from him that you could understand. But you have bills to pay, so you drag yourself off to your job.

There haven’t been any shells since your trip to the beach, something that leaves you feeling a bit disappointed. Had your admirer followed you and watched you with your merman, getting the hint that there was no interest for any human lover in your life? The thought of someone purposefully watching you has embarrassment flushing through your mind. No one on the beach cared because you were all there for the same reason. But someone outside...someone unfamiliar...someone lacking that purpose watching? It leaves a sick feeling twisting in your stomach.

You return home after work, settling back into your routine. You’ll go back to the beach this weekend, meet with your merman, try to coax something out of him, something you might understand. If nothing else, you’ll try to read what his actions might mean. He held you in his arms, even if just for a moment. He did it by his own volition, held there not by you and your words, but by his own choice.

There was something he wanted to say to you, but he had no way of doing it.

That’s what your mind settles on.

It’s dark out when you hear it, the quiet creak of your gate. It draws you to the window, a quick peak out showing a dark figure lumbering up to your door. They’re stumbling and swaying, almost as if they’re drunk. Great. Just what you need.

You pick up your phone, ready to call the police to handle it, but something stops you as you watch them approach. Your porch light flicks on as they near, their hand shooting up to try and block the bright light. Heat floods your face as you realize it’s a man. A very naked man.

You lose sight of him as he steps up to the door, something thudding against it. You stand in the hallway, biting your lip. You shouldn’t open the door. You should call the police and then lock yourself in your bedroom, let them handle a naked drunk man.

Yet...something tickles in the back of your mind, something that has you wrapping your fingers around the door handle.

You unlock the door before cracking it open, finding the man leaning against your door frame. He’s handsome, in the golden light. Dark skin, tightly coiled curls buzzed near his head. He holds something in his hand, lifting it slowly like it’s taking a great effort to move his body.

A shell.

He’s holding a shell.

He holds it out to you, pressing it into the gap between the door. It’s a conch, not unlike the first one that had appeared on your doorstep. Is this your admirer? Is this the man that’s been leaving shells every morning for you to find? A village drunk leaving you little trinkets in hope you’ll notice him?

“Oh,” you say stupidly, taking the shell from his hand. “Thank you.” You look back at his face. “Are you alright? Can I call someone for you?”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes still focused on your face. His gaze is intense, like he’s trying to see through you, or perhaps communicate with you. You stare back, eyes tracing the smooth skin, unmarred except for a small scar on his cheek. His eyes are dark, almost black in the shadows. They look familiar the more you stare at him. He looks more and more familiar as you take him in.

You stare hard into his eyes, realization suddenly dawning on you.

“Oh my god.”

The light breeze blows your skirt as you walk in the sand. Distant sounds of pleasure flow along the beach like the waves. You’re heading for an empty spot, warmth already tingling between your thighs. You’re excited to see your merman again. It’s been too long.

The beach had been closed for a week after some Austrian tourist drowned accidentally. There had been talks of closing the beach permanently, but with enough public outcry they had been forced to reopen it to the public.

The thought of never seeing your merman again had sent you into a spiral.

Today is the first day the beach has been reopened. It’s crowded, no doubt all of the regulars had been missing their merfolk partners. Is it an addiction...possibly. But once you’ve experienced it...you’ll never go back.

You find a spot, stripping yourself of your clothes before you wade into the water. It’s warm, your skin tingling as you sit yourself down, waiting patiently.

You don’t have to wait long.

The water bulges as the figure glides through the waves seamlessly and gracefully. It never fails to shock you as you find yourself suddenly face to face with a familiar black gaze. His amethyst skin glitters in the sunlight, drops of water trailing down his face and chest. You follow them, watching them disappear in the divots of his muscles. He’s just as handsome as you remember in your dreams and fantasies, things that had kept you going for the long week without him.

“Hi,” you whisper, lifting a hand to his face, feeling his slick skin as you cup his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as usual, hovering over you as his tail flicks in the water. You let him push you down, your hair fanning out in the water as he slots himself between your thighs. You like to think he missed you too. Did they understand why no one had been there for a week? Or had they thought you abandoned them?

The thought makes your chest ache.

“I missed you.” You say, staring up into those big, black eyes. “The beach was closed. I couldn’t come.” You explain it to him anyway, wanting him to know you hadn’t been away that long because it was your choice.

If he understands, he doesn’t show it, instead leaning down. You pull him the rest of the way, pressing your lips to his. He tastes briny, lips coated with salt water. You missed his taste, never able to recreate it just right in your memory. His tongue prods yours, pressing between your lips. You tilt your head, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His skin is slick and rubbery against yours, but you never mind the feeling. It’s unique, so very different from soft human skin.

He’s getting hard just from kissing you, the bulge under his slit starting to press against your thigh. His teeth rake across your bottom lip, the metallic tang of blood meeting your lips. He pulls back but you stop him, holding him close to you.

“It’s okay,” you say, sucking your lip into your mouth to try and stop the blood from his sharp teeth. “It didn’t hurt.”

It really didn’t. You’re far too aroused to feel much of anything beyond pleasure and excitement.

You slide your hand down his chest to the slit at the top of his tail, teasing the sides before slipping your fingers inside. His own lips part, chest heaving as you tease the appendage tucked inside. You watch his face as it twists with pleasure, that human-like side coming through the more he gets aroused.

His own fingers dip between your thighs, careful of his claws as he slips two of them into your slick hole. You gasp quietly against his lips, pussy fluttering around the intrusion. You’d take him just like this with no prep, your body easily ready for him just from sight alone.

You’re so ruined for any human man now.

No one will ever make you feel like he does.

He pulls his fingers from you, pushing you back into the water once more. It’s shallow enough you can still breathe and see, the waves lapping at your cheeks. His hands slide up your body as his cock slips out of his sheath, sliding against the skin of your stomach. It’s warm and slick, coated in his natural lubrication. The ridges press into your skin as he slides against you, maneuvering himself so he can grab his cock.

You hold your breath in anticipation, the narrow tip of his cock dragging through your folds as he lines himself up before pressing into you. Your head tilts back, a moan leaving your lips at the stretch of him. It’s been a long week and you haven’t dared touch yourself, waiting in anticipation for this moment. You’re so worked up, the emotions of the week without him, the week you thought you might never seen him again, having taken their toll. You need release and you need it now.

He presses his hips against yours, sliding into you, spreading you open over his tapered cock. The ridges press up against you, pressing against the most delicious spots inside of you. Your eyelids flutter at the pleasure, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as you hang on for dear life. No other man will be able to take his place, no other man will be able to make you feel like this.

You’re well and truly ruined for anyone but him.

His elbows land in the sand beside your head, his hips pressing into yours tightly, slotted right up against you as far as he can. He’s so thick and long, sitting so deep inside of you. You’re panting already, worked up and he’s not even started yet. You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his back as he starts to move, slowly thrusting his hips into you. You moan at the press of him inside of you, the feeling of him moving, slick and hard through your walls.

Your legs wrap around his waist, coiling around him like a snake as he moves, thrusting into you. It’s slow and soft, his body grinding against yours. He’s making love to you, even if he doesn’t realize it, even if he doesn’t understand. It’s more than just fucking to you, the soft movements, the deep thrusts of his hips. You can’t see his face, his head dropped to the side of yours, but you like to imagine the look of pleasure, the shine of love in his eyes as he looks at you.

He missed you, you want to think. It’s been a long week for him too.

He continues to thrust into you, the ridges of his cock brushing that spot inside of you over and over. You’re trying not to cum too fast, trying not to end this before you’re ready. It feels too good, though. He feels too good.

“Fuck…” you breathe, your body starting to tremble around him. Your legs are shaking around his hips, sliding against his slippery skin. Your nails bite into his shoulders but don’t even break his thick skin.

He doesn’t care, either numb to the pain or he doesn’t even feel it.

You wish he’d make noise, some kind of sound to alert to you what he’s feeling, beyond just the throb of his cock inside of you. You wish he could talk, you wish he understood you. You might never leave the beach if that were the case, though. You’d camp out, be in the water every day to take him, pleasure him, get pleasure in return.

His hips buck against yours, driving his cock deep inside of you. You can’t hold it anymore, legs squeezing tight around his hips as you cum, nearly going blind with pleasure as it rolls through you like the waves. You’re moaning loudly but you don’t care. There’s echoes of your own moans up and down the beach. Everyone is too lost in their pleasure to care much about anyone else.

You wonder if they’re as down bad as you are.

Your merman goes stiff above you, warm liquid spilling into you as his cock throbs. The two of you still, your breaths coming in pants, his own chest rising and falling with his breaths. You wonder how long he can be out, how long until he’ll have to breathe through his gills again. It’s not the first time he’s been on top, but that time hadn’t lasted long either. It’s like he can’t control himself when he’s on top, hovering over you. Maybe he likes this position the most.

You cling to him for a moment longer, trying to calm the shaking spasms of your body in the aftershocks of your orgasm. You could go another round, ten more rounds easily with him, but you know he won’t. In just a moment he’ll slip from your grip and disappear into the water.

You’re not sure what makes you do it, what as you gripping him tighter as he starts to slip away, just as you knew he would.

“Wait-” you say, gripping his shoulders. He stops, looking at you. Maybe he does understand you. “Don’t go. Just a moment.”

He slots himself back on top of you, letting you guide him so you’re holding him again. You stare up into those big black eyes, trying to read anything, any emotion you can find in them.

“I never want you to leave when it’s time.” you swallow around your admission, a lump forming in your throat. “I’d stay here forever with you, if I could. I just want you to know that.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at you silently. You wish he would, or could, say something, give you a look into how he feels, what he’s thinking. You like to imagine him touched by your words, that you’re voicing some deep inner feeling he shares. You want him to feel the same way you do about him. You just need some sign, some glint in his eyes that conveys his feelings.

Still they continue to stare at you, dark and empty.

“I want to say I love you,” you continue, your chest heaving with nerves and the exertion from finally letting go of this heavy weight you’ve been carrying. “But I don’t know if you know what that means.”

His face doesn’t change at your admission, still empty and emotionless. It almost hurts more than rejection would. If he rejected you at least you’d be able to move on. His inaction is painful, a searing wound in your chest. This was stupid, trying to put your emotions into words, confessing to him the feelings you’ve been harboring for weeks. You shouldn’t have said anything, instead stewing silently in those emotions for the rest of your life.

“Sorry,” you sniffle, tasting your tears on your lips. “Can you just...kiss me one more time.”

He’s still, stiff where he lounges in the water staring at you. For a moment you wonder if he’ll even give you this before he slips off never to return. Finally he begins to move, leaning in closer until his lips are pressed against yours. Tears stream down your cheeks as you kiss him, trying to memorize the way he tastes, the feeling of his lips against yours in case you never see him again.

He pulls away, staring at you for one more long moment before he’s slipping back into the water, tail flicking as he slips beneath the waves. You sit there for a long moment, just watching the waves roll in, washing over you. The tide is coming in, the water up to your chest. The tears are still falling down your cheeks, and you wipe them away with a wet hand, pushing yourself up to stand.

The thought to never come back out of embarrassment and fear is there for a flash, before it’s driven away by determination. You will be back. If he comes to you again, you’ll know he feels the same, that your admission at least didn’t change anything between you. Perhaps it will. Perhaps he does feel the same, but can’t show it in a way you can understand.

You will see him again, no matter what.

Your feet sink into the sand as you stroll leisurely along the beach. It’s warm, the sun high in the sky shining down on the crystal blue water of the vast ocean before you. There’s a slight breeze coming off the water, bringing with it the salty scent of the sea. It ruffles your skirt around your legs, goosebumps forming on your skin as it shoots up between your thighs, kissing your wet cunt. 

Moans sound up and down the beach, bodies writhing with the ebb and flow of every wave. Excitement stirs in your stomach as you near an empty spot, getting closer to the water. There’s no cover, no privacy as you tug your shirt over your head. There’s no need for it. People only come to this beach for one reason. You all know why you’re here. Shame gets left behind in the parking lot. 

You fold your shirt and skirt, setting them up higher on the sand before you approach the lapping waves, a knot of excitement and nerves coiling inside your stomach. It’s not the first time you’ve done this, nor will it be the last, yet every time you can’t avoid the nervous shake to your hands. 

You wade out into the water until it’s halfway up your calf before you sit, humming quietly as the warmth of it surrounds you. It’s a beautiful day today, which is why the beach is so full. 

You don’t have to sit there for very long, the water bulging with the oncoming waves. Something is speeding towards the beach, your body pulsing in excitement. Your breath catches in your throat as you suddenly find yourself face to face with a figure.  Big, dark eyes stare into yours, clawed hands sinking into the sand on either side of you. It always makes you jump, his body seeming to materialize out of the sea before you can even blink. 

“Hi.” You whisper, taking a moment to catch your breath as you stare at him. 

Amethyst skin glitters in the sunlight, beads of water sliding down his face. He’s leaner than he is bulky, but your eyes still trace the peaks and divots of his muscles. He’s beautiful, even if he is so different from you. 

He’s human-like at the top but then that amethyst skin disappears under darker purple scales at his waist. His tail is beautiful, swirling with hues of purple. His fins tickle your legs as he pulls himself closer, the spines on his back tucking down as he reaches up, one slippery, webbed hand cupping your cheek. There’s a bit of seaweed draped over his shoulder, your hand raising to pull it off of him. His head follows your movements, watching your hand as you drop the slimy weed back into the water. Your hand lifts again, your fingers softly touching his shoulder. His skin is thick and almost rubbery, much harder to break than your own delicate skin. An adaptation evolved to survive in the harsh world under the water, you suppose. 

Your fingers trail back up his arm, following the lines of his muscle before you reach his hand, pressing your palm against it. His skin is cool to the touch, but he’s not cold blooded, at least you don’t think so judging by the other parts of him that are warm. 

Your fingertips brush the delicate webs between his fingers, his hand flexing against your cheek. A small smile tugs at your lips. He may be tougher than you are, but he’s still sensitive. 

He doesn’t greet you back with words, instead leaning forward to press his lips against yours. He’s careful not to nick you with his sharp teeth as he kisses you, something you’re grateful for. He’s caught you a couple times by accident in the heat of passion. Just something to remember him by. 

He’s never spoken to you, at least not in the way humans speak. You’re not entirely sure he’s capable of speaking like a human. He’s never so much as made a single noise in the time you’ve been together. Maybe they communicate like whales and dolphins in the water. Or perhaps they communicate through body language like other mammals. 

You’re assuming he’s mammalian...then again you don’t really know all that much about merpeople outside of this aspect of them. 

He continues to kiss you, his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. It’s warm as it presses into your mouth, flicking against your own. He tastes briney and salty like the water you’re sitting in. It’s not an unpleasant taste. In fact, you’ve grown to enjoy it.

His hand leaves your face, sinking into the sand by your side. Your hands fall back as he presses closer to you, keeping you from splashing back into the water. It’s deep enough you might run the risk of inhaling it. What would he do if you started drowning? Could he help you? Would he know how? 

You shake that thought from your mind. You like to think he wouldn’t let that happen. 

The top of his tail in the front between where his legs would be is beginning to bulge. He’s just as excited as you are about this, well accustomed to the dance the two of you often do. You’re here as much as you can be, and he’s always the one that comes to you, almost like he’s waiting for you.

You’re not sure how he knows, but he always does. 

His arms wrap around you, flipping the two of you over so he’s in the water, the waves lapping at the sides of his face. His gills move as he breathes in the water, those big eyes staring up at you unblinking. The first time you saw him, a shiver had run down your spine. He’s just human enough for your brain to see the similarities, but also so very much not human. That doesn’t make him any less beautiful, though. You’ve wandered this beach many times, catching glimpses when you dared to look at the merpeople that frequent here. They’re all so beautiful, yet all so different. 

It had taken a lot of time to work up the courage to stick your feet in the water. 

Now you can’t imagine having any hesitations. 

He’s beautiful to look at, something that would be sculpted out of marble and placed in a museum as a testament to the beauty of merpeople. If he were human, he’d be stunning, someone who would be on the cover of magazines, walking a runway. He’d be someone painted by an artist to be hung in a museum so humans could gaze upon his beauty for centuries. He deserves to be immortalized somehow, remembered for generations to come. A celebrity, someone who is worshiped for his beauty and splendor. 

He’d be so far out of your league if he was a human. 

He’s not though, yet you still feel blessed as you sit over him, watching as the slit at the top of his tail peels open. You run your fingers along the sensitive skin, his lips parting as you tease the slick folds. His own hand lifts, slipping between your thighs. He copies your movements, careful not to catch you with his claws as he strokes your folds. Your teeth sink into your lip at the feeling of those rough fingers against your sensitive skin. You’re already soaked at the idea of what’s going to transpire, of what you’re about to do. 

Your fingers on his slit begin to coax his cock out of its confines, the narrow tip beginning to peek out. You trail your fingers over it, gathering the slippery substance leaking out all over your fingers. You lift them to your mouth, tasting the viscous fluid. The salt from the water mixes with the naturally briney taste of him, the flavors dancing on your tongue. 

His back arches as his cock continues to slip out of his slit, growing and growing until the thick length presses against his stomach. Arousal pulses between your thighs, your own natural lubrication soaking his fingers. They press against your clit, a quiet moan leaving your lips as you reach for him. He’s slick and slippery as you wrap your fingers around his cock, dragging your hand along the ridges that line his length. He’s not like a human man, instead tapered from tip to base. His head is narrower while the base is so thick you can barely get your fingers fully around him. 

You nearly cum from the thoughts flashing through your head. You’ll never be able to be satisfied by a man again, but maybe that was the whole point. That was why this beach existed, that was why they were so willing to do this. 

They must like it as much as you humans do if they keep returning here. 

If they have their favorites. 

It’s not love, at least not to them. You don’t think so anyway. How many other women does he do this with? How many other women does he stare up at with those eyes? How many other women’s bodies has he touched? 

You try not to think about it too much. 

You pump his cock, dragging your fingers over the ridges and bumps. His lips part, no sound coming out but you can imagine how sweet he would sound. Breathy moans and groans, needy whines. Would he beg you to make him cum, or would he make you beg? Perhaps both. He always winds up taking control in the end, even if he lets you have control at first like he is now. 

His hand slips out from between your thighs, the other lifting so they’re gripping your hips. His claws dig just slightly into your skin, but he’s careful not to dig too deep and hurt you. It’s inevitable though, with his anatomy and your soft human skin. It never seems to give him pause if he hurts you on accident, perhaps because you never react. You don’t care about a little pain. What’s a little pain if this is what you get in return?

He pulls your hips forward, his own way of saying ‘hurry up.’ You can’t delay it anymore, eager to feel him again. You lift yourself up over his hips, your hand gripping the base of his cock. He’s hard and pulsing in your hand as you line him up, slipping the narrow tip inside of you. You never need much prep between your own arousal and the slippery substance that coats his cock. The excitement of getting to fuck a merman is more than enough for you, just as it seems the opportunity to fuck a human gets him just as excited. 

Maybe it’s you he’s excited about. 

No. You won’t entertain those thoughts. 

Your hands press against his stomach, feeling the muscle underneath his skin flexing as you sink lower and lower on his cock. Your head tilts back as you’re stretched open around him, the ridges on his cock dragging against your walls. They hit all of the right places inside of you, making you feel alive and electric. His cock is warm despite the cool touch of his skin, the contrasting temperatures paired with the warmth of the water splashing against your back has goosebumps forming on your skin. 

He’s deep inside of you once you’re fully seated on his cock, stretched open around his thick base. You could cum just like this, but you don’t want this to be over before you’re just getting started. His claws are pinching your skin but you pay him no mind as you stare down at him. Those wide, dark eyes stare up at you, his lips slightly parted. He’s clinging to whatever control he has. You can see it in his face. He’s trying not to flip you over and fuck you into the sand. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. You’d just prefer to be in shallower water if he’s going to do that. 

He wouldn’t let you drown...

You hope. 

You begin to rock your hips, drawing his cock out of your cunt before pressing it back in. His tip drags along your walls, almost as if he was made perfectly for your pleasure. You use your hands on his stomach for leverage as you bounce on his cock, the ridges catching on that spot deep inside of you with every drag of his cock inside of you. He’s so thick and warm and perfect. 

The idea of fucking a merman is enough to make your walls flutter, not to mention the ethereal look of him. His handsome face, his lean body, those big eyes staring up at you. There’s no emotion in them, but deep down you like to imagine there is something. If you stare at them long enough you can see into the depths of them like you’re staring into the depths of the ocean. 

You shift your position, grinding your hips against his as you lean back, resting your hands on his tail. It’s slippery and you almost slide right off of him, but you catch yourself, digging your nails into the smooth scales under your hands. He offers no complaint. You’re not capable of breaking his skin with just your nails, no matter how long they are. That doesn’t make him any less sensitive though. 

You push your hand against your stomach, feeling the deep press of him as you continue to circle your hips, trying to stave off your orgasm as long as you can. The quicker you cum, the quicker he’ll cum and then the quicker this is all over. 

You don’t want it to be over.

You push yourself back up, your thighs squeezing around his hips. You lean over him slightly, trailing your nails down his chest. He writhes under you, his hands sliding to your ass. He helps guide your movements, lifting you up and pushing you back down on his cock. 

“Yes, just like that.” You moan, pushing your hands against his stomach again as you continue to bounce on his cock. 

You’re close to your orgasm, your body starting to tremble. He’s close as well, his hips bucking up against you. Your walls are squeezing around him as you get closer and closer to the edge, your mind going numb as you try to hold back. You don’t want it to end. One orgasm is never enough. You’d fuck him all day if you could. 

If he’d let you. 

You can’t stop it though as those ridges push up against your walls, dragging over that spot inside of you. You cum with a loud cry, your back arching as your head falls back. His body writhes in the water tail splashing as he cums, the shockingly warm fluid spilling into you. You’re stretched open around his cock, hands falling against the sand beside his shoulders. 

You stare down at him, lips parted as you breathe. His own are still parted and you want to lean down and kiss him. He’ll flip you over soon, deposit you back into the water and sand before slipping back into the waves to disappear until you return to the beach again. You’ll have to put your clothes back on and head home with nothing but his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs to remind you that it really happened. 

His arms wrap around your back as you stare down into those eyes, your body pressed against his. You can see it, that...something in the depths of his eyes as you sink into them. 

It’s not love. 

It’s not. 

You just have to keep telling yourself that.

As he traverses deeper into the facility, battling monsters and madness, he keeps coming across your documents and your notes, picking up vital information with words of encouragement stuck to them.

You don’t have to rush!

He finds himself seeking out what you’ve left behind. Initially, it’s because your papers have been the most useful, but on this solo, self-appointed, suicidal mission, he can’t help but also cling to this connection. Everything fell apart so quickly. His team is gone, his home is gone, his world is gone. There’s nothing left, especially not down here. Nothing but your words.

You did great!

Take it easy every once in a while!

It wasn’t your fault! You did your best!

He keeps that last note. Whenever he’s secured a location to rest, he reads it again and again, taking care not to get blood and grime on it. It keeps him sane, or so he thinks.

After he routes power to the servers that host the organization’s research journals, Kyle searches for yours first. The logs are mostly professional, but you have casual entries mixed in as well—notes to yourself that you probably thought no one else would see. They give him a more candid picture of what you’re like. He reads them all, even the ones unrelated to the world-ending event, taking longer than he should when there are monstrosities lumbering outside the barricaded door to this office.

He risks a detour to where the personnel files are stored. It’s worth it to know the names and faces of the people who destroyed the world, that’s all. When he comes across yours, it has a photo of you. He keeps that too, stashing it with your note. The rest he commits to memory.

Level by level, Kyle descends. He’s still pursuing salvation from the nightmare that was unleashed here, but he’s also chasing your ghost. Your notes continue showing up all the way down. He already knew this from your file, but you had a surprisingly high clearance level. He tells himself that you didn’t know what you were signing up for when you joined the research team here. You didn’t know what sinister plots were being carried out, or even if you did, you probably couldn’t just walk away without consequences.

By the time he reaches the lowest floor, what little hope he started with has run out. He’s found no magic cure for this plague of monsters, no secret weakness revealed. All the information he’s come across indicates that the worst case scenario has come to fruition and this disaster is irreversible. He shifts from searching for a panacea to searching for a way to burn everything here to the ground.

There’s only one sealed section of the facility left. He almost doesn’t bother, but maybe what he’s looking for is just behind that door. (Don’t give up! It’s hard work, but it’ll pay off in the end!) When he manages to open it, it reveals a bunker with survivors.

And you are one of them.

He almost can’t believe it. Out of the hundreds of people who worked here, you managed to be among the half a dozen that made it to this safe room. Since Kyle still has his SAS gear on, your fellow survivors think he’s here to rescue them, as if there was anywhere safe left to take them to. They seem flippantly dismissive of the fact that their actions set humanity on a crash course to annihilation.

You know better, though, warily shrinking back to the edge of the bunker, and Kyle feels a swell of pride. You can recognize that it’s not a savior that’s arrived, but a judge, jury, and executioner.

The rest of the room is a mix of top level executives and researchers. In a previous life, he would have seen this as an opportunity to interrogate them for more information. But that Kyle is long dead, so they’ll meet the same fate. He shoots the others before they can even try to defend themselves. You scream in despair, but Kyle is numb to screaming by now.

Natsuo, your neighbour, a fellow beta and your date for the evening, shares an easy grin with you, looping his arm through yours. 

Rather than answering him, you simply say, “Three drinks, max. Then we’re out of here.”

If he notices the tightness of your features, the wavering smile you’ve pasted across your face, he doesn’t remark on it. Natsuo’s easy like that. “Aye-aye, boss. We can grab some proper food on the way home, too. These things never have anything decent to eat.”

You’d be tempted to agree, if not for Osamu. There’s zero chance he’d let them plan anything without ensuring food was involved. 

“Ready?” you ask.

“To walk into a den of entitled alphas with a pretty girl on my arm? I could take ‘em.” He winks and your stomach flutters, nerves or guilt or something else entirely, you can't say. 

“They’re really not that bad,” you defend, though it sounds weak to even your ears. This isn’t the time or place to get into your history with Kita’s pack or the team as a whole, and if you spend much longer lingering out here, you’re going to lose what little nerve you’ve mustered to get through the night. “Alright,” you nod shortly and exhale. “Let’s do this.” 

Now or never.

Natsuo’s presence is grounding. It isn’t that you wouldn’t be able to face your old team on your own – you’re a grown woman for god’s sake, and you’d meant what you’d said to him. They weren’t bullies. The wonder twins aside, no one was outright rude or condescending. No one ignored you or ordered you around like you were less than because you were a beta, and if they did, Kita would give them that look and you’d have a grovelling apology by the end of practice. 

You’d go so far as to say you think some of them might’ve actually, genuinely liked you. 

None of that is the problem. The reality is, you’re not certain you can pinpoint what, exactly, is making you so nervous about tonight. 

You find yourself thankful that Natsuo hadn’t pried too deep when you’d invited him tonight. Two and a half dates in really isn’t ‘meet the people I hung out with in high school’ territory, yet he hadn’t blinked when you asked him, and his enthusiasm to spend time with you hadn’t dampened when you awkwardly explained that asking him wasn’t about hard launching the two of you as a couple or anything, you simply wanted some backup. Another beta to balance out overwhelming alpha energy. 

God, why did you agree to this again?

“Relax,” Natsuo murmurs, nudging his hip with yours as he moves to open the door. Muffled music creeps through – there’s no point in knocking when no one’d hear it. “I got you. We can ditch whenever you want.”

You offer him another smile, more genuine this time, and together step into the lion’s den. 

He takes your coat and shrugs off his own, both of you taking it all in. The entry-way opens up into a spacious living room. Cast in a warm glow from hanging lights, your old teammates and their packs – one or two of Kita’s seniors you only recognise by sight – milling around, drinking and laughing. For some it’s been weeks since they last saw each other, for others, years. 

Atsumu’s leaning against the kitchen island, deep in conversation with Ginjima, his brother and Aran talking with Kaito, the setter from your first year. He has his arm around a gorgeous blonde. On her left, another alpha hovers. Less interested in the conversation than he is in her, he leans close and whispers something into her ear, something like victory flitting across his features when she blushes and throws a sharp elbow into his side. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she must be Kaito’s omega, the other man one of his packmates. 

Akagi’s the first to spot you. 

Beer in hand, he jogs on over and throws an arm around you in a loose hug. “Hey, haven’t seen you in forever! Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“It’s been a while,” you agree. If Osamu kept his mouth shut about his impromptu visit, you see no reason to air it. 

Besides, you like Akagi. He’s always been easy to get along with. It’s why your stomach doesn’t shrivel up and twist itself into knots when he draws back and finally seems to notice the beta standing beside you. 

“Akagi, this is Natsuo, he’s my–” Neighbour? Date? The last thing you want to do is say the wrong thing and make this weird. Friend, maybe. That’s safe, right? Safe and open to interpretation. 

“Boyfriend,” Natsuo inserts smoothly. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Akagi glances at you first. A single raised eyebrow that stirs a faint warning inside you, and you have to remind yourself that he isn’t doing it to be an asshole. He’s never had a dog in this fight.

Sipping at his beer, he smiles easily enough, “Yeah, you too. How’d you guys meet?” 

“Neighbours. Had my eye on this one for a while before I bucked up the courage to ask her out. We’ve been going strong since,” Natsuo tells him, which is… sort of the truth. Maybe. “I’ll go get us some drinks,” he tells you before Akagi can say anything else, abandoning you with a wink and a fleeting, chaste kiss to your cheek.

The sooner you get a drink, the sooner you can be done with all this, a check marked off, whatever duty you owe your old teammates satisfied. You don’t need him glued to your side the entire night – that would be pathetic. 

“I thought you were seeing that bartender dude. Atsuko, or whatever.” 

“Didn’t work out.” He ghosted you more like, but that was months ago and certainly not something you’ve ever mentioned around the ex-libero. It’d be exasperating if it weren’t so utterly predictable, they’ll gossip like mother hens til the bitter end it seems, adult life and busy careers be damned.

“… You know they’re not gonna make this easy on him,” Akagi says, not unkindly. 

You’re both watching him weave through the crowd of people towards the makeshift bar, most not sparing him a second glance. 

Across the room, someone else loses interest in their conversation. Two others have already slipped away. 

“It isn’t a crime for me to be happy with someone,” you mutter in reply, unable to completely mask the petulance colouring your tone. 

Back in high school, you’d understood where it was coming from. 

They didn’t want you distracted, pulling away from the club and your responsibilities as manager, and a boyfriend – friends in general – might’ve threatened that. Your commitment wouldn’t be less than because you weren’t the one stepping on the court; you were team, or you weren’t.

You’re adults now. 

“You made it.”

The stoic voice carries over the thrum of music and chatter, utterly without inflection and you jerk in surprise, turning to find Kita behind you.

There’s no hugging this time, no physical contact between you. You dip your head in a polite, respectful acknowledgement and he does the same. “Kita,” you greet. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

You’d only met the woman a handful of times, yet it was obvious how much she meant to him. The loss of the last of his grandparents, arguably the one he was closest to, unquestionably a devastating blow.

“Thank you.” Cool and perfunctory. That’s fine. Expected, even. 

Natsuo appears at your side, pressing a glass of wine into your empty palm. “Here you go, baby.” 

“Baby?” 

Lips at your ear, Natsuo’s voice takes on a droll tone, “Made some friends on my way back.”

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. 

With a sip of liquid courage, you rearrange your features into something resembling a smile and turn to face the twins. 

They aren’t normally huggers, but, mindful of your drink, Osamu’s the first to pull you in for one, his tall body swallowing you up. “Plus ones weren’t part of the invite,” he mutters lowly, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You say nothing to that, letting an impatient Atsumu tug you out of his brother’s arms and into his. 

“Guys, this is Natsuo, my boyfriend.” Butterflies erupt, fluttering in your belly. “Natsuo, the Miyas; Atsumu and Osamu,” you gesture at each, “and Kita, my old captain.”

“Oi, I was your captain too,” Atsumu huffs, eyes narrowed and scowling, like you’ve committed a grievous sin against him, a mortally wounding blow. “Why’s Kita the only one you’re gonna bring up?” 

Ingrained deep, familiar to you as the back of your hand, the impulse to soothe ruffled egos rears its head. “Atsumu was also my captain,” you amend easily. So was Isehara in your first year. He’s probably here somewhere, too. 

Osamu scoffs, rolling his eyes. You expect that, they’ll take any excuse to bicker and fight each other. What you don’t expect is Natsuo muttering under his breath, just loud enough for the alphas to hear, “The captain, not your captain.”

The music’s still playing, the steady hum of conversation around you unfaltering, but around you, the alphas go lethally quiet. 

Innocuous or not, they gather his meaning just fine, and from the twins’ near identical sneers, the glacial stare from Kita, none of them appreciate it. Even Akagi’s frowning at your date. 

Fix it. 

“He only means ‘cause I was the manager, not a player–”

Atsumu cuts you off, speaking at the same time Kita does. 

“No one fuckin’ asked your opinion.”

“That was rude.” 

Towards anyone else, it might be a simple admonishment, but there’s a hard edge to Kita’s bearing, his voice frigid. Others are looking now, Aran, nodding absently to whatever Gin’s saying, head tilted your way. Suna’s openly watching from over by the kitchen, munching on a mini skewer like this is dinnertime entertainment.

Natsuo’s unfazed. You wish you could say the same. You’d probably wilt under any alpha’s disapproval, but these alphas… you feel the weight of it in your chest, pressing down on your lungs, making it difficult to breathe. 

“He didn’t mean it like that,” you repeat, quieter this time, reaching over to twine your fingers with his and squeezing gently. Whether or not he thinks he’s defending you against some perceived slight, tonight isn’t gonna go any easier if he starts picking fights. 

They’ll still blame you when all’s said and done, and you don’t think you bear the weight of his missteps on top of your own. 

“… You’re right. It’s all kinda ancient history now anyway, none of my business.”

You knock back another mouthful of wine and wonder, not for the first time, why you couldn’t have just sent an apology and stayed home.  

“C’mon,” Natsuo says, like nothing’s amiss. “You’ve gotta show me ‘round and introduce me to everyone. Let’s go mingle for a bit.”

Swallowing down your discomfort, you smile apologetically at Kita and the twins, which largely goes ignored, and let him lead you away. 

“Asshole,” you hear muttered behind you.

When there’s enough distance between you, Natsuo’s shoulders lose some of their tension. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “Was that too much?”

“I told you there’s a lot of history there. Stuff’s… complicated,” you shrug.

It doesn’t let him off the hook, not entirely. He takes it in stride though, nodding and squeezing your hand the same way you had his a minute earlier. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman from here on out, pinkie promise.”

Your heart thuds off kilter, the fluttering in your stomach not quite so pleasant anymore. Maybe you’ll call it at two drinks instead of three, you think. 

A quick scan of the room guides you to Riseki and a few of the other first years. Safe, neutral parties. None of them go in for a hug, and there’s an unmistakable air of awkwardness, but at least they’re nice about it, and, true to his word, Natsuo’s more chill this time ‘round, verging on friendly-ish. 

For the record, you try to relax into it. Enjoy yourself. Riseki and the first years weren’t quite as bad as their upperclassmen, and they clearly don’t hold anything against you, but the harder you try, the more difficult it becomes. 

Your dress feels itchy against your skin. Prickly. A bead of sweat trickles from the nape of your neck down the curve of your spine and you shift your weight from one foot to another, trying to mask your discomfort. 

“You want another?” Natsuo jerks his chin at your drink.

Empty. Huh. 

 You don’t even remember finishing it.

“… Yeah?” It sounds more like a question than an answer. You need a second drink, because… there was a reason, wasn’t there? Maybe? A cold drink does sound good, though. It’s warmer now than when you arrived, bordering on uncomfortable. Isn’t anyone else hot?

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, trying to clear the fog around your thoughts. Why did you need a second drink– and god, when did it get so stuffy in here? Were the lights always so damn bright?

“Hey, you alright? You don’t look so good,” someone says. A hand touches your shoulder and you jerk at the searing heat of it, stumbling back a step. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine I just… I think I…” you mumble, waving them off. There’s a balcony here, you remember seeing it when you first walked in. That sounds nice. Cold, fresh air. Snow on your bare skin. Maybe you could roll around in it. Make a snow angel. “I-I need–” 

“Get Kita,” someone barks, low and urgent.  

Why? You don’t need Kita, you need outside. Fresh air. Nice, icy cold to douse the fire in your blood. Too hot. Too itchy. Your skin feels like it’s crawling. You lurch back another staggered step and the world becomes a blur of colours. The brightness isn’t so bad when there’s pretty colours. 

“She doesn’t need Kita, she needs space. Back up a bit and let her breathe! Baby? D’you wanna sit down for a sec? Some water?” 

You shake your head again. “N-no.” Your tongue feels dry. Too big for your mouth. “I–”

You’re so hot. So sticky and gross. 

“Don’t touch her–”

“Holy shit, dude! Can you smell that?”

So many voices. Garbled and loud, pounding in your head like drums. Or maybe that’s your pulse. Why won’t they be quiet? 

A noise, thin and reedy, slips between laboured breaths. A whine. 

“I-I don’t–”

Mint. Bright and fresh, cooling, your mind supplies. Mint…and a woody musk. Familiar, but–

“Move.”

Someone yells. There’s shouting. Jostling. Silver flashes, a large body slamming into yours, only you don’t go tumbling to the ground. Hands grip you like vices, and the voices rise to a fever pitch, overlapping, drowning out the frantic thudding of your heart. 

Inky black pools. Teeth bared, and then–

Pain.

—

If you didn’t have to wait for Suna, you could’ve been home ages ago.

Last year, it wasn’t a problem. You lived down past the river, on the other side of town, a quick fifteen minutes on the bus, which, luckily for you, ran well after practice usually finished. 

Then your parents split and the house got sold, and now you live with your mom in a two bedroom apartment in the same complex as Suna. Technically it’s closer to school, although you walk now instead of catching a bus, and ever since the middle blocker figured out you lived there, it now comes with an escort.

Three, if you count the twins who peel off a few blocks earlier. 

Your head thuds back against the brickwork, your leg propped up and bouncing restlessly. It’s chilly out, but you’re too busy stewing in your irritation to bother rooting around in your bag for your jacket. The boys taking longer than you to get changed is nothing new. You might have slightly more patience for them if there wasn’t a mountain of studying waiting for you at home, two separate tests tomorrow that you already know are gonna kick your ass. 

Unlike some, your future doesn’t hinge on how talented you are at volleyball, it hinges on your grades. 

Your foot keeps tapping. 

God, what is taking so long? Atsumu drags ass sometimes, sure, but usually that means heading off with Suna and Osamu, leaving him to catch up on his own. And then, inevitably, listening to the three of them get into it.

Most of the team’s already gone, the first years practically sprinting for the gates. Akagi, Ginjima and Oomimi both waved as they went past – well, Akagi waved, Gin did this weird salute thing and Oomimi raised a few fingers, so you figure it’s not a matter of life or death that’s keeping them.

You should just walk home on your own. It’s only ten minutes away, and maybe it’ll teach them a lesson – if they’re determined to shepherd you about every day, then they should respect your time instead of messing around.

You refuse point blank to stand there and be subjected to yet another lecture from Kita about your willful ignorance as a beta towards your own safety. 

Screw it.

When you push off from the wall, rather than heading out towards the school gates, your feet lead you back around the corner towards the club room. There’s absolutely no chance you’re about to barge into a room full of alphas and demand they hurry up, there’s nothing stopping you from taking a peek to see if you can gauge how much longer they’re gonna be.

You don’t entirely know what you’re expecting when you lean up on your tippy toes to peer through the gap in the window – the Miya twins grappling on the floor again, the four of them huddled around someone’s phone, watching pro-volleyball replays while Kita fruitlessly tries to break it up – anything other than the sight you’re met with.

Aran’s hunched over on one of the benches, clutching a jacket in his fist. Kita has a hand gripping his shoulder, Suna and the twins completing a loose semi-circle around him. Aran’s shaking, and not a light shiver – full body tremors.

You don’t know why, but something in you recoils at it. Begs and claws and screams at you to back away and pretend you didn’t see. 

This feels like an intrusion.

Kita, Aran, Suna and the Miyas aren’t a pack yet, not officially, but the writing’s on the wall and has been ever since you met them. There are things that, as a beta, you won’t ever be able to understand; the draw of pack is one of them. 

From your vantage point you can’t make out Aran’s expression, there’s no mistaking the tension rippling from his body. Suna’s tight lipped, the twins are scowling. Kita’s face is set in stone. 

At lunch or right after the final bell when everyone’s either heading home or off to club activities, you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of hearing Kita as he kneels down in front of Aran and grabs his clenched, shaking fists. 

Late as it is, with school deserted, Kita’s voice, cool and resolute, carries easily through the crack in the window. 

“She’s a beta. A beta with a strong scent, constantly in close proximity. It’s dangerous, and if you keep it up – if you lose control with her – you’ll regret it.” He casts a meaningful look at his gathered packmates, “She isn’t for us. Let it go.”

—

“She’s waking up. Get the doctor back in here.”

Through the slow, thick haze surrounding your semi-conscious state, you register rapid footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Thinking… is difficult. Your body feels wrong, somehow. Out of sorts, like someone threw you in a shredder, shook you ‘round a bit and then tried to paste you back together. 

Cool fingers press first to your forehead, grazing over your cheek before withdrawing entirely. 

Your neck hurts and your head throbs, trying to pry open your eyes feels like a herculean task, only there’s no choice in the matter. The footsteps return, more this time, and a new, unfamiliar voice gently calls your name.

“Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?”

A low, warning growl punctuates the room. 

With great effort, you manage to do as your bid, squinting at first against the influx of fluorescent light flooding your vision. 

You’re in a hospital room, you deduce that much. You’re still wearing the clothes from the party, albeit the top half of your dress looks savaged, flecks of blood splattered down your chest. Kita’s sitting in a plastic chair beside you, glaring at the silver haired doctor at your bedside.

It’s Kita’s hand, not his, that rests on the pillow beside you. 

“Welcome back. How’re you feeling?” the doctor asks.

Hot and cold, aching all over, and there’s this weird feeling in your chest, a tangled web of emotions you’re too exhausted to prod at. “…Tired. Sore,” you groan.

Kita’s frown deepens, but the doctor nods like he expected as much. “Do you remember what happened?”

You close your eyes and try to dredge up any kind of recollection of the events that landed you here. There was the reunion, you remember that much. Natsuo was there, your anchor, keeping you from letting your nerves and anxieties get the better of you. He brought you wine, and you were talking with… Akagi, maybe? No. That was earlier. It was Riseki you were with. You remember smelling mint, a flash of silver and–

Kita doesn’t react when your eyes go saucer wide and you turn an aghast look his way. There’s no shame in his expression, no hint of guilt. He meets your gaze steady, head on. A blank slate, unrepentant. 

The foreign thrumming in your chest begs to disagree. 

“You bit me.”

The doctor gives a considering hum and clears his throat. “You’re a beta, correct?”

You nod, though anyone with a working nose can tell as much. It’s like asking to confirm your date of birth or the colour of your eyes.

“I need you to think before you answer this next question, and I need you to be honest with me. Is there any reason you can think of why you would have Someradol in your system?”

Your brow furrows. The hell is Someradol? 

“I, uh, I don’t know… what that is.”

You glance back at Kita, hoping for some flash of recognition, any inkling he understands what the doctor’s hinting at. 

The grim look you’re met with hits like a sucker punch. 

The doctor sighs heavily, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, “I’m not altogether surprised. Primarily, it’s a heat inducer for at risk omegas, administered by medical professionals in a safe, controlled environment. More and more, however, we’re seeing it used against unsuspecting omegas as a date rape drug.”

Date rape?

Every word out of his mouth adds to the pit of dread churning in your stomach. It must be bad enough for Kita to feel too, because without a word, without so much as a glance he slides his hand over yours and lets you grip him for dear life.

“You think someone drugged me?! I don’t… I’m– I’m a beta, why–” the thought lodges itself in your throat, refusing to finish itself. 

“Someradol can’t trigger heats in betas, it’s a biological impossibility,” the doctor explains. “There haven’t been all that many studies on its effects on betas, for obvious reasons, but in your case it seems–”

“Your scent spiked,” Kita says, cutting him off. “You were feverish; barely coherent, sweating bullets and stumbling over your own feet.”

“I passed out.”

A rosy flush burns across Kita’s face, right up to the tips of his ears. “That happened after I– after the bite. I wasn’t as… in control as I should have been. It didn’t go any further than that, Aran and the others– they stopped it.” 

Once, you might’ve paid for the chance to see the usually unflappable alpha tongue tied and flustered. You only feel sick. Dirty and ashamed for the part you unwittingly played in dragging him into this. 

The bite was something done to you. Something you know that, in his right mind, Kita would never choose for himself or any of his packmates. 

None of this is okay, and you’re barely holding it together as it is. The bite, the bond (temporary, you reassure yourself), all of it can wait. 

“The good news is, your system seems to have burned through it quickly,” the doctor continues, either oblivious to the pounding tension in the room or determined to press on regardless. “We’ve given you fluids, your temperature’s back within a normal range and you’re awake and alert with no sign of cardiac distress. You’ll need someone to keep a close eye on you for the next twenty four hours or so, but I see no reason for us to keep you here much longer.”

“She’s coming home with me.” Kita’s firm tone brooks no argument. He’s still holding your hand. 

“Of course,” the doctor agrees, rising to his feet now that he’s finished ripping the rug out from under you. He doesn’t say that it’s for the best, that distance between you and your alpha right now will do more harm than good. He doesn’t look to you for confirmation that you’re okay with any of this. 

An alpha – your alpha, for however many weeks or months until the bond wears off – has spoken, and that’s all that counts anymore. You should thank your lucky stars you’re not an omega, otherwise this’d be the rest of your life. 

Hot, indignant, humiliated tears spring to your eyes, and you have to blink furiously to keep them at bay. 

“H-how?” you croak, your voice close to breaking. 

You aren’t stupid. What remains unsaid hangs over you like the sword of damocles, a truth that threatens to inflict more damage than an alpha’s bite ever could. 

Kita isn’t at fault, but somebody else is. 

The doctor pauses at the open doorway, glancing first at Kita, then back at you. “It’s impossible to say with any certainty. In pill form, Someradol dissolves quick and is almost tasteless, a little sweet, perhaps. Dropped into a cocktail or a glass of wine, undetectable.”

—

Half an hour passes in the car before you realise that Kita isn’t driving you back to the city pack house. 

“Aran went ahead to grab some things for you from your apartment,” he says after a while. “You can have a shower when we get home. Osamu will fix you up something if you’re hungry. You didn’t eat tonight.”

Kita says it all so calmly, like none of this is out of the ordinary. You suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he slips back into the mantle of captain so easily, and you–

There’s a paper thin barrier separating you from feeling, a fuzzy sort of numbness that has nothing to do with the Someradol. 

Dumbly, you nod along. “Okay.”

“Anything else you need, tell us and we’ll sort it. You won’t be going back there.”

Not tonight, no. Probably not for a few days, until you can agree on a plan to deal with the bond sickness that won’t leave you bed bound and cursing your very existence. Kita won’t coddle you indefinitely, and you don’t expect him to.

It’s bad enough that you’ve dragged him into this – bound yourself to him, however unwittingly, however temporarily. 

“I’m sorry.” You don’t think you’ve said it yet. 

Kita’s eyes leave the road to flick your way. It’s only a brief glance, but the stern disapproval there rings like a slap. 

“Why? You didn’t ask to be bitten, you didn’t force your scent to spike in a room full of alphas, half of whom were unmated. You aren’t at fault here.”

The censure in his words isn’t necessarily directed your way, the tone still conveys a heavy dose of scolding you struggle not to flinch under. Two years with him on Inarizaki, one of those with him as your captain, and though he’s not aggressive nor one to get off on pushing his weight around, you’re yet to find an alpha you capitulate to quicker than Kita Shinsuke. 

—

By the time you do reach the pack house, a sprawling homestead, it’s closer to morning than midnight. 

The lights are on inside. Aran came back here with your things, Kita spoke about Osamu feeding you, meaning he’s inside too, and it’s not a stretch to imagine that where those two go, Suna and Atsumu follow.

Earlier tonight, the prospect of walking into their pack house alone would’ve eaten you up with anxiety. Right now, it’s hard to summon much of anything. The big, bad, unthinkable thing already happened. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been – Kita didn’t go into a full rut, it was only a bite – but it happened. 

Kita was there when you woke up and hasn’t left your side since, Aran went to get your things. The twins can be assholes, Suna too, but this feels like a line in the sand.

And if you’re wrong, what more harm can they do?

You let Kita open the car door and help you out, guide you up to the house with a steadying palm pressed to the small of your back. “I want a shower and then I want to go to sleep,” you tell him in a low voice, and he nods back all solemn and serious.

“Okay, whatever you need. Do you want me to tell them to clear out?”

“… I don’t mind.”

He regards you for a beat longer and then, without a word, moves to let you both in. 

The moment you cross the threshold, Aran jumps to his feet like a soldier snapping to attention. The TV’s on, an old game playing, the only sign of the others half empty glasses on the coffee table and three indents on the couches around him, and still you can’t shake that awkward feeling of walking into a room where everybody’s talking about you. 

“I told ‘em to make themselves scarce for a bit,” he explains, glancing between you and Kita. To you, he says, “Your stuff’s in the– I put it in the spare bedroom for you. Tried to grab as much as I could.”

You’re grateful. You are, even if the thought of Aran rifling through your bras and panties makes you want to shrivel up and die a little. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re dead on your feet. C’mon, let me show you where everythin’ is.” He doesn’t wait for your approval – or Kita’s for that matter – tossing an easy arm over your shoulders to lead the way. Kita follows, and you trudge along between them, too tired to really take the place in. All you care about is privacy, some space and a steaming hot shower, preferably with a showerhead that doesn’t half-heartedly trickle and spurt like yours does back home.

The moment you step into the ‘spare’ room, you realise why Aran stumbled earlier. The sunken floor, the dimmed lights, the massive bed piled with blankets and a quilted comforter – it’s a nest, plain and simple.

Heat floods your cheeks, a slight faltering in your step. 

Whether they were hoping you’d be too out of it to notice, or simply that you wouldn’t make a big thing out of it, Aran looks decidedly sheepish when you glance at him in surprise. 

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s the only empty room we’ve got.” 

It’s the nest, or bunking with Kita. 

The nest, or curling up on one of the couches out in the living room.

But you aren’t an ingrate, and a bed is just a bed. Might be that spending a few nights living in the same house won’t cut it and you’ll get bond sick anyway. There may come a time where things like sleeping in the same bed won’t be negotiable if you don’t wanna sacrifice your health. You don’t know what that’ll look like, how it’ll affect you, what Kita’ll be willing to accommodate – any of it.

But you’re not there yet. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Bathroom’s through here.” Kita steps forward to open an adjoining door, and while you’re too drained to stand there and gape when you follow after him, with the fancy marble countertops, ornate brass fixtures and the open, spacious shower – not to mention a claw foot tub – it’s definitely one of the nicer bathrooms you’ve ever set foot in. You catch a glance of yourself in the big mirror and wince at the wan, bedraggled looking woman staring back. 

They cleaned the bite at the hospital, your dress wasn’t so lucky, splotches of your own blood dried into the fabric, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away. 

You’ve been ignoring it ever since the doc explained it, but you have to know. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep tonight without it.

“What happened to him?”

You turn expectantly to Kita, but he isn’t looking at you. 

“You sure ‘bout this?” Aran asks. 

“I already said I was.” He shrugs, “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine, I won’t force you, but we aren’t going backwards anymore. We’re done with that.”

Too late, a sense of foreboding washes over you. You take a step back. One single step, and Kita’s hand shoots out to seize your wrist. 

Suddenly, they remember that you’re in the room with them.

“Be good. You’ve been through enough tonight, I don’t want to add to that unnecessarily.” But I will goes unspoken. 

You don’t fully understand what he’s talking about until you feel the warmth of Aran’s hands as he draws the zipper down on your dress. You don’t turn to stop him. You don’t fight or squirm as he plucks the unbroken strap from your shoulder and slowly slides it down your arm.

Your eyes, locked with Kita’s, go wide as saucers. He doesn’t blink, and you don’t look away, fighting back a sob as your dress slackens and falls to the tiles beneath your feet with a feather soft thump. 

“You wanted a shower. Let us take care of you,” he urges. You can feel it, his satisfaction, a simmering interest as more of your skin’s bared to him. 

“Y-you don’t want me. You’ve n-never wanted me.” He all but said it, time and time again. 

Aran’s bare chest meets your back, thick, corded arms circling around your waist. “I want you,” he hums, nosing at your hairline. “Wanted you so fucking bad, you have no idea.”

Evidence of that presses thick and insistent against the small of your back.

“Kita,” your voice jumps, trembling and fractured. “Please. This is a mistake. I’m a beta, I can’t, I-I can’t–”

A familiar crease appears between his brows and he searches your face for a moment, and you dare to think, for one split second, that maybe, just maybe, your pleas have finally broken through to him. Aran’ll stop if he tells him to. He’ll listen to his pack alpha – he always has before.

Then his expression clears, a soft, unexpected laugh escaping. “No knots, love. I told you, you’ve been through enough tonight already. Just let go and let us do this for you. It won’t hurt, I promise.” He strokes at your cheek, the same way he had back at the hospital, all calm and caring. “Get in the shower. The sooner you’re clean, the sooner you can go to sleep.” 

He can force you in there if he really wants. Wrench your arms back and drag you kicking and screaming under the spray for as long as he likes. They can do whatever they want to you. Maybe that’s why your legs obey, shakily stepping out of your underwear and carrying you behind the glass partition. 

The alphas follow, shedding what remains of their clothes. Kita picks both his and yours up, loosely folding them into neat piles he leaves on the bench. Aran kicks his off to the side to deal with later. 

You stand, tears slipping silently down your face, your whole body trembling, as they slide on past you, Kita fiddling with the faucet til he’s satisfied the water’s a good temperature. 

“Won’t get clean all the way over there,” Aran rumbles, taking you by the wrist to tug you forward, chuckling when you slip a little on the wet tiles, stumbling into his chest. “Easy, I gotcha.”

He shifts you so that you’re situated between them both, the water running in slick rivulets down your body. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Kita murmurs again. You still balk when he turns you so that your back’s to him, drawing your hair back to get a better look at the raw, jagged imprint his teeth left behind. 

He traces the mark with the pad of his thumb, freezing you still, and when that isn’t enough, he presses closer and gently kisses it. A distressed whine slips free and your whole body shudders against him. 

Neither alpha pays it any mind. 

As Kita grabs one of the bottles from the shelf and squirts some onto a loofah, Aran takes your chin in hand, tilting your head back to look at him. He holds you there for a beat, darkened eyes drinking you down. He’s bigger than you remember. Tall and broad shouldered, blotting out the space behind him. “I used to have dreams about this,” he tells you, a wry grin tilting his lips. “You and me, in the showers back at Inarizaki. Used to drive me crazy.”

Cupping your cheek in the warmth of his palm, he kisses you. 

First your unresponsive lips, then the curve of your jaw. His mouth moves hungrily over your skin, tasting your scent, teeth nipping at delicate flesh while Kita works to scrub you clean, murmuring soft, soothing reassurances whenever you flinch or make a noise. 

Along the curve of your throat. The valley of your breasts. He sinks to his knees and kisses a wet trail down your belly, stopping just below your navel. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he groans, nudging your feet further apart. 

Your breath comes quick, frantic, you try to squirm back and Kita’s grip goes iron. “No, no. Don’t fight it, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“N-no! I don’t want this–”

You’re expecting his mouth on your pussy. Instead, Aran’s teeth tear into the plush skin of your inner thigh and you shriek like a banshee, wailing through a fresh round of tears. With one hand anchored around your thigh, the other stroking his thick, engorged cock, he laps at the bloody wound, dark pupils blown wide, and if it weren’t for Kita at your back, you’re not sure you’d still be standing. 

You didn’t feel it the first time, there’s no drugs to dull the pain now, not just of the bite itself, but the bond – it burns through your veins like wildfire before finding a home in your chest, a part of you that isn’t you anymore. You feel what he feels; all of it. Everything. 

It’s overwhelming. It’s agony. You gasp for breath between your tears, letting your head fall back onto Kita’s shoulder. 

There’s nothing left in you when his calloused hand wraps around yours and draws it back to curl around his length, a shivery moan echoing too loud in the enclosed space as he uses you to stroke himself off. 

Nothing left as Aran finally turns his attention to your pussy, his tongue delving between your slick folds, drawing your clit up into his mouth to suck. 

—

Aran carries you from the bathroom. All cried out – wrung out – and barely clinging to consciousness, you don’t care that neither one of them bothered to dress you if it means they’ll leave you alone and let you sleep.

But the nest isn’t empty. 

Though your eyes are closed you hear the hum of voices, feel the mattress shift as bodies move to make way for you to be set down. 

“Be gentle, she’s been through enough tonight,” Kita’s voice warns. “No knotting.” In a sharper tone, “You two; no biting. I mean it.”

Mumbling something unintelligible, you roll over to curl up on your side. 

A gentle brush of lips against your forehead. “Not much longer, love.” 

Aran follows suit, his hand at your throat, thumb coaxing your chin up so he can kiss you how he likes. “It’s okay if you wanna sleep through this next bit. You were always gonna be ours, we’re just makin’ it official, that’s all.”

The words should spark something in you. Fear. A fight or flight response. Anything. There’s only contentment – maybe not yours, but it’s there all the same, lulling you off. You’re so tired, pushed beyond your limits so many times already today. At a certain point, exhaustion’s going to win out whether you want it to or not.

Footsteps recede and the door closes. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” one of the twins groans, Atsumu, you think. 

The mattress shifts again. “Don’t know why you’re so eager, you’re in the dog house,” Suna scoffs, his voice closer now. “You’re lucky Kita’s letting you stick around to watch.”

“Lucky? He should be thankin’ us!”

“I’m not the one who bought ‘em–”

“Oh, yeah, you’re a real fuckin’ saint, Samu. Shut the hell up – it was your idea!”

You’re rolled onto your back, your legs slowly maneuvered apart, and when you pry your leaden eyes open, all you see is Suna, naked and looming over you. “Ignore them,” he tells you, stroking the slowly thickening cock straining between his legs. “They’re just pissy they aren’t allowed to do this.”

He fills you, not in a single, smooth stroke, but slowly, inch by crawling inch, stretching you out while you claw and clutch at the comforter beneath you, lips parted in a soundless cry. The world fades away. The nest. Your bond with Kita and Aran. The twins, watching their best friend slowly pry you apart with brazen hunger in their eyes. 

Suna takes his time. Forces you to meet his stare, half lidded, swimming in pleasure as his hips roll languidly against yours. What’s the rush when there’s no one to interrupt, no force on earth that’ll drag him away from the tight warmth of your pussy squeezing around his cock.

The heat of him, inside of you, surrounding you, is suffocating. Suna’s forehead dips to press against yours. Every breath you take you share, gasped out between clenched teeth and whimpers of pain.

Slow doesn’t mean gentle.

He reaches back to grab at your knee, pulling your thigh up to give himself more room, and the low groan he makes as he sinks that little bit further in carves through you like a knife. 

“We were always gonna end up here. You realise that, don’t you?” 

The lump in your throat keeps you from answering. You blinded yourself to it then. Rationalised what you could and minimized the rest. 

Boys’ll be boys, and alphas can’t help their instincts. 

Betas have no place in pack. 

Does it make it any easier to swallow, knowing you never slipped the leash they snuck around your neck years ago? 

Hot tears spill from the corners of your eyes, dampening the pillow beneath. 

They lied to you then, and he’s lying to you now.

Teeth graze over the smooth expanse of your shoulder as his own legs splay, pushing yours wider so he can fuck himself deeper, his breath turning ragged. At the base of his cock, a knot begins to form, swelling and pressing insistently with each feverish stroke. 

You hear Atsumu’s warning snarl a split second before his jaws clamp down and blood spurts–