#neutral!reader

"Fuck's sake, will you stick it in already?"

Cook's breaths hitch at each trace of your finger against his puckered hole. He's soaked already from his heat, sweating so much you could see the dark patches through his clothes when you first got here. You thought every omega was aware that they could only take their suppressants for a few months at the absolute maximum before a review; Cook had been abusing them for years. You wouldn't have even known until he ran out of pills prematurely.

"I'm not rushing through this, Cook. You've never even done it before."

The sound of his nails biting into your mattress greets you as he pushes his ass against your finger; he's so slick already that it's enough for you to slip in almost halfway. A needy whine slips free out of him without shame, and his cock bobs underneath him, angry and red.

Something about the noise, perhaps the pitch or some note he hits, it strikes something hot inside you. You want to hear it again. Need it. Cook's scent is so overwhelming that he's lucky he hadn't brought the attention of alphas back with him before he even understood what was happening. But you try not to think about that right now, their hands reaching out for something that wasn't theirs.

Cook is yours.

You've known it since you smelled the thick heat on him. Your omega, and you'll be damned if you were to let another soul so much as see him like this, let alone touch him. As if to prove it, you grin as you finally relent and ease your finger into Cook's ass. The sight of him on all fours and spreading his thighs more in response sends a surge of something dangerous to your lower abdomen.

"Soaked already, baby. I'll take care of you, okay?"

Cook's face burns hot against the bedding, and his eyes all but glaze over when you add another finger. He didn't want to admit it for so long, not to you or himself, but with him finally giving into his instinct and letting you open him up like this… He had feared being abused by an alpha, but the instant reprieve is unlike anything Cook had ever experienced. You feel your sex pulse in response to the way his sopping hole clenches around your fingers, and you start to thrust them languidly against his coated walls.

"F-Fuck, I wa-.. I need more!"

Cook buries his face into the covers, arms folded in front of his head to muffle his growing whimpers that break out of his chest. When you crook your fingers, you watch his cock visibly jerk at the same time Cook's whine cracks out of him. You place light kisses on his thigh, turning into small, claiming nips as you speed up your fingers.

When your other hand reaches out to cup Cook's sack, he flinches with a new gush of slick that pours out of him. You peer down to watch his thick cock twitch and leak pre-cum onto the sheets; the sight of it has your stare turn half-lidded.

"Shh, I know… My omega needs this, doesn't he?"

He nods feverishly to you as your fingers work into him, uncharacteristically quiet with need.

"Y-Yours…"

The dazed word falls out of Cook like he hadn't noticed it slip, and it plucks at a possessive chord in you. As you stretch his hole, your eager digits abuse the spot that makes him jump and make pathetic noises with each stroke. The pulse of Cook's entire body screams that he's already close to the edge just from this; no longer proud or cocksure of himself, just pliant and rolling his hips back to match your speed.

"Such a good boy for me, Cook, right here, yeah?"

Like a trigger word, Cook only responds with gritted teeth and a desperate whine as your words force his cock to jump. As your fingers carefully massage into his sack, Cook's back arches wonderfully for you enough that his head tips back. His rasps are thick, and while the slick runs down his balls, you feel the base of him starting to swell. A moan slips out of you when you realise your omega's body is trying to knot, and pride blooms in your chest at the thought of Cook's body trusting you.

"S'good- shit it's- S'too good, gonna come!"

Cook's eyes clench shut, body trembling under you. You can feel his walls flutter around your fingers as he comes early and just as hard, releasing over the sheets and his own stomach and chest with a pleasured cry. Your fingers don't let up their movements as you continue to pump them, working him through his first orgasm. Cook's jaw hangs open for a litany of hoarse moans to spill out; your throat tightens at the noise, and as suspected, he doesn't stop.

"Fuck- Fuck- I-It won't stop!"

"Shh, I know- I've gotcha, let it happen."

Heat spreads over your face at the sight of Cook; a thin sheen of sweat coats him as his stomach and cock jerk with every wave of release onto the sheets below. When it finally ends, Cook's hips are still giving gentle thrusts back onto your fingers. His cock hasn't softened remotely, and judging from the small knot and frustrated tears rolling down his cheeks, you know it'll be a while before he's even remotely sated.

Carefully, as it all slows to a brief pause, you let your fingers slide out to replace them with your tongue before Cook can complain about the loss. You lick a slow, promising stripe up the seam of his tight balls to dip into his wet hole. He whimpers quietly at the feeling, slack-jawed and cracking open his eyes to look back for you as you help your omega through his first heat.

The worst part was that they didn’t notice. They didn’t notice how you felt and that you were distancing yourself. You would’ve thought that at least one of them cares. But all they cared about was being with that woman. 

What hurt you the most was that they didn’t tell you about her. If they had been honest with you, you wouldn’t have created all these scenarios in your head. But they lied to you. 

“Yeosang?” You tried to get his attention by tapping his shoulder. It was rare that all eight of them were at home. You wanted to talk about it. Voice your anxious thoughts. Letting them go. “Who is that woman you all have been hanging around?” You asked him because you knew he would be honest with you. The room instantly became silent.

“Oh? Do you mean Haeun? She works with us.” Yeosang answered, not giving you a lot of information. “Why do you ask?” 

You didn’t know what to say. “I-.. I’m just curious.” You stuttered, looking down at your feet. 

“She is really fun to be around! Recently she even invited us for dinner and paid.” San said excitedly. His words stabbed right into your heart. This was worse than you expected.

They weren’t cheating on you. You somehow could feel that. It was worse. They hadn’t been doing anything with a bad intention. They simply enjoyed spending time with her. 

They took you for granted. 

From that conversation on you decided not to chase after them anymore. You didn’t wait until they came home to eat dinner. You didn’t ask them how their day was. The few messages that you got during the day, you ignored. If they wanted to tell you something they could tell you in person. 

Your boyfriends on the other side didn’t realize how much time they were spending with Haeun. And how less they were spending time with you. 

The first one to notice that something was weird about you was Mingi. He had always left you a message during the day. Sometimes about work, what they ate for lunch or when they would be coming home. And normally you would respond relatively quickly. But you didn’t answer at all.

He sat in his practice room, eyes glued on his phone. Read two hours ago. It said on his screen. Mingi had voiced his concerns to the others but they disagreed saying that you didn’t behave differently. But he missed you. He wanted to eat dinner with you. Yes, Haeun was fun and when she first got introduced to the team, it was exciting to meet someone new. But he missed the familiarity. It had always been important to Mingi that he was not taken for granted and now he was afraid that they had done exactly that to you. 

But he didn’t act on his feelings. He didn’t want to cause drama where there was none.

The second one to miss you was Jongho. “Y/n what do you…” He wanted to ask you for your opinion on his singing when he turned around and faced an empty room. Right, Y/n isn’t here. He reminded himself, immediately feeling a sting in his heart. Every Tuesday you would follow him to practice and listen to him sing. But as soon as he thought about it he realized that you hadn’t been there in multiple weeks. Jongho instantly remembered Mingi’s concerns and decided to go look for him.

When they finally opened up about their feelings and what they had been observing, Mingi and Jongho went to tell the others. 

Before they could even finish what they were trying to say, Seonghwa tried to call you. He was blaming himself for not giving you the attention you deserved. He wanted to beat himself up. It was so clear now that Mingi and Jongho had mentioned it.

How could they neglect you like this and not even notice? 

And that was the same question you asked yourself as you zipped up your bag. Just as you wanted to put your phone into your pocket, it started ringing. It was Seonghwa. You took a deep breath as you declined the call and left the apartment.

You didn’t know for how long or how far but you needed to get away. Right after getting into the taxi you had ordered, you turned off your phone indefinitely.

“Y/n isn’t answering.” Seonghwa announced, his voice shaking. 

“Get in the car. I’m driving us home.” Yunho said, leaving the room with big steps. The others following him. Yunho’s mind was racing. He wanted to stay calm. He needed to stay calm. He had to be strong. It didn’t matter how he felt, all he wanted was to see your face and make sure everything is fine. It was all just imagination. You will be waiting at home. He tried to tell himself while he was getting into the car. 

Hongjoong was trying to remember any signs of you changing while he was squeezing himself into the car. He had never been home as much as the others so it wasn’t strange for him to eat alone or to sneak into the bedroom without waking anyone up. But something had been strange. This morning, when he came out of the bathroom, he caught you staring at him. And he could swear you had tears in your eyes. But since you didn’t say anything he had assumed you were fine. This damn assumption.

When they finally arrived at their apartment, San immediately jumped out of the car and ran to the door.

“Y/n? Y/n!” He called you before he even entered the building. Wooyoung and Yeosang were right behind him. After finally opening the door they stormed in searching for you in their home. The rest followed them slowly, scared to not find you. 

It wasn’t until he heard a sob that Wooyoung slowed down. A sob? He made his way over to your room, gently pushing the door open. His eyes widened as he saw San kneeling in front of your bed, a note in his hands and his face buried in your sheets. 

“Sannie?” Wooyoung slowly walked closer to his loved one. “Y/n…” San sobbed, not able to form a sentence. “What is it Sannie?” Wooyoung kneeled down next to him, softly taking the note from his hands. As he started reading, tears formed in his eyes. 

And that was when the others finally found them. They looked at Wooyoung, hope and pain in their eyes at the same time as he slowly shook his head. Yeosang’s legs gave in as he saw the expression on Wooyoung’s face. You were gone. No no no that’s impossible he thought, staring to the ceiling with a blank face. You couldn’t leave them.

Still not wanting to believe what was happening, Yunho harshly snapped the note out of Wooyoung’s hand. 

I am going on a trip. Don’t text or call me, I need time to think. I hope you understand. I loved you so much.

His head went numb.

Loved. 

————

Tags: @jonghoisbabie @multidreams-and-desires @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers-writes @serialee @crimsonbubble @cometoceantrenches @em--ilysm @deja-vux @kawaiiloli00 @ddeonghwva @aaaaajonghooooo @sansbun @cookies-n-joong @plonys @hijirikaww @nari-nim @yunkiwii @mingi-ivity @racheloveyunho @seongsangsgf @jhmylove @lizsvcks @yunhobabygurl @leoninadecorazones @kerra-that-one-random-fangirl @star1117-archives

He convinces himself that a shower will make him feel better; he's somehow sweaty from doing nothing, and his teeth feel fuzzy and unpleasant from the residue of too many energy drinks. He'll clean himself up and then maybe he'll finally be able to sleep, he thinks. But the universe apparently has other plans.

He's not prepared to see you in the hallway, was certain you would have left by now. That you'd have wasted no time returning to your normal life, forgetting all about him sometime in the three days that have passed since you two fought.

No. Not fought, he reminds himself, his stomach twisting. Since you left him.

You freeze like a startled animal when you see him, your lips parting and your eyes widening, making it clear you weren't expecting to encounter him either. You've been avoiding him, he realizes - it's the only possible explanation for how your continued presence could have escaped his notice.

His first instinct is to simply push past you, ignore you completely, but the thought of you sneaking around the hideout unbeknownst to him strikes a bitter chord in his hollow chest, and he can't quite tolerate letting you slip away without having to face the consequences of what you've done, even if only in some mundane way.

"I didn't think you'd still be here," Tomura says flatly, fingertips twitching. The itching in his neck feels unbearably deep, the skin crawling all the way down to the sinew beneath, begging to be scratched, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction.

Your eyes stay cast down and to the side, and that deference gives him a petty thrill as you explain your continued presence in a meek, halting voice. "I'll go as soon as I can, but it's been hard to find a place. You know I can't go back to my family, or my friends."

He knows. Of course he knows. He was the one to point it out to you, to make clear that if you joined the League and committed to being with him that you'd be saying goodbye to your normal life. You'd told him then that you didn't care, that you'd stay with him until he achieved his goals, and that the two of you would build a new, better world together.

What a lie that turned out to be.

Tomura wants to tell you that he doesn't give a fuck where you go as long as it's not here. He doesn't need you hanging around the hideout, taunting him with your presence when you were the one who was so quick to agree to leave. He hadn't meant it when he told you to get the fuck out, had just been frustrated and angry, and it wasn't as though the two of you had never fought before. But then you had gone, just like that. It had happened so quickly that all he can do now is wonder just how long you were wanting to go, how long you'd simply been waiting for the right moment.

If he’d known you were looking for a convenient out, he would never have been so stupid as to give you one.

But it's too late now. The damage is done and you've made it obvious this isn't where you want to be, not anymore. That knowledge sits like lead in his stomach and has his teeth grinding so hard he thinks they might crack, but even so he can't quite bear to be cruel to you. So, he only mutters, "Stay as long as you need to."

He's about to move past you, desperate to flee your presence because he can't stand one more moment of just how weak this makes him feel, but he hesitates when your expression softens slightly at his words.

"Tomu..." you start, before trailing off, your teeth catching your lower lip in that thoughtful way he used to find so cute, and suddenly his heart is in his throat. The use of that nickname doesn't help either, the one he wouldn't tolerate from anyone else but that always sounds so sweet on your lips. For a second Tomura thinks you're going to tell him that you didn't mean it, that you want to stay, and an unwanted flicker of hope sparks in his chest. He could forgive you in a heartbeat if you only said you hadn't meant it.

Instead your gaze drops again, your shoulders slumping as you swallow hard. “Thank you,” you mumble before retreating back to your room.

Tomura stands there. The sound of your door closing and the lock clicking into place weigh heavy, and for a brief moment he's awash with the urge to decay it, to simply follow you whether you want him to or not and demand that you take this all back. But he doesn't. Instead he swallows the urge down and forces himself to continue with what he was doing, only returning to his room once he's clean, though he feels no better than when he first set out. There's no assuaging his misery now that he knows you're holed up in your own room just on the other side of the wall. Still here, but not his.

***

Tomura manages a few hours of fitful sleep, and then he lies awake, trying and failing not to keep thinking about you in the room next to his. He's been listening closely but he doesn't hear you stirring. You're holed up like a mouse, hiding and waiting and trying not to draw attention to yourself, as though that could possibly make up for what you're doing to him.

Sometime after dark he rises. He can't stand it anymore, laying here with his own interminable thoughts, and he's desperate to do something, anything to numb this endless suffering. Prior to the League's stranding in this rundown building, he would have left, gone somewhere to clear his head, but there's nowhere to go and he's too noticeable for that now anyway. So instead he goes down to the kitchen, rummages irritably through the sparse cabinets until he finds what he's looking for. It's probably Compress's - the label on the bottle suggests refined taste - but Tomura doesn't care. He twists the cap off with a sneer and takes a long draw, grimacing at the burn of the liquor as he swallows. He takes another drink. Another.

The etched glass bottle was half-full when he started, and it's empty by the time the others find him. Tomura's slumped on the floor by then, leaning against the wall surrounded by dust. It's mostly from debris that had already littered the hideout, but in one pile lies the remnants of his phone. He'd made the mistake of looking through old messages, pictures, and then when he couldn't stand to look anymore he hadn't been able to fight the urge to erase those memories completely.

As a general rule Tomura doesn't drink much, and he can tell by the others' faces that they don't know what to do with him, or this situation. Toga only stares with pursed lips while Jin clutches at his head in concern. It's Spinner who finally does something, who hesitantly hooks one of Tomura's arms over his scaly shoulder and hauls him to his unsteady feet.

"Come on, Shigaraki," he mumbles, "I think you've had enough."

Spinner tries to lead him to his room, but Tomura shrugs him off once they're in the hallway. He can see your door, still tightly shut, and that urge to decay is overwhelming.

"Go," Tomura orders, and Spinner shifts his weight uneasily.

"Boss, I really think you oughta-"

"I said leave me the fuck alone," Tomura growls through clenched teeth, swaying a little. Spinner still looks like he wants to object, but the purple-haired man thinks better of it. He gulps, nods. Goes back downstairs to join the others.

Tomura's eyes settle on your door once again.

***

It's the smell that awakens you first, something acrid and unfamiliar, and then you hear the clattering of rubble. You're still blinking sleep from your eyes when you feel the mattress beneath you dipping from an unexpected weight.

You struggle halfway up to a sitting position and then freeze when your vision clear enough for you to make out red eyes fixed intently on you. Tomura's clambered halfway onto your bed, one foot still planted firmly on the ground, the other knee sinking into the mattress near your hip, his hand braced against the wall by your head, effectively caging you in.

"What are you-" you start to stammer, but he interrupts you with a growl, leaning in until his face is less than a foot from your own.

"How long?"

"W-what?" His face is twisted and angry, his eyes wide and wild, and you feel an unfamiliar flicker of fear somewhere beneath your confusion.

"How long were you waiting to leave?" His breath is sour, reeks of booze, and it's then you realize he's drunk. You've never seen him drunk, not even buzzed. He always stops after one drink, uninterested in dulling his senses much, but now the smell of whisky is practically oozing from his pores.

"I- I wasn't, you told me to-"

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, and you suck in a sharp breath. You've heard that coldness in his tone before, but it was always reserved for his enemies, never for you. It's only made worse by the way his words slur slightly, and the general unpredictability of his intoxicated state; you're not sure what you're supposed to do here, how to deal. What he wants.

You think what you want, though, is for him to leave, to come back when he's sober, or maybe not at all. You lift one shaky hand to push at his chest, trying to create some space between the two of you, but all that happens is four fingers grip your wrist tightly, almost painfully so. You glance to his hand in surprise, your breath catching when you see his bare pinkie hovering shakily mere millimeters above your skin.

He used to wear gloves, insisted on it always, but apparently he's given that up now. He follows your worried gaze, his lip curling.

"You think I'd hurt you? You think I'd-" His sneer stretches into an unsettling smile, a scornful snicker escaping him as he tilts his head, leans closer so that your foreheads are almost touching. "I could never. I...." His eyes soften as they fix on yours, the rage on his face morphing into something else, something mournful and wanting, and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you. Do you want that? He was the who told you to go. You're so unhappy? Get the fuck out of here, then.

So you'd said you would. His red eyes had widened in some combination of fury and dismay, and you’d thought then that you’d called his bluff, that he’d stop you even as you were mumbling at him to have a nice life and retreating to your own room. But he’d let you go. Apparently he'd meant it.

And now you can't understand why he's here, or what he's trying to tell you as he continues mumbling under his breath, words too soft and slurred to make out.

"What?" you ask tremulously.

He repeats it, no louder this time, but the words are clear enough for you to hear what he's saying. "Take it back," he's mumbling. His face is close enough now that you can feel his breath hot against your lips, can practically taste the alcohol on his breath. "Take it back and we can..." His eyes dart to your mouth, and then he lets out a pained, strangled sound. His jaw clenches, the cords in his neck standing out.

It sounds almost as though he regrets telling you to leave, but you quash that suspicion, refuse to let yourself fall into the trap of thinking he still wants you when he's made it clear that's not the case. You can't read too much into this, not when he's not making sense, not when he probably won't even remember this tomorrow.

"You're drunk," you say, tugging your wrist gently from his grasp. He doesn't try to stop you, only sags a little, his head hanging, that curtain of pale hair falling in front of his flushed face. "You should go to bed."

His shoulders start to shake, sharp convulsions that have you thinking for one horrified second that he's crying, but then there's a low, bitter laughter spilling from his lips. "Yeah," he hisses, lurching to his feet. "I guess I should."

***

You try to forget about that late night visit, to dismiss it as the drunken ramblings of someone who has never been exactly stable, but despite your best efforts you can't stop thinking about his words, about what it was he'd meant. Take it back. Eventually, the not knowing is worse than the thought of facing him.

You'd been worried he wouldn't answer the door when you knocked, but he does. He looks god-awful - the circles under his eyes are darker than usual, his pallor sickly and his hair a tangled mess. The smell of stale booze no longer lingers on his breath though, so it seems he was already awake. That he's taking care of himself at least a little.

"What?" he snaps the moment his eyes fix on you, and the anxious knot that had been forming in your stomach only worsens.

"Tomu, can we-"

"Don't call me that," he spits through gritted teeth, and you falter. Nod.

"Sorry." Your voice is timid, his reprimand making your heart ache. "But Tomura, can we...can we talk? Please?"

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"It seemed like you were trying to say something last night."

Tomura grimaces. He knows he came to your room - the absence of your door would have made that obvious, if nothing else, but he also faintly recalls what happened, though not in any detail. His memory is nothing but flashes of your face unbearably close to his, and of you wearing a frightened expression that makes him feel sick.

"It won't happen again," he mutters.

"That's not..." You shake your head, trying to get your thoughts straight. You don't know what you really want from this, what you're trying to accomplish, other than that something in his eyes had made it seem as though he...as though maybe he didn't want you to go after all. "You were asking me to...to take it back." Your throat is tightening in spite of yourself, the last thing you want, but you can't help it. "What did you mean?"

His neck prickles and before Tomura can stop himself he's scratching, fingernails tearing at the thick scabs that have formed after digging too deep the night before. "It doesn't matter," he says. "You won't do it."

"Do what?"

"Stay!" He practically yells the word, warmth and wetness blooming at his fingertips as one of the scabs on his neck rips away, but he doesn't stop scratching. He hates you, in this moment. Hates you for making him say it.

"Tomura, you told me to go!" You can still hear his words ringing in your ears: Get the fuck out of here, then. Can still feel the sharp stab they'd sent through your chest too, a pain that had only worsened when he hadn't stopped you from following those instructions. A pain that has yet to fade in the slightest.

"Yeah, but you weren't supposed to-" he lets out a frustrated growl and then slumps, as though all the anger has suddenly drained from him "-you weren't supposed to listen."

"Oh." Your chest feels tight, the lump in your throat threatening to translate into tears at any moment as the weight of his words sinks in. Was it really all just a misunderstanding? "I...I thought you meant it."

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. You wanted to leave, right?" His voice is raw and tight. "You were just waiting for your chance."

"I wanted you to stop me."

Red eyes snap to yours. Tomura looks shell-shocked, frozen utterly still save for the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard. Once. Twice.

"Is it too late?" he whispers, choked words you can barely hear over the sound of your own pounding heart. The tears that have been pricking at your eyes finally overflow, forming wet tracks down your cheeks as you shake your head quickly. No, god no, it could never be too late, not for this. Not for him.

Tomura moves so fast that you're barely aware of the distance closing between you. One moment you're staring at him through eyes blurred with tears and the next he's upon you, cracked lips crashing against your own, long arms encircling you so tightly that you can barely breath.

"Stay. Please stay," he pleads, his words thick and feverish against your lips. You respond by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to reduce the space between you to nothing, to feel every contour of his body against yours. You're still nodding, your relieved whimpers the only real sounds you can muster through your constricted throat as you work your lips against his urgently. The kiss is salty from your tears, but neither of you care, parting your lips to lick into each others mouths.

"Tomu, I need you," you manage to implore, and you don't have to ask him twice. The arms around you tighten as Tomura drags you into his room, kicking the door closed behind you with a slam so loud the frame shakes. God, he can't get enough of you, the way you feel, the way you smell, all these things he thought he'd never get to experience again but here they are, overwhelming him in the best way possible.

Tomura wastes no time stripping of your clothes, tugging your shirt hastily over your head and then shoving you down onto the bed, five impatient fingers gripping the fabric of your pants until they turn to dust. There was a time you might have complained about your ruined clothing but now you don't care, would gladly watch him destroy everything around you just for the chance to feel him inside you again after these past few agonizing days. You yank his shirt off, letting your hands drift briefly over his pale, scarred chest before hooking your thumbs around the waistband of his sweats, working them down below the jut of his hipbones, just enough to free his straining erection.

You look so amazing spread naked beneath him, so fucking perfect that Tomura can't believe he almost let you slip away. It's not a mistake he'll make twice, he can promise himself that much. When your fingers wrap around his cock he groans, almost comes then and there from the burning relief your touch offers, but he composes himself. There's no way he's going to waste his orgasm by coming in your hand - no, he needs to save that release for when he's buried inside you, surrounded by your exquisite heat.

Tomura needs that now. He jabs two long fingers into your mouth, sucking in a sharp hiss of breath as you lave your tongue over them, and then he's withdrawing them just as quickly, shoving those spit-soaked fingers roughly into your eager hole. It's not enough of a warm-up he knows, not really, but he can barely wait and he knows you can take it.

And fuck, you certainly don't care, are bucking your hips greedily against his invasion, Tomura's name cascading from your lips over and over as he curls his fingers just right, the pads of his fingertips stroking at that tender spot deep inside. He scissors those digits, stretching you open briefly, and then he's removing them, spitting into his palm to make up for the hasty foreplay, smearing that wetness over his length along with the copious precum leaking from his tip.

You whine when he aligns himself with your entrance, practically quivering with the anticipation, the need. Your whole body feels flushed, as though you're boiling over with liquid heat, and you know you won't be sated until he's fucking you so hard you can't see straight, until you're blissfully unaware of anything but the feel of him inside you.

Tomura only hesitates long enough to enjoy the sight of you beneath him, trembling needily for him. Another eager whimper escapes you when he lifts one hand to catch your wrists and pin them above your head; Tomura likes this sight even better, you secured under him where you couldn't leave even if you wanted to, though your wide, shining eyes and squirming form make clear that's not something you desire. No, you want to be here with him, and that knowledge fills Tomura with indescribable relief.

His mouth finds yours again, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and then he's driving his hips forward, filling you in one rushed stroke, all the air forced from your lungs in one strangled cry as he fills you with his cock. Tears prick at your eyes again at the sensation, the headiness of the abrupt stretch and the fullness his length brings. That wetness spills over when he starts to move, his cock pounding in and out of you, his tip brushing against that tender bundle of nerves inside.

You feel so good Tomura knows he won't last, but he doesn't think you will either, not when you're crying with pleasure, a sheen of sweat already forming on your skin. He shifts his weight, the hand gripping your wrists holding you more firmly against the mattress, his other hand working its way between the two of you to stroke above your entrance, that extra stimulation sending your hole clenching around his cock.

"Fuck, you're so tight. You like that? Like me stuffing you full?" You nod, your inner walls fluttering, and Tomura swears under his breath. "This is what you want right? No one but me touching you? Me fucking you until you're molded to my cock?"

The tension coiling in his gut only worsens when you nod frantically, your hips rocking to meet each of his thrusts, your lips uttering a steady string of affirmations. "Yes, fuck, yes, Tomu, just you. Want you to fill me up forever, please please please."

Tomura kisses you harder, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, swallowing all your moans as his hand between your legs rubs faster against your sex. He's gasping against you every time he bottoms out inside, setting a punishing pace that has you hurtling towards your peak, and when he angles his hips just right, driving more firmly against that perfect spot each time he works in and out of you, those throbs of pleasure coalesce, that knot in your lower belly snapping violently, every muscle in your body going rigid as you convulse around his cock, riding out those pulsing waves with a long, desperate keen.

The feel of you coming beneath him is enough to send Tomura over the edge, his hip stuttering as he buries himself deep and comes so hard he's seeing white, his cock twitching as he floods your insides with hot spurts of cum. He continues to fuck you until he can't anymore, until he's softening inside you and his seed is dribbling out of your abused hole, and then he slumps over on top of you, his lips nuzzling against your ear and his hand finally releasing your wrists, fingers tracing soft lines up and down your sides instead.

A heavy weight has been lifted now that he has you here with him, that near-loss only driving home just how foolish he'd been. Tomura's not perfect by any means, but he is smart, smart enough never to repeat the same mistakes twice, and he already knows he'll do whatever it takes to not risk suffering this agony again. No, now that you've taken back your parting words he'll do anything to keep you close, anything to ensure that you stay with him for good.

Now that he has you again, he's never going to let you go.

“As Boss-Man said, this case is very basically connected. We’re grasping at straws here to make connections. Our first victim comes from the Williams family, Este. Based on the report by her husband, Este Williams went missing a month ago when she left the family home for an emergency work call on a Monday evening. The report was filed the next evening when a friend of the Williams’s called the husband, Mark, after Este didn’t show up to their weekly dinner.”

“Has the friend been cleared?” Rossi asked.

“They had a solid alibi, confirmed by the victim’s sister. They spent the afternoon with Este’s sister to go out on the boat they own. And the detective has a receipt for the boat docking fee, confirmed by the dock owner.”

“It sounds like we’re empty when it comes to suspects then.” Derek said and Penelope shook her head.

“Yes and no. Mark Williams had a mistress, and she has been taken into custody as a suspect for his murder. But that leaves her hands clean for the murder in Baltimore of FBI agent Andrew Walter.” Penelope clicked a button and the screen behind her changed to show the second crime scene. “Andrew Walter was an agent who decided to teach at the FBI Academy to train new agents. He moved to Baltimore two years ago to work at the Baltimore Field Office, and he had no real connections there. No family in the area, only colleagues, and he lived on a quiet street.”

“So it likely was someone with a personal grudge who followed him to Baltimore, but was careful to not make any contact with him.” Emily said.

“Unless it was a botched robbery?” JJ suggested.

“There’s no record of anything being stolen.” Spencer said. “And look at the body. The shot to the chest was clean, he likely didn’t suffer long after the shot. But there is also blunt force trauma to the head, bruises and cuts across the torso.”

“What’s your theory, Doc?” Derek teased and Spencer didn’t acknowledge the nickname.

“The unsub entered the home, and when they came face-to-face with Agent Walter, they used an object in the house to subdue him with a blow to the head. He likely didn’t go down without a fight, and that’s how he obtained all the other injuries. Once the unsub gained control of the situation, they delivered a clean shot to the chest where the victim then died.”

“Hotch and I theorized that it’s possible the unsub wasn’t physically capable of taking him down unless he was injured.” JJ said.

“If the kill wasn’t personal.” Hotch added. “Both theories are worth looking into. Garcia, I need a list of everyone Andrew Walter has contacted within the last month. A list of friends, family, and anyone he could have made enemies with. Then we can dig deeper and see if any of his relationships tie into Williams's family.”

“What about the mistress?” Rossi asked.

“Fairfax PD has invited us to review what they have on her, and they have given us permission to interview her as well.” JJ said.

“Dave, you, JJ, and Morgan can go to Fairfax. Reid, Prentiss, and I will go to Baltimore to look at the crime scene, and we’ll decide if we need to pick this case up. We’ll meet at the DC precinct tonight to discuss what all we found. We’re leaving in thirty.” Hotch nodded to dismiss the group, and everyone but Rossi left the conference room.

“You really think there could be a connection worth investigating?” Rossi asked after a moment, and Hotch turned to him.

“You don’t?” Rossi shrugged.

“I’m not sure, honestly. But people’s lives are at stake. A woman’s reputation is on the line, and if she’s innocent, I think we should step in and find out who’s really responsible for these murders.” And with that, the men left the conference room and prepared for their trips.

-

“She’s in there.” Detective Hooper said to Morgan and Rossi. JJ was reviewing the small file the police had on Mark Williams’s mistress, Kacey Sarian. No priors, the only offense on her file was a speeding ticket. Mark Williams wasn’t the only married man she had a relationship with, but all of the other men were alive and well today, albeit were divorced after they had been caught in the act. Regardless, she didn’t fit the profile of a killer. If she was responsible for the murder of Mr. Williams, something had to have happened. Something had to have snapped in her, and there just weren’t any signs that anything would have caused this.

“Can I see the files you have on Mark Williams? We need to examine his as well to get the full perspective of their relationship, and if there were any signs that were missed that could have led to Ms. Sarian murdering Mr. Williams.” JJ asked.

“I have the file on my desk, follow me.” A deputy said and JJ nodded before she followed him out.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Derek nodded at the detective before entering the interrogation room, Dave staying behind with Detective Hooper. Kacey was cuffed to the chair she was sitting in, and Derek took a seat across from her and took her in. She looked tired, irritated, and there was a bit of fear mixed in.

“You’re new.” Kacey said as she looked Derek up and down, trying to get her own read on him. “Cop?”

“Not quite.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “SSA Derek Morgan, from the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

“Wow,” Kacey drawled out, “the FBI? If you’re thinking this is going to make me confess to something I didn’t do, it’s not going to work!” Kacey called out to the one-way mirror, and Derek cleared his throat in an attempt to bring Kacey’s attention back to him.

“That’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to hear your side of the story, ask a few questions. If you really are innocent, this can help us identify the unsub and bring whoever actually committed the crime to justice.”

“You’ll really be able to prove my innocence?” There was a flicker of hope in Kacey’s eyes, and it made the gears in Derek’s head whirl. Her hope seemed real, maybe she really was innocent. Derek shook his head to clear his mind, and he looked at Kacey.

“We’re here to uncover the truth, and you have an opportunity to tell your truth. Any and every detail could make or break this case, so please, tell me everything.”

“From the beginning?”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Derek nodded. Kacey took a deep breath and shifted in her seat, attempting to get as comfortable as possible.

“So, it started when…”

-

“Signs of forced entry at the front door, which is odd because the window right beside the front door was unlocked.” Reid says to Prentiss as they walk into the crime scene. There was some furniture knocked around, a broken table, and a broken lamp discarded on the floor.

“First time breaking into a house?” Emily asked.

“Potentially. Or if the unsub knew the victim, maybe they wanted to make some noise. Draw the victim down to where they were. If it was personal, it may not have satisfied them to break in quietly.”

“They wanted their victim on edge.” Emily looked around the living room and Hotch walked downstairs and over to Reid and Prentiss.

“There is no sign of the unsub being in any other part of the house. They waited here for Mr. Walters to come down from the bedroom.”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Reid said.

“What do you mean?” Hotch asked, brows furrowed.

“I mean, think about it. If this is connected to the Fairfax case, besides the gunshot, it’s like we had a second unsub. This house was broken into, the Williams’ house showed no signs of forced entry. The Williams’ house was spotless after the murder and the body had been dumped, here the body was left where he died. No staging, no signs of remorse, but nothing overtly personal either.” Reid’s hands moved through the air as he spoke, and Emily tilted her head.

“Maybe the unsub had different connections to each victim.” Emily suggested. “One vic could have affected the unsub differently than the other, so our unsub’s motives changed.”

“So the severity of what our victims did to our unsub affects the method for killing?” Hotch clarified as he looked between Emily and Spencer. After a moment, he spoke again. “I spoke with the detective, and he’s agreed to hand the case over to us.”

“I think we’re ready to meet the rest of the team at the precinct. Prentiss, call JJ when we get to the car to tell her we’re leaving. I’ll call Garcia to let her know what we found, and maybe she can find some more connections with what we found at the scene.” With that, Hotch led the way to the SUV, and the team was off to D.C.

-

“I think Kacey Sarian is innocent, Hotch. She seemed genuine throughout the interview, she was mourning.” Derek said, and Rossi nodded.

“As much as I wish we had someone to pin down for Mr. Williams’s murder, it wasn’t her. I think we should look back into people who had frequent contact with Mr. Williams and his wife, and hope we find a connection between him and Agent Walter.” Rossi said.

“About that, sir.” Penelope spoke up. “I haven’t found a single connection between the two men yet. I’ve started looking into Mrs. Williams’s friends and colleagues, but she’s interacted with so many people during her career. Her phone and email logs for the first month alone are double her husband’s.”

“We need to find anything that connects the two, Garcia, no matter how little the connection appears to be. Coffee shop, if either of them ended up in the same ten miles for work, anything. If we can’t find a connection…” Hotch trailed off. Everyone knew what would happen, but no one wanted to put it out in the air. If it was out there, it would be true.

“We’ll have to wait for more bodies, or they’re out in the world forever.” Rossi said.

-

Your fingers drummed against your steering wheel, and it took everything to stay in your car. Lara Miller stood outside a coffee shop in downtown Arlington, her phone held to her ear. You watched as she walked to her car, and you put your car into drive, ready to tail her. You waited a few seconds for her to drive off before you followed her. You were grateful for her to be distracted by her phone call, it gave you an extra bit of confidence that you could tail her without any suspicions being raised. You followed her home and made a mental note of the address, 181 Twining Road.

It was just her car in the driveway, no fence around the backyard either. No dogs or kids, maybe? There was a sidewalk that lined both sides of the street for as far as you could see, and they were well-maintained. She lived in a rich neighborhood. You couldn’t sit here long, someone would be bound to notice you if you loitered. You rolled your window down slightly and pulled out your phone, opening the maps app. You dropped a pin outside of Lara’s house and busied yourself looking around the local area. A country club a few miles away, and the local police department was ten miles away. Anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes, depending on how fast you drove. Plenty of time to make an escape.

A shadow loomed over you and you glanced up right as someone knocked on your window. You rolled your window down and smiled up at the woman beside you. “Hi.”

“May I help you? You look a little lost.” The woman was white, in her mid-to-late forties. Hair obviously bleached blonde and botox wearing off around her eyes. The diamond ring on her finger was likely worth more than six months of your rent, possibly a year’s worth.

“Oh, yes ma’am, thank you so much. I’ve been looking for my sister’s house, and I seem to have gotten lost somewhere.” You hoped the accent you put on was enough for the woman to believe you weren’t from the area, but not muddled enough to raise suspicion. “I thought she told me 151 Twining Road, but that appears to be your house. She lives right by the country club?”

“Oh, you must have gotten the numbers mixed up. 511 Twining is right by the country club, just one street away.” You snapped as she spoke.

“That’s it. Thank you so much, ma’am. I’ll be on my way now.” You exchanged goodbyes with the woman and drove off down Twining Road, and you turned back onto the main road once you knew you were far out of the woman’s sight. See you tonight, Lara.

-

Later that night, you parked in front of Lara’s house, and you wanted to scream when you saw the second car in the driveway. But the lights were off in the house, was that her partner? You quickly and quietly got out of your car and crept towards the second car, and you squinted to read the license plate. It had Lara’s initials along with a few other letters, a custom plate. Must be her spouse. You glanced in her window- not a single alarm in sight. Rich but stupid, just like you had known her before. Sash lock, easy enough to break in.

You placed your hands at the sash in the middle of the window and pushed your palms up to lift the window. You slid the window up just enough to slip inside, then you closed the window and locked it once you were in. Thank god for gloves. You stood in the living room and took in your surroundings. It was a two story house, staircase to the right. The living room and kitchen were open, and you saw a sliding glass door in the kitchen. You made your way through the first floor, but all you saw were empty guest rooms, a bathroom, and an office.

You began the venture upstairs. Not a single stair creaked in Lara’s house, which you weren’t shocked by. This house was worth more than everything you owned, times ten. Anger flared inside you as you saw everything lavish she owned. You lost everything you ever wanted, and here she was with everything she could dream of. You tightened your grip on the knife in your hand, gun tucked into your belt. You walked down the hall and saw double doors at the very end. Double doors? You rolled your eyes. That had to be it.

You slowly opened the doors to the bedroom and froze when it creaked. Shifting sounds followed, but both figures in the bed appeared to be asleep. When you saw the second figure, you felt a twinge of guilt hit. They hadn’t done anything to you. But you couldn’t leave a potential witness, not after your incident with the woman from earlier. God, forgive me. You made your way over to the left side of the bed, and a man sat up, half asleep.

“Lara?” He reached over to his nightstand and turned the lamp on, and he froze when he saw you, inches away from his body. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry.” You grabbed your knife and plunged it into his chest, directly into his heart. The commotion caused Lara to wake up, and she looked up at you. She paled when she recognized you, and then her eyes drifted down to see her sleeping partner.

“Zack? Zack, no! Y/N… how could-?” Lara paused when she saw the gun in your hands, it aimed at her. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t think so. You had your chance years ago. Goodbye, Lara.” The sound of your gun went off, and Lara fell back into her bed. You grabbed your knife, wiped it against your black jeans, then tucked the blade away and into your pocket. You left the house just as quietly as you had entered, and you were long gone before a neighbor came knocking on the door.

You didn’t want to kill that innocent man, he had done nothing wrong. But he was with Lara, a potential witness. And there was only one option. But it was weird. The guilt you felt was brief, and now you were filled with new emotions. Pride. Confidence. Did you enjoy it? You didn’t know yet, but this feeling you had was insatiable. Your thirst wasn’t quenched, and you knew you’d have to act again. Soon.