#writing;

he barely grunts out a response to your greeting before he's got you crowded against the dresser from behind, the smell of your conditioner and lotion filling his nose and already soothing him a little. he hums noncommittally when you ask him how his day was, planting wet kisses down the nape of your neck instead of a proper reply.

"osamu!" you gasp when he reaches around to palm at one of your boobs through your towel, tilting your head to the side to give him more room to work. he's so big behind you, broad chest warm against your bare skin as he sucks a mark into your throat that you'll have to cover up tomorrow. you can't help but arch your back to gauge how hard he already is; he's already throbbing in his work trousers.

a heavy breath escapes him when you rub against his cock. "none of that," he grumbles into the junction where your throat meets your shoulder. impatient hands tug at your towel until you let it drop unceremoniously at your feet — you make a mental note to scold him for it later, once the growing need in your core has been taken care of. for now, you go easily when he plants a big hand between your shoulder blades, pushing gently but firmly until you're bent at the waist across the dresser. "need to taste ya, it's been a long ass day."

the honest timber in his voice is enough to have your thighs squeeze together, desperate to try and quell the ache.

satisfied with the position he has you in, he drops heavily to his knees behind you. for a moment, the room is still. you nibble your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for him to make the next move, wiggling your hips a little in anticipation, until —

calloused hands grab greedy handfuls of your ass, putting a stop to your movement. he squeezes firm enough to leave indents, letting the fat of your ass spill between his fingers before he spreads you open for him to see.

the noise he makes at the sight of your pussy is filthy enough to bring heat to your face. you don't have to see him to know that he's completely transfixed, gaze locked onto where you're starting to slick up, wetness drooling out of you and coating between your thighs.

he gently brushes over your clit with his thumb; you jolt at the contact, twitchy enough that he huffs out a quiet laugh. it's almost intimidating, the wait.

you think you'll explode if he doesn't touch you properly soon.

"missed ya, gorgeous," he sighs reverently. you almost answer him before you realise that he isn’t talking to you — he’s talking to your pussy. you squirm abashedly. "c'mon, don't get all shy on me now, sweetheart. i've been thinkin' about ya all day."

"c'mon, osamu," you whine. "aren't there better ways to catch up?"

you can hear the grin in his voice when he answers, "needy, aren’t we? that’s alright, i’ll have ya singing for me soon enough."

he squeezes your ass one last time before his hands drift, moving to grab at the fronts of your thighs. in one quick tug he pulls you back towards himself, using his newfound grip to practically smother himself in your cunt.

he dives in immediately, licking a broad line from your clit to your leaking hole, groaning in appreciation at finally getting a taste of you. the vibration makes your toes curl. you reach a desperate hand back to grab a fistful of his hair, looking for something to ground you. like this, you can almost fool yourself into thinking you have any semblance of control over the situation.

he's always been a messy eater, but it's even worse when he's like this; not even a full minute in and you can already feel the mess of your own slick and his saliva trailing down your inner thighs.

"jesus, osamu— fuck," you whimper when he prods his tongue inside you, fucking you with the muscle. you're completely soaked now, you can feel the slick coating his cheeks and chin, even his nose when it brushes against your skin at one point. everything is so debauched and sloppy as he grinds his nose against his clit. you swear you hear him sniff loudly at one point, practically inhaling you.

"ya taste fucking amazing, baby," he hums, sucking on the lip of your pussy with an obscene slurping sound. "can't get enough of ya. wish i could spend the rest of my life doing this."

in his eagerness, he can't seem to settle on what he wants to do: he switches greedily between lapping at your clit to tongue-fucking you, even at times giving your pussy a second to breathe so he can lick up the mess of fluids running down your legs. it’s as if he can't bear to waste a single drop.

it's taking a concentrated effort to keep standing, even with the dresser supporting the majority of your weight by this point. your legs quake in his grip, and you feel him grin when he notices, though he tightens his hold on you to keep you steady.

you're practically boneless when he decides to explore higher up, circling the rim of your asshole without warning. . "o—samu!" you yelp, jerking your hips away until you're practically on your tiptoes. "fuck—!"

he let's you dance away from him, though it was entirely begrudging. "next time," he mutters. "next time, i’ll eat your ass too, okay?"

the room spins as you nod hazily, barely able to keep up with him as he moves back down to your clit. it’s unfair, the way he knows exactly how to press your buttons to turn you into a mindless mess. in a practised move, he flicks his tongue side to side at your clit, groaning out a strangled version of your name when your fingers tighten in his hair.

you're close, your orgasm looming over you like a tidal wave just waiting for the right thing to push you over the edge — you're close you're close you're close.

you must've been babbling — or maybe begging? whatever it was, osamu takes pity on you in the form of two thick fingers dipping into your cunt. the stretch is enough to have you drooling as you’re finally split open around something other than his tongue.

"there ya go, sweet girl," osamu coos, curling his fingers to rub insistently over your sweet spot. "c'mon, relax 'nd let go for me, yeah? gonna let me see ya come?"

you nod jerkily, rolling your hips to meet the rhythm of his fingers. right when you think you could sob out of desperation, he sucks your clit back into his mouth again, lapping at it with his tongue.

the combination of it all sends you hurtling over the edge at last, eyes screwing shut as you chant his name like a prayer, clamping down so tightly around his fingers that he can barely move them. your breathing is ragged, chest heaving against the dresser as you try and form a coherent thought.

osamu coaxes you through it, only backing off when you blindly kick your leg back to gently shove him away when the overstimulation gets to be too much.

"aw, don't be like that, baby," he chuckles, slapping your ass playfully. you groan in response, still unable to peel yourself up into a standing position as your pulse returns to something a little less concerning. "you just taste so good, can’t i get ya off one more time?"

when the next blind kick you aim grazes his balls, you only feel a little bad.

1. Sister

There’s a hand on Bi-Han’s throat. It’s not choking him, but it could if it wanted to. He could thrash and flail in the hand’s grip, but every time he whips his head in order to get away, the grip tightens. It’s mocking him, telling him how his last breath is in its palms. Eventually, Bi-Han learned it would never kill him. It would just make fun of him. It wasn’t any better for him.

But he’s lucky, isn’t he? The very hand that could kill him, also protecting him from death. Evidence of its power to take away life lies in the corpse of Bi-Han’s mother. He can’t see her, and he can’t feel her hands anymore. Even if the hand of his father left an awful pit deep in Bi-Han’s soul, his mother could show her son her hands, and that warmth exists even in the coldest parts.

The hand clasps his shoulder, cold skin- bitter.

“Oh, my son, what will we tell your brother?”

Bitter. Bi-Han hates bitterness. Not the taste, but what he is. It’s a taste too close to the hand around his neck. It’s a taste possessing him, a black tar attacking his soul.

“Bi-Han, did you hear me?”

Hear? What did Bi-Han hear? Just hours ago, when he walked towards the room where he heard his mother screaming and abruptly fell silent, he heard more crying. Though as loud as the screams his mother let out, they were still smaller. He was ushered out by two men standing guard by the door. He didn’t hear the crying again.

But he’s lucky, isn’t he?

“Your mother’s gone, and a sister- you would have had a little sister.”

The very hand that could kill him, also protecting him from death. Lucky, blessed boy, to not be a daughter.

“She’s not dead,” Bi-Han whispered.

“Bi-Han-”

He shoved his father’s hand off his shoulder. “She’s not dead!”

“She is dead- both of them. You mother and sister-”

“I heard her crying!”

Though many of the Lin Kuei men knew the Grandmaster for far longer than Bi-Han had been alive, they didn’t grow up with that man as a father. Bi-Han could see how his eyes held the contempt, scorn, disgust, and hate he had hidden away. They were eyes that watched Bi-Han like he was an animal, and his father the hunter. Though his father never took the shot to kill him, he would graze him enough for blood to spill.

His father’s eyes unveiled themself to Bi-Han.

“Who? No one was crying. Your sister was already dead before she could take her first breath.”

“She’s still alive! I heard her-”

The way his father struck him did sting, but it didn’t hurt. Even if blood began coating his tongue, it’s not as bad as the bitterness.

His father gripped both of his shoulders, dragging Bi-Han close to him and unable to escape his hold. Bi-Han kept his face turned away, looking down at the floor. He could feel the tears forming, and he couldn’t face his father with those tears on display.

“No one is crying except you, Bi-Han.”

Bi-Han’s lips wobbled, the question begging to be released from his mouth.

How’d he do it?

2. Tomas

There’s no love in Bi-Han’s father. He can laugh like any other man, his smiles are like any other man, but kindness doesn’t come from simulated laughs and smiles.

But he loves to feign kindness.

Even if killing Tomas’s family was an accident, sparing him from that same fate wasn’t an accident. Taking in a new son wasn’t an accident. Giving him the tools to be a useful son wasn’t an accident.

Tomas was allowed to keep his mother’s knife- he didn’t want anything else from the bodies of his dead family. The Grandmaster had removed the knife from the mother’s hand, grabbed the knife’s sheath, and handed the bloodstained weapon to Tomas.

Night came, and when Tomas fell asleep, Bi-Han snuck into his room and took the knife. For hours, he washed away the blood from the silver metal and cleaned the sheath. Bi-Han couldn’t wash away the blood that still stained Tomas’s fingers without waking him up.

As Tomas became his and Kuai Liang’s brother, Bi-Han couldn’t bring himself to call Tomas his brother. He was sure he didn’t care much for him, the cleaning of the knife was simply because his father didn’t clean it. It was a good deed that no one knew about- so it didn’t matter if Bi-Han did it.

Besides, Tomas was sure Bi-Han hated him. Bi-Han yelled at him once during a sparring session. Tomas clumsily slipped on the mat, and almost stabbed Bi-Han in the arm. Bi-Han screamed the word “idiot” so loudly, it echoed through the halls of the temple. The eleven year old ran away embarrassed, and Bi-Han was scolded by his father, that a future Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei has to keep his cool, even if others are being idiots.

Bi-Han’s way to his room was past Tomas’s room, but hearing his name leave Tomas’s lips, Bi-Han paused and listened to what was being said about him.

“Why doesn’t Bi-Han like me? I’ve been here for a year and all he does is call me stupid.”

“Bi-Han calls me stupid sometimes.”

Of course, Kuai Liang and Tomas quickly became close. Kuai Liang inherited all the kindness of his mother, the bitterness unable to possess him.

“But Bi-Han means it when he calls me that.”

“He also means it when he calls me that.”

“But you’re his brother! I’m not anything to him.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“What?”

“I think if Bi-Han really hated you, he wouldn’t have let you have the last egg roll yesterday.”

The moment he heard the two giggling, he made his presence known. “Can the two of you shut up? I want to go to sleep.”

Kuai Liang and Tomas sheepishly glanced at their older brother, Kuai Liang trying to stifle his giggles behind his hand, and Tomas completely red in the face. Bi-Han was ready to continue his way to his room, but once again stopped himself when he noticed Tomas staring at him. He locked eyes with the boy, who quickly looked down to the ground. Despite just laughing with Kuai Liang about Bi-Han, once Tomas met Bi-Han’s eyes for the first time since almost harming him, the tears began to slowly work their way down his face.

Had it been Bi-Han’s choice, Tomas wouldn’t be his brother. Instead, Tomas would still be running around in the woods with his family. He’d still have his mother to teach him how to track animals, how to stitch his own clothes, and she’d be the one to give him her knife.

Would it have been a mercy to kill Tomas also, to die in the embrace of his mother, rather than grow up to be another weapon for the man who claims the name “father?”

Bi-Han swallows his bitterness, and forces himself to find his mother’s kindness. “It was only a scratch. It won’t even scar me.”

He leaves before he can see how Tomas reacts.

Bi-Han almost wants to turn around and march towards his father’s room. In that split second of vulnerability, he yearned for his father to convey that same feeling. It’d never happen, it’s a farfetched fantasy.

But the question once again begged to be released into the open.

How’d he do it?

3. Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang is ignorant to his father’s truth. The truth being that all the fondness he has for Kuai Liang isn’t because he loves him. In fact, Kuai Liang is the son that doesn’t matter. It’s Bi-Han that matters. As his father once told Bi-Han, it’s why he’s so harsh with his darling eldest son. Because his claim to the Lin Kuei matters. 

The bloody noses, the scars, and the occasional broken bones Kuai Liang received weren’t ever by his father. It was always by Bi-Han whenever they’d train together- almost pitted against each other by their father. As Kuai Liang would be ushered to the infirmary, eager to heal so he can continue training, his father would approach Bi-Han and chastise him for being “too harsh” with his little brother. 

He doesn’t care if Bi-Han’s being too harsh with Kuai Liang, just as long as he doesn't kill him. 

Bi-Han isn’t scared of hurting Kuai Liang, but he fears his father’s hand hovering around his younger brother’s neck. The gentlest push could snap Kuai Liang’s neck, and then maybe Bi-Han would also die alongside him. Maybe he’d become something worse. 

Of course his father is aware that the reason he has such a hold on Bi-Han is because of Kuai Liang, and eventually even because of Tomas. Bi-Han is the only one who lives knowing the capabilities of their father’s violence, the other two boys blessed with being the youngest. 

What is it like to be ignorant? As Kuai Liang inherited their mother’s goodness, Bi-Han inherited her knowledge of the truth. She lived a life aware of the terror that was her husband, and was unable to save her children from him. Would Bi-Han be able to save his brothers? What would his mother think of him if he failed? 

If she became angry with him, that would be fine. She could lock him out the gates of Heaven if it meant she could embrace Kuai Liang again. Bi-Han would enter hell, and become trapped with his father for eternity, but hopefully he would become the one to torture his father. 

He’s never felt the urge to torture his father as much as he did right now. 

It’s been ten years since his mother died, today is the “anniversary” of her death. His father always held a dinner in memory of his wife’s and daughter’s untimely demise. Everyone had retired to bed after eating, leaving only Bi-Han and his father facing each other on the opposite sides of the table. 

They watched each other in silence as the servants cleaned the table as fast as they could, wanting to escape the awful tension in the air. 

As quickly as they finished cleaning, they left the room. 

“I was disappointed with the food this year. In all honesty, my appetite was ruined when the rice arrived late. How does plain, white rice arrive late?”

Bi-Han doesn’t respond. His father continues. 

“Though it seems you also agree. You barely had anything, but then again, you never eat whenever this day arrives.” 

Bi-Han doesn’t respond. His father sighs. 

“I waited for everyone else to leave because you clearly have something to say, so what is it? Spit it out, son.” 

Bi-Han still doesn’t respond. His father rolls his eyes. 

“Even Kuai Liang doesn’t throw a tantrum about this- and you’ve been throwing one for the last ten years. Once a year, you decide to throw this little scene with me. He was eight and practically still glued to that woman’s hip, and yet you’re the one still acting like a child.”

“Don’t.”

His father raised an eyebrow at the one-word response Bi-Han gave him. “What? I could at least understand Kuai Liang if he acted the way you’re acting right now, but you don’t have an excuse. Besides, what if Kuai Liang or Tomas were to die? If you behaved like this, that would simply be embarrassing.” 

Bi-Han digs his nails into his palm, his shoulders tensing up. This only urges his father to continue antagonizing his son. 

“You are aware that either of them could possibly die? I thought you would have come to peace with that considering our profession. Do you remember your uncle, my own younger brother? Did you see me weep when his body was delivered to me? No, you didn’t. Even if Kuai Liang’s body was delivered to me, I wouldn’t-” 

“I’ll kill you someday.” 

His father almost misses what he said, the words almost hiding themselves from him. But he heard them, and intrigued, his eyes began to gleam with a wicked glint. 

“Will you now?” 

Bi-Han still can’t look at that man in the eyes, but his body urges the words out of him anyways.

“The day will come when you’re begging me to save you- when you’re finally at my mercy. And I won’t give you any.”

His father laughs- the most genuine laugh Bi-Han has heard come out of him. If he was Kuai Liang, he would be grinning at the old man’s bellowing laugh.

“I’ll look forward to that day, Bi-Han.” 

His father leaves Bi-Han alone at the dinner table. Bi-Han’s throat is dry, sweat pooling at his forehead. That wasn’t torture, that was amusement for his father. It was a circus show his father watched for free. And despite it all, Bi-Han still couldn’t ask the question he’s kept in him for the last ten years. 

How’d he do it?

4. Bi-Han

His father is dying. 

Bi-Han doesn’t care how his father is dying, he only cares about the fact that he is dying. 

The snow has never looked as white as it did with his father’s blood dyeing it. The woods have never been as quiet as it did with his father’s labored breathing. The cold has never touched Bi-Han as much as it did now, with the bitterness leaving his father and the desperation sinking in. 

A hand reached out towards Bi-Han, struggling to keep itself supported it collapsed back onto the snow. 

“He-help me, son.” 

Bi-Han remembers this spot in the woods as the same place Kuai Liang and Tomas began throwing snowballs at him, and in response, Bi-Han kicked the unfinished snowman they built. The woods, at the very least, can offer Bi-Han the memories of fonder parts of his childhood. 

“Bi-Han, please.”

The woods can offer melancholic memories also. If he went further into the woods, he would stumble upon the trees Kuai Liang and Tomas planted- gravestones for the family Tomas lost. Though it’s not as sorrowful as it sounds, as it was the same spot Tomas hugged him for the first time. 

 “I need you to help me, Bi-Han, please.” 

If Bi-Han went even further into the woods, he would stumble upon a cave where a bear and her family took shelter in. The first time he saw the mother bear and her cubs, he rushed back home to show Kuai Liang. For hours, they watched the mother catching fish in the river next to the cave, and the cubs annoying each other. They didn’t return back to the temple until the sun began to set. Those bears probably don’t live there anymore, but a new family has probably moved in. 

“Son!”

How’d he do it?

There’s a hand on their throat. 

How’d he do it?

It doesn’t take much to snap their neck.

How’d he do it? 

There’s no blood to spill, so he won’t have to look at himself in the red mirror. 

How’d he do it?

No guilt. No relief. 

No guilt. No relief.

No guilt. No relief.

All love. 

Bi-Han’s a liar. He doesn’t get a chance to kill his father. He watches his father, instead. He watches his father choke on his own begging and pleading for his eldest son’s love. 

It’s all love. 

It’s how Bi-Han did it- all love. 

          his sudden question makes her set the rubix cube she was playing with down on the tabletop, her previously busy hands stilling as she gazed over at her mission partner. “where did this come from?” she asked, a hint of amusement evident in her tone as she laughed to herself. aito had looked so focused and absorbed in his work — leah didn’t expect him to ask her such at thing out of the blue. “i thought you were trying to catch up on paperwork.”

          “i am. but i was thinking about you earlier.” 

          “aww. you missed me during your meeting?”

          “something like that. i missed watching you struggle with a rubix cube.”

          “this is hard! i don’t get how you’re able to solve it so fast!”

          her retort easily elicited a chuckle from him, a hand resting against his cheek as he propped himself up on an elbow, his gaze still resting upon her as he studied leah quietly. at this point, leah had resumed her toying, that plastic cube rotating this way and that in her hands. she really was childish, wasn’t she? as frightful as she could be in the face of an enemy, she really was harmless during downtime. a little sister, he thought, aito returning his attention back to the stack of papers before him. even if the stack was gradually diminishing, there was still too much to review for aito’s liking. it must be nice to be a hound at times; at least they don’t have to deal with paperwork. 

          “you still haven’t answered me.” 

          “i joined because of you.” 

          her answer comes matter-of-factly, leah not looking up from her toy as she replied. they both knew there was truth in that statement, but after knowing leah for some time and watching her develop, aito couldn’t help but be skeptical of just how much truth resided in that sentiment. 

          “yeah? so why a hound?”

          “the collar’s cool.”

          “i’m sure you could have gotten a cooler collar from the pet store.” 

          “look, i’m not that dedicated to pet play — ”

          another successful, resounding laugh from her handler. she can’t help but take pride in being able to make him laugh, in knowing that he appreciated her sense of humor. it meant a lot coming from him, someone who always seemed to be cracking jokes and making others laugh. they really were two peas in a pod at this point, weren’t they?

          “okay, that was a good one. but my question still stands: why a hound? why soma? why’d you do it?”

          why did she do it? why did she voluntarily give up her life to an organization that sought to, essentially, exploit her? why did she allow herself to face danger and the risk of death on the daily? why did she blindly follow the man who had saved her life and promised to protect him at all costs? 

          “you ask a lot of questions, you weirdo.” 

          “i thought you liked talking about yourself.”

          she’s strangely quiet now as she continued to think on what was asked of her. somewhere in her mind, she knew the answer. but articulating such an answer proved to be much more difficult than she imagined. “it felt right at the time.”

          “you weren’t scared?”

          “i would have been more scared on my own.” 

         she had runaway from home, after all. she had chosen to leave her family behind in exchange for the unknown, and by doing so, she had opened herself up to the wide world around her and all of its glories and dangers. that was how she had ended up in such a perilous situation in the first place, a situation that aito had saved her from. if he hadn’t been there, what would have come of her? if she truly was alone, where would she be now?

          “it’s not really that scary working here, if you think about it. you get trained, you get a lot of practice, and there’s always someone with you on the field in some capacity. there’s always a team of people planning one or two steps ahead to help you, and there’s constant tracking so i’m never lost. if you think about it, i’m a lot safer here than when i was alone on the streets.” 

          “do the tests hurt?”

          at the mention of the laboratory tests she was required to undergo, she wrinkled her nose. “does going to the doctor’s hurt? it’s kind of like that.” 

          a little white lie — she didn’t want to worry him about her conditions. moreover, she wasn’t allowed to tell him in the first place. if she remembered correctly, aito only knew of her general experimentation status. as far as what exactly the institute was putting her through ... that was between leah and the researchers.