something that i really appreciate about invincible is how insistent it is that redemption doesnt equal forgiveness
like its a classic thing for a story to be like ‘hey, this persons now a good guy, and all of the bad stuff that they did is ignored so that they can be a good guy’, and maybe youll have a character whos still upset at them, but thatll just result in them being the unreasonable one and having to have a whole arc to learn that actually they are a good guy now look at how good they are now
and it wouldve been so easy for invincible to do the same thing with nolan, just have him apologise to debbie and everyone, do some good deeds and all is forgiven (in fact, based on what ive heard of the comic, it seems like they do exactly that, could be wrong tho ive never read it)
but the show says fuck that. nolans a good guy now and he doesnt deserve forgiveness yet. he arrives back on earth and every character is either afraid of him or hates him, and theyre all fully right to. hell, even mark hasnt fully forgiven him yet
nolan doesnt get to just wave away what he did. he doesnt just get to say im sorry and go back to normal. it doesnt matter if he wants to earn that forgiveness if debbie doesnt want to forgive him. same with cecil, same with art, same with mark. it isnt up to nolan if they forgive him or not
nolan is a good guy, and he may never be forgiven for what he did. and thats ok. the season finale shows that nolan has accepted this fact, that it doesnt matter how good and noble is actions are, what he did was unforgiveable. and hell keep trying to be a good guy regardless
forgiveness isnt something you can earn. that implies that it is something you can control, that you have any say over how other people feel. it is something that has to be freely given, of the other persons own accord, and you have to accept that you may never actually be given that, no matter how much you want it. you just have to keep trying to be better than you were before. it may not be enough for them, but itll have to be enough for you
fix-it: Baelor survives the tournament but suffers a neurological injury that temporarily affects his fine motor control, making it difficult for him to use his hands normally, Maekar takes care of him during his recovery
$50,000 immediately dropped into my bank account wouldn't improve EVERYTHING but boy it sure would be a grand, sexy little start to a good, happy life path, don't you think
normalize being dogshit amateur at your special interests and hyperfocuses. no more autistic savants. yes i am very into that topic no i am not good at it. we exist <3
Merry Christmas ya filthy animals <33
Part 3 of the beta-verse
Kita Shinsuke, Ojiro Aran, Suna Rintaro, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu x female reader
w.c 7.5k
tw: yandere, a/b/o, noncon, mentions of blood, roofied reader, forced claiming, smut, nsfw
If Osamu hadn’t shown up at your work, you don’t think you would’ve come.
Kita was the one to send the invite, a long silent message chain lighting up with a politely worded invitation to a reunion. Short, succinct and, if your suspicions are correct, a copy-paste job, you’d spent days dithering over whether or not you’d reply, much less make an effort to turn up.
And then, out of the blue, you’d left work one night to find Miya Osamu waiting for you on the steps out front. ‘You’re coming, ain’tcha?’ he’d asked without preamble, slate eyes boring into you. ‘It’s rude to ignore Kita like that.’
Which brings you to here and now, gazing up at their pack house. Supposedly, this one’s smaller than the one they have out near Kita’s farm. You’re yet to set foot inside, and you’re already willing to bet your monthly paycheck that one of their bathrooms is bigger than the entirety of your bedroom.
A low whistle sounds beside you. “Must be nice to be rich, huh?”
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–
–a heartbeat before his hips draw back and slam home, forcing that thick, ruddy knot into the dizzying heat of your cunt.
my mom says she’s not a hugger. but when i put my arms around her on a gloomy day or after bad news she’s the last to let go.
my dad says he doesn’t want gifts on his birthday, but i see the way his face light up when i get him a card with a nice message and a box full of chocolate anyway. he’s just a kid inside, still. it makes him giddy.
my brother never says i love you. but when i tell him “i just need to finish the dishes before i vacuum!” he wordlessly goes to vacuum the entire house before i can, and if he sees me struggle with a wrapper or a jar or a bottle he mutters ‘c’mere’ and opens it for me without even sparing me a glance.
the thing is, people love you quietly, and you love them quietly, and the air is buzzing with tiny but grand gestures & once you look for them, you find them everywhere. i think that’s really beautiful.
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