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buck-star · 5 months ago

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He’s so ‘daddy’ | L.H

>> Logan sends you a picture of himself to tease you. Unfortunately, your friends see it too and they agree that he looks just so 'daddy. <<

Pairing: Boyfriend!Logan Howlett x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 4.366 Words

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, fluff, bit of embarrassment, dom!Logan (but just before sex, during sex he's a needy little thing who needs his girls pussy), soft!Logan, established relationship, pet names [kitten, honey, princess] age gap, daddy kink (but not really?), smut [praises, slow sex, soft sex, oral (fem!rec), unprotected p in v, hint of breeding kink]

Authors Note: This is for you @elixirfromthestars because thank you for listening to me while drooling over that picture. Also the biggest thank you to @holylulusworld for reading and telling me it's oke that way! Dividers made by me. Reposted form my other account.

Events: Written for the smutty September/October fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles [slow sex, it isn't the whole prompt but it's fitting!],

Your phone vibrated next to you as you sat in the living room with your girls. You didn’t know if you wanted to look at it or not — knowing damn well it was Logan who sent you something. And even if he knows that your girls are there, he doesn’t miss a chance to make you go crazy.

“Your phone… You got a message, don’t you want to check?” One of the girls asked and smiled nicely at you. They all knew that you usually checked immediately to see if it may have been an important message, but this time was different. They all suddenly looked at you with confused and curious expressions before the girl spoke up once again. “You always check to see if it’s important; do you have secrets?”

You chuckled and shook your head. Your phone vibrated again, and you couldn’t keep ignoring it. Logan would write you message after message until you looked at your phone. And maybe it was important then?

With a soft nod, you took your phone and unlocked it, keeping your screen to yourself as much as possible so none of them could see it. But unfortunately for you, your friends were way too curious to let you hide anything from them, especially after your strange behavior.

You tapped on his messages, immediately getting greeted by a picture of your boyfriend. But it wasn’t just a picture; it was Logan in his black sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was hairy as usual because you adored the softness of his short locks. His muscles were highly defined, and even his veins were visible — a view that made you drool every single time. And Logan knew it, so he did it on purpose.

A gasp next to you pulled you back into reality. Your eyes widened as you felt one of your friends way too close to you. Her eyes were scanning the screen, and her mouth dropped open as she looked slowly over at you.

“Fuck. You— you hide that from us?” Before you could answer her question or react to her taking your phone, the others were already gasping for air too. Their eyes went just as wide as they stared at your phone, then at you.

Heat crept up your cheeks. Their open mouths were turning pretty fast into mischievous grins as they placed your phone between them on the table. Without having another look at one another, they inspected your boyfriend, talking about his handsome body, his pepper and salt beard, and his hairy chest.

“Those veins, haven’t seen a man with those damn visible veins before,” one muttered underneath her breath. They zoomed in on some parts of the picture, talking about it like it was a masterpiece drawn by someone famous, while you slid back in your seat and felt yourself becoming smaller.

But at the same time, you felt a pang of possessiveness, love, and pride growing in your chest. They admired your boyfriend; they couldn’t get him because you knew Logan loved you more than everything. And even though they inspected that picture in every little detail, you knew that he wanted exactly that, but he was still all yours.

“Bet this chest hair is so fluffy, isn’t it?” One of them asked before they all looked in your direction. You smiled softly before nodding. Logan’s sweet curls were so comfy, a little scratchy when he trimmed them, but when he didn't, they were like you had a teddy bear underneath you.

“A bit like a big bear. Pretty comfy, but all mine,” you smirked at them. They laughed lightly, turning their faces back to your screen to look at your boyfriend's picture a while longer. You looked from the other side of the table at your phone as well, knowing that you would be the one who would be with him in bed later. Cuddled up into him while you placed your head on his chest, you were the one who was able to feel the softness and thickness — the contrast of his curls and his muscles underneath you while his strong arms would be wrapped around your smaller frame.

Compared to Logan, you were pretty small, not just because of his muscles but also because of his height. This man was huge, perfect to curl himself around you and keep you safe and sound in his perfect, warm embrace. Or when you went out, he was able to reach the shelves you couldn't; his arms were wrapped around your waist every now and then, and he would place his chin on top of your head. He was a soft bear, and you were his precious kitten.

“He’s so daddy…” one of your girls said and finally pushed your phone back toward you. You chuckled and nodded; of course he was. It wasn’t just the age difference but him. Logan was literally screaming ‘daddy’ when he just stood in front of you. So you couldn’t blame them for thinking just like you.

Little did you know that your boyfriend was walking down the stairs and just walked into the room as you pushed your phone back into your pocket. The moment one of the girls noticed him, she whispered to the others, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

You turned around slowly, smiling softly at him as he walked closer toward you. He wore a tight shirt, which made you squirm in your seat slightly. Logan placed his big hands on both sides next to you on the backrest, leaning down.

While your friends watched, he brought one of his hands to your chin, tilting your head back so he could press his lips easily onto yours. It was just a peck, but it was enough for your eyes to flutter shut and for you to keep them close a moment longer. Logan’s breath moved over your chin to your cheek until it reached your ear and you shivered.

“Did I hear ya right, honey?” He asked, his voice low and barely above a whisper. Only you were able to hear it, and you nodded — intoxicated by his soft touches, his warm breath against your skin, and his rough voice. Logan chuckled before pecking your lips once again and standing up straight, looking at your friends. “Hi, how long is ya lil’ meeting? Need my girl to get some things done.”

They smirked at you, enjoying the effect Logan had on you. One of them winked with a knowing grin before she moved and got up from the chair she sat on. “Actually, we just wanted to go.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. While Logan grinned, he watched your friends intently when they moved to the floor to get their shoes and jackets. You followed them, glaring at your boyfriend for doing such a show in front of your friends. You weren’t mad at him; you even needed to feel him — especially now — but it’s all just because of the damn picture he sent you and the fact that he just made you all squirmy and needy in front of your friends.

You sighed when your friends left the house; the door closed behind them, and you turned around, shrieking. Logan was suddenly standing in front of you, maybe an inch between the two of you. Your eyes moved from his muscular chest up to his face, lingering on his plump lips before they muted further to his green eyes.

“Did ya enjoy it? Ya friends did. ‘m so ‘daddy’, huh, do ya think that too, kitten?” He purred; his strong hands were reaching out to grasp you by your hips and push you back against the door. Logan didn’t waste a second before pushing himself against you. His face was only inches away from yours.

Your breather hitched, earning a low growl out of the depths of Logan’s throat. His eyes were piercing into yours, and his tongue was darting out, licking across his plump lips. His fingers were digging into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you in place as he waited for you to answer his question.

“Y-you—“ you interrupted yourself, swallowing down the lump in your throat. Admitting it out loud that you thought about it for so long was different and more difficult than admitting it to yourself. Letting your fantasies run wild was something you were pretty good at, but saying it out loud? Telling your boyfriend that he’s so daddy? So you swallowed thickly once again and nodded at him before mumbling the rest of your answer. “You are, Logan.”

He growled, sending another shiver down your spine. You felt your arousal pooling out of you, ruining your panties. Unfortunately, Logan smelled it, and he loved it — the effect he had and that he knew exactly how you felt and what you needed. His enchanted senses were sometimes so useful for him, especially when he could smell your sweetness and the mess you made for him.

“Am I, didn’t sound like that when ya jus’ answered my question, honey,” he spoke in a quiet and teasing tone. Oh, he enjoyed this little game between the two of you — just like cat and mouse — or maybe just like a predator and its sweet little prey.

“Y-you are, Log—“ He made you shut up when you wanted to say his name again. Logan's fingers were pressing almost painfully into your hips, and you hissed, looking at him with confusion in your eyes. He raised an eyebrow; he knew that you knew exactly what he wanted, the confused only there because you tried to believe it was something else. But deep down, you knew what he wanted you to say. “Lo— y-you are, daddy.”

“There ya go. Such a good girl, aren’t ya?” Logan praised you, loosening his grip around your waist slightly. He grinned at you, his eyes darkened, and he licked his lips once again. “Wasn’t that hard, was it? With ya little friends, ya would say it, but with me — with ya daddy — ya’re all shy, honey?”

Logan smirked at you as he noticed the flustered expression on your face. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. Without a word, you did that; your arms were holding yourself around his neck as he carried you into the house and up the stairs to your shared bedroom. While you made yourself ready for an evening and night filled with begging, whining, orgasm denial, and hard fuck — your boyfriend had another idea of tonight's activities, but he won’t tell you; he didn’t want the fun to be ruined by you knowing his plans already.

He placed you back on your feet when you reached the bedroom. Logan closed the door; he always did — once you asked him why, and he told you that no one could interrupt you, even though you were living in a house, just the two of you. And you were pretty sure that no one would come into the room when they heard you. But on the other side, it had something intimate and sweet; you couldn’t quite explain it; it just felt like that.

As he turned back around, his expression was way softer than before; his eyes were still glistening with lust, but it was something sweeter. Even after the time you were together already, you sometimes couldn’t figure your boyfriend out. It made things more interesting and exciting for you.

“Take ‘em off, except your panties,” he said with a slightly hoarse voice. His eyes were glued to yours, taking in every little movement and even just the way your expression could change at his soft demand. For the slightest moment, your eyes flickered with some mischievousness and playfulness, and you considered to do as he said or tease him and either keep on your clothes so he had to take them off. Or that you would strip out of your clothes completely. “Need ya to be good and do as I said. Take off ya clothes but keep ya panties on, kitten.

You did as he said, unbuttoning your pants and taking off the hoodie — that actually belonged to Logan. You placed it all to the side before turning back to your boyfriend. Logan watched you intently; his green eyes were roaming over your body and taking in every bit of you he could get. With narrowed eyes, he leaned closer to you.

“I said take ‘em off, except your panties,” he groaned in his low voice. You whimpered, pressing your thighs together to try and soothe the aching in your cunt. He smirked at you, waking a few steps closer before he towered over your smaller frame.

Logan was still fully dressed, and it made everything even hotter. His big fingers hooked into the straps of your bra, slowly tracing along them before he reached your back and opened it. With a low growl, he pushed the straps off your shoulders until the fabric fell down on the ground. “Better, isn’t it, princess?”

You nodded; your lips were slightly parted. Logan used that opportunity to bring one of his hands to your cheeks, capturing it while he ran one of his thick fingers over your soft, warm lips. The roughness of his skin compared to the softness he touched you with made your knees buckle. Your boyfriend immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Looks like ya have some trouble standing here, kitten,” he grinned at you. His voice was filled with affection but also a bit of amusement as he walked you backwards to the bed. When the back of your knees hit the frame of the bed, you automatically let yourself fall down on it.

Logan’s prominent, big bulge was visible through his pants. You wanted to place your fingers on his crotch and roam them over the outline of his hard cock, but he stopped you when his hands reached for his belt.

“L-L-,” you whined, feeling so desperate and needy. You couldn’t form a proper sentence, your thoughts running wild with whatever he had in mind for the two of you — it was clear what he wanted. But you also knew that your boyfriend was happy to try out new things with you.

“Sh, I’ve got ya, princess. Just be good and wait, can ya do that?” Logan asked, earning a soft nod with a pout from you. He smirked, trailing his thumb over your lips once again before he stripped out of his clothes as well.

It took you way too long for him to get naked but you couldn’t move. So you were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching your boyfriend intensely, admiring his high-defined muscles, the soft hair on his chest and belly, and especially the veins running over his arms, one of which was from his belly button down into his boxer briefs.

“Daddy, ne-need to…” You trailed off as he stepped closer to you. He only wore his boxers, standing between your slightly spread legs. Logan’s bulge was the same high as your face, and your eyes moved from his covered cock to the vein. “C-Can I like it, please?”

“Go ahead, kitten.” You didn’t waste a second, leaning your head forward until your forehead touched his abs. Your lips trailed along the vein, peppering soft kisses over it, down to the waistband of his boxer briefs before you kissed back up to his belly button, continuing it for a few more times.

You didn’t know his bulge could grow even more, but it did, pressing against your throat. You whined as you leaned back, looking with innocent and widened eyes at your boyfriend.

“Such a good girl, aren’t ya?” He asked, running his fingers through your hair. Logan pushed himself against you, his crotch pressing against your mouth. A low groan left his plump lips as he felt your warm mouth around it through the fabric of his boxers. “Lay down, honey.”

You did as he told you, crawling further onto the bed until your head was comfortably placed in the pillows; your forearms were holding you up while you watched Logan stripping out of the last piece of fabric he wore. Then he turned around and climbed between your legs onto the bed as well. He ripped your panties into pieces and threw them somewhere into the room.

Logan used his big hands to spread your legs further apart, moving closer to your center. He smirked at you, noticing the fog of neediness in your eyes. You were still looking at him, his expression lovely and with so much adoration, that he considered just sitting down and letting you stare at him like that a while longer. But the pre-cum that dripped from his red tip slowly rolled down his shaft and made him realize how much he really needed to be inside his sweet, perfect cunt.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered. Your pussy was throbbing, and the sight of his leaking cock wasn’t helping you either. He brought his hands to your thighs, stroking them slowly, inching further up from your knees to your pussy, but then moved back to your knees. He didn’t want to tease you — even though he knew he did — but he wanted to make it special for the two of you. He wanted to make it slow, lovely, soft, and full of passion.

He leaned down, his lips hovering above your cunt. His breath hits your soft skin, making you shiver and whine underneath him. And Logan loved it — the effect he had on you, the way you let him do it without pushing him to finally touch you or fuck you properly.

“Such a good girl for me,” he muttered against your skin before finally leaning further down to kiss your lower belly. A moan fell from your parted lips, and you let yourself fall into the pillows behind you as he trailed down to your pussy. His fingers were sliding along your thighs, kneading the soft flesh slightly before they grasped them to hold then spread apart. Logan dipped his head down, pressing his nose between your folds while he inhaled your sweet scent deeply. “Literally a pillow princess, aren’t ya? And smelling so fuckin’ good, can’t wait to get a taste of ya, princess.”

You giggled about his joke. You knew damn well that you weren’t a pillow princess, at least not when it came to the real meaning of the word. But when it came to Logan’s meaning of the word? Then you sure were a pillow princess — his princess between pillows!

Logan licked through your folds, groaning softly against you. The vibrations were making you moan softly; your hands were flying into his hair to push him further to where you needed him most. His lips peppered soft kisses along your wetness and your thighs before he licked another strap from your entrance to your clit.

“Logan, please,” you whined, arching your back. He smiled against your folds, heeling his cock hardening even more. Logan needed everything in him to not hump the bed and cum like a teenager. Your taste was just too good; he could spend hours between your legs and couldn’t get enough of you.

He dipped his tongue into you, circling your entrance again before pushing in once more. The clenching of your pussy made him go crazy; he just needed you to feel him. He needed you so bad — even though he wanted to taste you first, Logan just needed to feel your perfect pussy around his length.

“Kitten, I make this up to you; I will make you cum on my tongue all you want, but right now, I just need to feel you,” Logan whined. It was a sound you haven’t heard often before, but it made him even cuter and hotter. He just wanted you to call him daddy, and now he’s whining.

“It’s okay, Lo,” you giggle. Then he settled himself down on his knees between your still-spread legs. Logan grasped his cock, running it through your folds a few times. Every time his tip was bumping against your clit it made both of you moan.

He shifted slightly, holding himself above you with one of his hands before he lined his cock up. He didn’t even have much resistance as he pushed in — slowly. Logan moaned and threw his head back as your pussy was gripping his length tightly, sucking him deeper into your tightness.

“Fuck… ya feeling so good. So fucking good, mhm…” he mumbles under his breath. Logan slides inch by inch into you, stretching you perfectly to create a flawless mix of pain and pleasure. You whimper when he finally bottoms out, the tip of his perfect cock kissing your cervix. “Made for me, honey. Ya’re fuckin’ made for me, princess.”

Logan leaned over you, his chest pressing against yours. He lowered his head to hide his face in the crock of your neck while he kissed your skin there softly. His breath was heavy against you, and you smiled at him. You placed your hands on his back, running your fingers slowly over his muscles while he slowly moved his cock out of you.

“So perfect, kitten, so perfect,” he whispered, pushing as slowly as possible back into you. Your walls were clenching so tightly around him, it took everything in him to not bust a nut immediately. Logan lifted his head to glance at you with a soft smile, his green eyes piercing into yours as he kissed along your jaw up to your lips. “My precious, precious princess.”

You chuckled about him, squeezing his cock even further. Logan closed his eyes and growled, which turned into a moan as he pulled out of you before pushing back into you. It was so sweet, soft, and delicious that your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He knew exactly how to turn you into a puddle underneath him.

“Please, need more,” you whimpered. A soft moan left your lips as he thrusted his hips against yours once again. He didn’t speed up his movements, but he lowered himself more onto you, pressuring you with his weight into the mattress of your shared bed.

Logan didn’t fuck you; he made love to you. He didn’t mind that he got needier with every clench of your pussy or that your arousal was leaking out of you and against his balls. Your boyfriend kissed you senseless while his cock was hitting your cervix with every movement into you. Low moans slipped past his lips, his breath hitching when he felt you closer by the edge of your release.

“Feel that? Feel my cock in ya belly. So deep, so fuckin’ deep. Need ya, princess, need ya to come for me, please." Logan breathed out against your swollen lips. He brought his hands to both sides of your body next to your shoulders. You heard the sound of ripping sheets and the familiar sound of his claws pushing deep into the mattress.

You giggled, running your fingers up to caress his soft locks. Your nails scratched over his scalp before you pulled him by his hair closer to you. Logan groaned, throwing his head against your shoulder as he pulled almost completely out of you before he thrust forward and into your tightness with more force than before.

“Please, please, honey. Need ya to come for me, please. ‘m so close, princess,” he whimpered. Logan pushed his pelvis more into yours, the dark curls that lead to his cock inside of you. Your clit was beyond stimulated by his pubic hair, and within a few thrusts your fingers were digging into his shoulders, leaving red marks. Your pussy tightening around him, hugging him as tight as possible while you moaned loudly.

Logan’s cock twitched inside of you, his breath getting heavier, his heart hammering just like yours. His heart was beating in the same rhythm yours was beating. And you breathed into his mouth, kissing him hungrily but soft as he came inside of you. His claws were ripping the sheets as he pumped his seed deep into your belly.

He let himself fall into you completely, not even trying to hold himself up as he kissed you back, moaning and panting. With his thick cock, he was holding his cum inside of you, his eyes closed as he pulled back from the kiss and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Such a good girl. Takin’ my cock and cum always so well, honey. My perfect, precious kitten,” he murmured breathlessly against your neck. “Love ya so much, honey. Gonna keep my cum deep inside of ya to make sure to knock ya up, my princess.”

“I love you too, Logan,” you mumbled while you ran your hands through his soft but sweaty hair. He growled into your neck, removing his claws out of the mattress and sheets, and chuckled softly.

“Guess we need new sheets. Remember those fluffy ones ya saw? I guess we should get those,” he mumbled, feeling you laughing softly underneath him. Logan knew that you loved these fluffy sheets for autumn and winter times. They felt like your boyfriend's curls on his chest and stomach. So you wouldn’t just feel Logan’s soft hair but also the sheets that felt just like him — kinda more Logan cuddling with you.

“But you won’t ruin these!” You muttered, knowing that he would do it anyway. But to his defense, he always got you new sheets and even some new mattresses every now and then.

“Can’t help myself when I have such a pretty girl, honey.” Logan said, kissing your neck. He felt you shivering when his soft lips touched your skin. But he also knew that you recently raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not talkin’ to my pussy right now, princess. I talk to ya, ya’re jus’ so perfect and sweet, honey. All mine, all jus’ mine — ya heart tells me, it’s beating jus’ like mine.”

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fear-is-truth · 5 months ago

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𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman fanfic #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x y/n #patrick bateman x you #american psycho #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfic #christian bale #christian bale x reader #slasher fic #slasher fanfiction

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madwomansapologist · 1 month ago

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IF YOU'RE SICK LIGHT A CANDLE (JUST DON'T ASK ME TO LEAVE) | N. KENTO

synopsis ; kento never intended to hate you. it wasn’t his fault. he won't steal from you the credit of being the most irritating omega alive, not when you work so hard to deserve the title. his only fault, and for that kento takes all the blame, is his inability to stay away from you. not that he wants to.

tags ; no curses, omegaverse, office au, meet ugly, alpha nanami x beta-passing omega reader, one sided delusional hate to love, fell first/feel harder? more like fell flat on their faces with those untied shoes, nanami kento the yearning final boss, heavy on possessiveness, love confessions, reader's autistic, explicit sexual content ft. virginity loss (nanami), blowjob, facesitting, knotting, heat, lowkey sub!nanami.

warnings ; 13K words (give it a chance), gender expectations being surreal and bad past relationships.

also ; ao3 link | spotify playslist | pinterest board

[ignored lessons]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers it being something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic but learning new words made Kento excited for Mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. The first week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—Kento would devour it all in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used right. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. He has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning as it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, he grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hands first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed of being right. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed of being himself.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a response. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair in the dark. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with this salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. He sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled posts its. There was a mug filled with pens and a hairbrush, yet most of them were all over the place. Who needs that many pens? Who uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush mug had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk beside his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag—among many colorful brooches he found one with the omega symbol—pressing P onto an open page. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst all that mess. One Kento quickly forgot, his right eyelid twitching at the sight of acetone and nail polish near piles of documents.

“Morning”, an energetic voice scared Kento off his thoughts. He suppressed a snarl with ease. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but all Kento saw was an omega far more interest in her coffee than his face. As if you could even taste coffee with that much whipped cream. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists, tinkling pendants bringing more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. There was no scent at all coming from you. Good. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. A dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, thick leather bracelets doing the same beneath his sleeves. He has spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the only Kento ever found able of covering his natural scent. And it only works because of the hellish amount of suppressants he ingests daily.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent. The opposite of his, yours is delicate enough to go unnoticed without effort. Still, he would bet money that you forgot to buy an adhesive patch on. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you gestured for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and lock it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He threw away a few ignored crumbled papers and came back to his desk to find you holding a headset.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were also unable to apologize or even collect all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able to talk to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. That same lesson he heard time and time again, even after his dad claimed to have given up on making him understand, was correct. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

He’s so nice, you put the noise canceling headset to check on the presentation for today’s meeting. You made a mental note to search in your folders for the introductory material to send him. He didn’t care about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

[heavy silence]

College was a sour disillusion. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t, but Kento had to face the facts: he wouldn’t learn much there. Not to say his professors weren’t qualified—they all made sure to overexplain their resumes. They were simply incompetent at teaching.

Celebrating with wine that didn’t deserve the bottle it was on, Kento hung his diploma below old shelves and went on with his life. All by himself. Kento came to regret that later. He wondered how it would feel like. To have someone to celebrate with. Vinegar wine and all that.

At job interviews he would say his college years taught him to communicate, collect problem solver abilities and manage to work as a team. The truth? The most important lesson Kento taught himself was how to make lists.

Concepts not fully explained, names no professor bothered to spell out, books mentioned on the thirtieth’s slide footnote. The only thing Kento carried to his classes were an agenda and pens. After his lists of what seemed important were done, he would head home and try to learn something before his shift. Once he got it, Kento would risk the topic and move on.

It was addictive. Marking a task as complete. From what bills to pay to what groceries to buy; if it was something Kento could divide into smaller tasks, it became easier to accomplish. Suddenly he didn’t have to clean his entire house, only to do the dishes.

(Later, Kento noticed a weird pattern. Most of his lists had seven points.)

His phone replaced the crumpled agenda, but nothing replaced this ceaseless need to organize his life. An urge that simply evolved as the years passed. Boxes checked disguised as caution.

A month into this workplace and a couple of lists already occupied his phone. Kento annotated daily and weekly tasks before the pattern haunting the corner of his desk was noticed. Unable to unsee it, Annoying Moments was created.

And there wasn’t a working day all boxes weren’t checked.

She’ll say hello by handing me an awful coffee mug.

She’ll greet every single person.

She’ll comment on the weather.

She’ll invite me to lunch with other accountants.

She won’t throw away a plastic cup.

She’ll joke about something I don’t know.

She’ll smile at me before clocking off.

Until the morning you weren’t there.

Your absence meant no small talk or sugary coffee for Kento to endure. Nails tapping his part of the desk, smiles to not reciprocate and forgotten trash for him to ignore. It also meant no boxes checked but for once Kento couldn’t care.

It was a good day. A productive one as well considering Kento waited for the weekly meeting to start rather than rushing to the conference room. The problem was that he saw you there, too.

You weren’t late. There wouldn’t be a coffee with whipped cream beside your notebook if you were. Kento lost track of you in the crowded elevator, spellbound by the blend of too many scents, but back at his desk you were still not there. Absent, just like your flower vase.

She must have been promoted, Kento continued to work. Good for her, good for me.

As usual, Kento was the last one to go home. He stretched and unwrinkled his suit, checking if the collar around his neck was in the right place. Kento grabbed his air pods and turned off the lights.

“Hey! I’m here.”

Kento eyes widened. A beat later, he turned around and saw a blue glim at the back of the office. He really thought to be alone. There was no scent to proof him wrong. Good thing Kento overgrew talking to himself when concentrating.

Kento turned on the lights. “Have a good night.”

A head rose above the sea of computers. “You too”, you waved at him. No smile to be seen. Not even a small one.

The elevator door was about to close when Kento headed back into the office. Not knowing why or what he would do, Kento walked to your desk prepared to surprise himself with whatever words come out of his mouth. Staring at the empty flower vase, he hesitated.

His presence didn’t surprise you. Nothing new. Kento could never totally hide his scent. It doesn’t matter how many suppressants are forced down his throat or what collars he puts on. Kento is too much, it doesn’t matter if he tries not to.

“New desk”, Kento gave a try at small talk.

You glanced at him, then went back at typing. “Even someone stupid like me can understand when my presence isn’t welcome”, you hummed, attention shattered. “Good night.”

He should’ve gone home. Just as he should’ve stayed in the elevator. Instead, Kento found himself acting on a whim for the second time that day—second time that week, month, year. He sat down.

Watching you attach files to an email, Kento tried to understand what made you think that of him. Besides the fact he does not welcome your presence in any sense. Kento never noticed he expressed so clearly his inner thoughts. Although it makes him want to snarl sometimes, Kento remains polite no matter what.

“You saw it”, he stated. It was the only viable option.

“Annoying Moments.” Kento heard no grudge on your voice. It just made him feel worse. “I was right beside you when you opened it. Happens all the time.”

His entrails burned. “People make lists about you all the time?”, Kento managed to utter.

“No. That was a first.” Glancing over everything, you searched for any typos. After finding none, you faced Kento. You did enough for today. “People think I’m not around because I have no scent. Don’t apologize. Don’t bother pretending you’re sorry. You’re only embarrassed for being caught up acting so childish.”

Your honesty is sharp. It cuts deep. Unlike his omissions for the sake of a peaceful coexistence. There was no secret meaning he had to look for. You’re not ashamed of being yourself, hiding beneath layers of politeness. Your heart is at the tip of your tongue, beating at your every word.

Kento swallowed his pride. It hurt him to reciprocate your gaze—unaware of you biting your tongue to not laugh at his blushing cheeks. “Why are you here?”

You blinked twice. “I’m working.”

“It’s late”, he said. “You’re never here at night.”

You turned everything off. His left eye twitched at you using the flared end of your high heel to press the CPU’s energy button without closing any of the open pages.

“This request took more time than I’ve imagined. No. I’ve been telling this lie all day. I forgot about it completely. And you?”

“Working overtime.”

“Of course you are”, you stood up, stretching your arms as you walked towards the elevator. Kento followed you and pressed the last button. “You seem like the type.”

“The type to what?”

Feeling it all moving down, you closed your eyes and imagined your soft bed waiting for you. It didn’t help to make you feel less tired. “To live to work.”

“You seem like the type, too”, Kento stared at your closed eyelids. “To forget important things.”

You opened an eye. He looked away. “Because I am. Will you add that to your list?”

“No”, Kento crossed his arms. “It doesn’t particularly annoy me.”

That earned Kento a good laugh. Not a chuckle, roll of eyes or polite smile. A loud, tempestuous laugh. Kento could almost feel it vibrating on your chest, fangs glistening as you failed to breathe. The type of laugh that hurts a tiny bit. His exhaustion faded away.

As you shrank in yourself, hands covering your face as if laughing would be enough to make it fall out of place, Kento noticed something new. A scent faint yet evocative. So delicate it would’ve been ignored if you two weren’t alone in a closed space. Saline and distant, like a half-forgotten memory of the sea.

You smelled like vacations.

With an acute bell the door opened and revealed the underground parking. You headed out first. Motionless, Kento stared at your back. He couldn’t look away. You waved at him, laughter transmuted into a tender smile.

“Good night, Nanami-kun”, your words reached him in soft waves. Nothing like the effortless tone he heard minutes before. It made him want to tell another joke. “See you tomorrow.”

Kento breathed deep, not feeling nauseous at all.

[not apologizing]

It took you a few hours to realize. Staring at the empty spot on the desk, you doubted yourself. Did the vase really disappear, or did you just forget you took it home with you? You do that all the time. Assume having lost things you put somewhere else.

The realization hits when you smell flowers in the air. It made you turn your head, following the invisible path the gentle perfume made to reach your nose. A blonde head became the focus of your gaze. And beside it, that old vase filled with lilies and gardenias.

“What’s with the smile?”, Shoko murmured. As your gaze flicked, her black eyes had already landed on her wristwatch. Counting down the minutes, she sighed. “Thought of something funny?”

“Not really. Just feeling proud”, you said. “Found something I almost lost.”

It was supposed to overwhelm you. Different scents and artificial perfumes. For omegas and alphas, it would be normal for it to be too much sometimes. It would be fine to feel as if the air unsheathed a weapon design to bring you down.

It all is too little for you. You don’t notice scents unless someone ignores your personal space. Your fangs hurt if you use them to cut meat. Those uncontrollable primal desires you heard of have never been more than a concept. Unforgiven urges seem to be forgiven when it comes to you.

Presenting a secondary gender should make you feel different. Still the same, but now aware of something new. Like finding the last piece of a puzzle in your pocket. You already saw most of the landscape. It would make no real difference to see the bottom of a mountain. But now you see the picture wholly, it’s just as you’ve imagined, and it still does make a difference.

You presented as an omega two years ago. Not as a preteen, which is the most common, nor in your teenager years. It was as an adult, with an adult job and adult bills to pay. No inner revelation, all you got from it were exhaustive heats and scentless glands.

Too little where you should be too much, according to the last omega you dated. You got used to saying you’re a beta to avoid invasive questions—although betas notice scents and an omega on heat would be mistaken as someone applying too much perfume by you. She said lying was less embarrassing than the truth.

Presenting as an omega, you found the last piece. It didn’t fit into the landscape anymore, too crumpled to be useful. You think it depends on who you ask. If an incomplete puzzle is worth the time it demands.

“That’s a change of pace for you”, Shoko stood up, absentmindedly grabbing her jacket. “I’ll use the bathroom and then I’m ready to go.”

You moved as well. Leaning on the desk, your fingers rubbed the scratches from all the times you dropped something on it. The flowers tide up nicely with a blue-ribbon bow keeping them together. There was even a coffee mug.

“I’ve told you not to apologize.”

Before concentrating on his notebook, Kento stared at you with what you assume to be the closest he can get from looking surprised. His eyebrows moved slightly up. Or maybe you’re imagining things.

“I’m not.” Kento took off his glasses. He opened his drawer, then a box, and got a tissue to clean it. Huh. When you remember to wear glasses, you clean them on whatever blouse you’re on. “I’ve meant to tell you to enjoy your sugar bomb. It’s cold now.”

You took a sip of it anyway. Instant regret. Every muscle on your face squirmed in directions you never thought to be possible. It all came in waves. “You think”, it took everything on you to not throw up. “You think a human being can ingest this much sugar?”

Kento frowned. Now it has moved, you’re sure of it. You think. “I didn’t put that much.”

“You could kill a small horse with that”, you put the mug down. “Congrats, Nanami-kun. You created a weapon of mass destruction.”

Kento chuckled. “Of said horses?”

It couldn’t even be considered a laugh. All Kento did was exhale through his teeth, lips stretching just enough to make his cheeks move. It was his brown eyes that took you by surprise. The way they softened, showing that his malicious tone had no malice at all.

You hesitate, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying the wrong thing. You didn’t want his eyes to come back to what they usually are. Disinterest, almost apathetic if not by the stress they carry so visibly. Kento seemed happier now and you didn’t want to ruin this.

“Small horses”, you corrected. His lips tugged higher.

A coat landed on your lap, shaking you away from your howling thoughts. It saved you from drowning in his glassy eyes.

Shoko nodded to Kento, the adhesive scent block on her neck as a prove Satoru was also ready to go out. Who else would dare to put digimon stickers on it if not him? Who else would annoy her enough not to notice them?

“What about soba and beer?”, Shoko thought out loud more than asked you.

“I’m not feeling hungry”, you battled against the buttons on your coat. Kento felt his left eye twitching. Protected from the cold outside, you smiled at yourself. “Beer for me, I guess.”

“It’s a nice place, Nanami. Peaceful even at Friday nights”, Shoko didn’t bother to spell out her invitation. She gestured for you to follow her. “They’re waiting for us.”

“You should come, too.” Careful not to harm it, you removed a lily from the vase. Nose against the petals, you looked at him. “But you won’t.”

It was a nice place. Away from the crowded streets, warm and cozy. Soba came with tempura and grilled mochi. Shoko discovered the stickers on her own. Friday nights fit perfectly with cold beer, which in turn begs for laughter. Yours hit him in waves, dissipating months of stress.

Kento wondered why he ate by himself until now.

[broken promise]

You pressed every button on the printer until it decided to work with you instead of against. “For the first week or so you will basically watch us work”, you sighed at the inkless paper. At least it was warm. “Those documents have everything there is to know about your daily activities.”

“And now…?” Nobara started, staring at the tulips in front of your bag. Her earrings, fluffy balls of white fur, made you forget about the rebellious machine. “What do I do?”

Kento stood up, you took a step back as he walked towards the printer. He pressed on the lid, searching for a gap to open it. Checking on the ink cartridges, Kento gestures at the row of computers near the wall. “Log on your account, read those documents and then come back here.”

Once the alpha was sat beside Megumi, Kento turned to you. “Do you know where they stock up?”

You guided him to the office warehouse. Turning the lights on, you looked for the right shelf. “Can you believe it?”, you whispered once he closed the door. “Third intern in a week.”

“At this rate we won’t go a day without training someone”, said Kento. He saw no reason to whisper, not when there was no one else in the room but you two. “I was barely trained. How can I teach these kids?”

“Your work is flawless”, you explained. Cartridges found, you kneeled to get the right type. “If you had made a mistake or two, they wouldn’t give you more.”

“Why haven’t you made a mistake or two? Yaga said you will train another boy next week.”

You looked up at him, a grin spread across your face. “I make mistakes all the time, I’m just usually the first to notice them.”

“Weird thing to be proud of”, Kento leaned against the shelves. You hand him the cartridges, cleaning your knees. Mirroring him, you stared at the white wall. The world was quiet inside this small room. “Thank you. For training them with me. And sorry for asking that.”

“I’ve told you when we first meet. I’m here if you need any help”, you inhaled. “We need to come back, don’t we?”

Kento nodded. None of you moved.

“What do you need to print?”, he asked. Kento didn’t care about the answer, just as you didn’t about the question. Hours teaching the same thing for the third time made his head throb. Without exchanging words, you two agreed to avoid working for a bit longer.

“I’m trying to remember”, you shrugged. “Her earrings distracted me.”

Kento glanced at you. He searched for your eyes, then went back at imagining shapes on the strange pattern in which the wall was painted. “Are you always like this? Unconcerned?”

You pouted, unsure of what to answer. “I think so”, you tilted your head. “Are you always stern? Every time I look at you, I remember to fix my posture.”

He chuckled. Back stiff, arms contracted, feet pointing forward. “I think so.”

“I would need to be tortured to act as methodic as you do”, you breathed. It sounded like a melody. Lilac high heels in front of his brow dress shoes, you took the cartridges from him. Your fingers brushed on the leather bracelet tight around his wrists. “But again, as soon as it stops hurting, I would come back to my old sloth self.”

Kento waited for you to take a step back. You didn’t. How could he expect that from you, someone that doesn’t flush or look away? Did you notice how close you are? That your hands were still touching him? Silky words, gentle eyes, soft skin. Would falling for such temptation be his fault? Kento could do it. Take the blame and the last step between you both. If he did, face against your neck in search of that inebriating scent once more, would it even be wrong?

“Are you ready to deal with those interns again?”

Awakened by your voice, a heartbeat later Kento understood it was a question. “You can go first”, he mumbled, hand rubbing his lips.

Door closed, Kento clenched his fists. He was salivating. Aching fangs pressed against his tongue, heart wild inside his chest. Taking deep breaths to calm down, Kento stopped scenting the room.

Like an overexcited teenager, Kento almost laughed at the thought. He never did that as a teenager.

Kento never loses control of himself. Efficient in everything he sets out to do, which includes suppressing what doesn’t benefit him. Instincts, scent, urges, ruts: all useless nuisances. Ignored to the core, forgotten until a break on his suppressants is needed for medical exams.

One touch and he forgot all that. One step too close, one word too soft, and his restraint was gone.

You’re a mess. You walk around without scent blockers, skip meals if you don’t feel like getting up, don’t get mad when you should. You bare your fangs in every smile. An incorrigible slothful, too lazy to lie to others or to yourself.

If he reminds you to fix your posture, you remind Kento to breath in.

Only an idiot wouldn’t forget about restraint near you. Only an idiot wouldn’t care about how you make the world’s pace seem easier to keep up with it. Who wouldn’t kill to be around someone as soothing as you? Messy desks and all that.

Hair tied; neck exposed so casually. Who else made you laugh hard enough to reveal the sea hidden inside of you? Do you speak in melodies to someone else? He wonders how many considered taking that last step without you being aware. If another stupid, tempted alpha scented you accidentally and you didn’t notice.

Kento didn’t come back to work because he had to. It was lonely there. Away from the sea and its chaos. Kento missed you.

He wondered if you missed him too.

[disobedient]

It was announced as a good thing. A popular bar booked to celebrate that all teams were evaluated with the maximum score by the board representatives—which doesn’t change a damn penny on their wages. Booked on a Saturday night, with both supervisors and manager present, it was the sort of invitation no one could say no to.

Ironing a suit with his hair still damp, Kento almost missed his old job. At least he was never forced to attend useless office parties on his day off. Then he remembered he was ironing a tailored suit he bought on a whim and decided to ignore the last thought.

Kento wasn’t the first person to get there. He saw many known faces, almost heard their calculations of when it would be polite to announce the sudden need to go home. Hoping for a way to avoid drinking with their bosses, they waited.

He sat across Suguru, who arrived early to ensure a table big enough for them all. As discussed on the group chat, they were the only ones reliable enough not to be late. Ijichi found them a bit after, Haibara and Shoko joined right before the manager gave a bad speech. Satoru sat down by his second glass of wine; and you, by the third.

“It’s because I didn’t want to come”, you gestured for a waiter nearby. Kento chuckled. You waved at someone at another table, taking off your jacket and placing it on the chair beside him. “Changed my mind when I saw everyone was here.”

“I’ve told you. Everyone complains, everyone shows up. Even Nanamin’s here”, Satoru stared at the menu. Why do those bars have the urge to be poetic when naming their products? All he wanted was to drink something sweet. “Though now he doesn’t look half as bored as before you got here.”

Kento chocked on his wine. “Don’t call me that”, he coughed.

Finishing your order, you looked at Satoru again. When his blue eyes widen you usually decide to stop paying attention to what he’s saying. Now it’s been months since you’ve last been mad at him, all thanks to Shoko’s advice. From the look on everyone’s face, you missed something interesting.

Suguru leaned forward, one arm draped over Satoru's chair as he looked at the menu. Tapping twice on it, he whispered something into Satoru's ear. It earned him a chuckle as the omega made his order.

Fingers intertwined over the menu even though they have no reason to hold it anymore. Lavender eyes admiring the cocky grin so common to Satoru’s face, a hint of green tea in the air as Suguru subtly scented him. Kento did his best not to stare at how effortless it all was. Does it feel effortless for them?

A snap made him turn to you. “New suit”, you pointed out. Holding your beer, you bumped into his shoulder. “Grey is your color, but there is something charming about black.”

As the clinking echoed, you saw his lips tugging higher than usual. A smile. Soft and subtle but one, nonetheless. What a beautiful sight, you tried not to stare.

Parallel conversations had taken up this table, much different from the silence lingering around the rest of the mezzanine floor. A beer can conceal your own smile as you observed them, glad to watch from the sidelines for a moment.

Wondering about your smile, so was Kento.

In an act of mercy, it didn’t take longer for the supervisors to call it a night and drag the manager along with them. Most tables turned empty minutes after they left. Taking advantage of the mezzanine floor just for the seven of you, your table ordered another round.

And then one more.

Arms feeling longer than you remember them to be, you finished another can. Memories hazy, it could be your birthday for all you know. You had way past your fill of cheap beers—and hours away from the last drop of water to come near your mouth.

Laughing at something Haibara did, you saw a plate and a water bottle in front of you. Ignored by a waiter nearby, you sighed and stared at what you hadn’t asked for.

“It’s for you.” You faced Kento, blurry vision making it difficult to see past his brown eyes. He took the bottle from between your hands, opened it and poured water on a glass. “Your future hungover self needs this.”

Staring at the glass he offered, warmth spread from your chest to the rest of your body. You glanced at his eyes, then at his hands once more. A second later, the feeling faded away and left you cold beside him. His gentle tone and soft gaze were nothing but a result of your mind far away from sobriety

“Don’t worry”, you slid the plate towards him. You tasted something sour on your tongue. Something worse than the beer. “I’ll order something myself. If the waiter acknowledges me, that is.”

Kento pushed the plate back to you, hand still in the air.

You sighed. “Thank you”, you took the glass from him. A sip closer from a less awful hangover, you licked your lips and tasted the bittersweetness of beer and lipstick. “How much was it? I’ll transfer to you.”

Kento wasn’t in a much better situation than you. He was better at holding his liquor, but glass after glass took a bite from his filter between mind and action. Unable to hold back, Kento growled. Not loud enough to disturb others, only for it to reach you.

What a bad excuse, Kento held his half-empty wine glass. Alcohol never made him act like that. It never will. Kento thought his self-control to be strong because he never had a reason to doubt it. Never faced someone that challenged it without even trying.

(He wished you were trying. He imagined you discovering his walls and deciding you would be the one to bring them down. Kento wanted you to be toying with him. Looking for ways to break him. For every careless act to be you saying—look at me, do something, don’t I need you?)

The truth is Kento didn’t stand a chance once he didn’t go home because it felt wrong to not see you smiling. Kento is weak when it comes to you, no excuse needed. And if he doesn’t know how to be effortless about you, then so be it. Fuck subtlety. It’s not like Kento is used to not working hard for what he wants.

Taken aback, for a moment all you did was to look at him. You could feel his discomfort. His jaw never looked so sharp; fangs bared on an expression you didn’t know his immovable muscles could create. Stern, but in a way you never imagined Kento to be.

You almost apologized. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know”, Kento didn’t look away. His tone was gentle, his gaze was soft, and your mind was far away from sobriety. “I’ll join you. Eat it while it’s still warm.”

Your fingers closed around the fork before you decided to do it. Compelled to trust him, you obeyed. Swallowing the first bite, you realized how hungry you were.

It doesn’t surprise you anymore. When you’re late to acknowledge your needs. Late to acknowledge anything at all. Oh, the things that take too long for you to understand. They always hit when you least expect them to.

Half-drunk and half-starving, your mind wandered back to a vase of lilies and gardenias. Back to the fact they were replaced before withering by blooming tulips. Back to the knowledge you’ve never received flowers.

Not until Kento. And he wasn’t apologizing.

Nightly breeze soothed your muscles and lulled your mind. You held the car door open in an attempt of being helpful, although one could say the door was holding you in place. “Text me when you get home.”

You choked a laugh when Haibara hit his forehead on the car. Shoko was already dozing off. “Only if you send me a photo of your dog.”

Red blurs stained your vision as the car moved away. You leaned on the wall, and it vibrated against your back due to the now lively bar. Your gaze landed on Kento, a couple steps from you.

You frowned. “I don’t have a dog.”

The street wasn’t silent, but his laugh still echoed through it. Rosy cheeks, unruled blonde hair, unbuttoned suit. Kento was… looser now. Not tired, stressed or clearly wishing he wasn’t there. And to think it only took a few—not so few—bottles of wine to get him like that.

Hugging the jacket folded on your hands, you moved closer and tried to steal a look into his phone. The movement made you shiver, adrenaline starting to give space to the consequences of a night of indulgence. “Your driver is taking too long.”

“Now it’s three minutes away. And yours?”

“I live nearby. I’ll walk home in three minutes, if it’s your luck day and no one cancels your ride”, your back hit the cold wall as you breathed in and out. The look on his face distracted you from the upcoming headache. “It’s a good neighborhood. The worst thing that happened around here was a drummer moving in.”

He felt a worry wrinkle developing on his forehead. “You’re drunk”, Kento stated and ignored the need to roll his eyes at you saying only tipsy. “And you will walk home. Alone. At midnight.”

“Only tipsy”, you corrected him again. Tilting your head back, you closed your eyes. “It’s a four minutes’ walk. Six, if I see a dog.”

You opened them once a warm breath tickled your face.

His nose almost brushed against yours, hands flat on the wall. His rosy cheeks were at reach of your fingertips. A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes, you thought about fixing it for him.

“Nanami-kun?” Trapped between him and the wall, you hugged your jacket tighter. “Are you feeling alright?”

His right hand left the wall and closed around your wrist. It was a careful touch, one you reserve for porcelain. Kento brought your hand closer to his face, no strength on his hold. You could’ve pulled away. It would’ve been easy.

You shivered as Kento rubbed his nose against the scent glands on your inner wrist. He inhaled deeply, as if it was worth all his concentration. As if he didn’t notice the landscape lacked a piece. Or maybe he did and couldn’t care.

“You smell like a summer dream, omega.” His brown eyes stared at something beyond your eyes. You couldn’t look away. “It’s everywhere. It’s all I can feel.”

Eyes wide open, your lungs betrayed you. “W-what?” Your heartbeat pulsed on your ears. He is not talking like himself, acting like himself. “I think you drank too much. Your car is-”

“That we both did”, his husky tone made you swallow. Kento caressed your wrist, thumb moving slowly against your sensitive skin. “Good thing we are only tipsy.”

He let go of your arm, taking a step back. Kento grabbed the dark blue collar at the base of his neck, both hands dealing with the iron clasp. Another chance for you to move away. With a tug, Kento got rid of his moorings and wrapped the collar around his knuckles.

“How could I let you alone when you smell this good?” Kento was closer now. His hands rested on the wall, right beside your shoulders, the iron clasp of his collar brushing on your arm. You’ve realized how large he is. “You wouldn’t be safe.”

Kento leaned down. His nose right on top of your glands, at the very place your neck and shoulder meet. His breath reaches you colder now, making you pinch your arm and face the fact you’re awake.

“An omega this enchanting”, Kento breathed in. “Alone, smelling of sea and alcohol, in need of protection to get home safe.”

The glands on his neck were right in front of you. Even fangs weak as yours could’ve ripped it out. You’ve done it before. It hurt you, but it bruised those stupid enough to ignore your warnings.

You tilted your head higher, giving Kento all the space he needed to nose at your throat. To have his fill of the scent you assumed not to be there. One that for him wasn’t too little.

“Who would waste that opportunity to have you closer? To stain you with their scents so you don’t go around bringing attention upon yourself?”, Kento growled, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. “I would hate for that to happen to you.”

In his arms, you finally noticed. His scent was all you could feel. It was thick, all around you. It tangled on your hair, deepened on your skin. Your clothes smelled like him. You smelled like Kento. Like Kento’s.

Breathing in, you tried to discover what it was. Pictures invaded your mind. Of a warm bath in the morning. Clean sheets on your bed after a long day. A meal made just in time. You searched for a flower, maybe a fruit that resembled him. Something you could recreate into a perfume to wear when he’s not around. Instead, all you got was a feeling.

Kento smelled like a loved home.

“It’s so delicate”, you whispered on his ear. Drunk on him, the last thing you did was think about your words. Not when his claimed all the space in your mind. Your lips brushed against the marks left by his collar, his hold on you tightened. “I need more of you.”

Kento glared at the moon, the witness to his ruination. You want more, he bit his lips so hard it turned scarlet. Kento almost gave in. Almost discovered how you tasted right then and there. You don’t think it’s too much. You don’t think I’m too much.

Kento took the jacket from your hands and placed it over your shoulders. “I’ll walk you home”, he reached out for you, palm open, hoped you couldn’t see that he was shaking. “If you let me.”

[morning proposition]

Blinding sunlight landed on your eyelids. It took long enough to understand you were awake and a bit longer to decide on leaving behind the warm haven of your bed. The room spins around and forced your body down on the mattress once more.

Salivating, you did your best to run towards the bathroom with your eyes closed. You tried to throw up, nothing came out of you although the nausea persisted in tormenting your body. Sat on the gelid floor, back shivering against the cabinet, you wondered if Nanami was feeling any better.

His eyes, his touch, his words. Nanami was all you could think of. He stole your peace of mind and left a hungry hollow in its place. One that could only be filled by him. You hoped he was doing better than you, at least less pathetic than throwing up with you on his mind.

Nanami is… You never meet someone so determined to do what needs to be done. His sharp-edged honesty never fails. Reliable in how you can always count on him to be a little bit tired, stressed and annoyed all the time. It makes it more meaningful when he smiles. Feels like you accomplished something special.

Last night, you allowed him to take you home. He held you closer than ever. His touch wasn’t odd, it wasn’t a silent walk—one filled with sudden regrets and anxiety for the premature death of whatever begun to flourish. Your jaw hurts from how much you laughed. He laughed, too, unashamed and unapologetic. It still echoes in your eardrums.

At your doorstep, playing with your hair, he refused to enter. You waited for him to kiss you, moved for Nanami to kiss you, but he didn’t. He stepped back, so you closed the front door.

Eyes burning, you couldn’t help but think you misunderstood last night. If you remember it wrong. Could a long night blend memories and imagination together? It never did before. Not after your worst nights were you unsure of what happened between the last drink and your bed.

Maybe then your interpretation of those memories isn’t correct. You don’t have much experience with this. Flirting. You dated the same person for so long. And you admit, understanding others is not what you’re best at. Maybe he meant what he said. Maybe Nanami was worried about safety and nothing more.

Which even you can’t believe to be the truth. That wasn’t worrying. Kento was about to devour you. His eyes made you feel like there was nothing else in the world beside you. He held your hand all the way home, thumb caressing your knuckles.

Which leaves you with one option: Nanami was playing with you.

He wouldn’t be the first to make you the butt of the joke. It wouldn’t be the first time he did that to you. Annoying Moments is what happened when you tried to be welcoming. You didn’t care about Nanami at the time for it to affect you, but aren’t you two friends now?

You should’ve know better. Eight years together and she laughed when you suggested bonding. The worst part was that she loved you. You could feel it. Her love was anything but subtle, a slashing feeling cutting meat and bone in search of your heart. Why would you expect him to behave as if you mattered?

Showering, you didn’t notice when tears began to roll down. Was it all a joke? Even what he said about your scent? It could be. You know awful people tend to be suddenly cruel. Maybe he went home bragging to his friends. Maybe he’ll only remember that you exist tomorrow at work when Nanami sees the omega that he could’ve fucked.

All others see when you smile is an idiot with good teeth. It wasn’t her intention but saying that only made it easier for you to break up and move on.

The empty fridge was your last straw. You undid the knot on the towel and used it to dry your dripping wet hair, decided to avoid this awful day completely. Wearing an old T-shirt and nothing more, you fall flat on your mattress. It’s still early but if you try hard enough maybe you can sleep until tomorrow morning.

Your doorbell rang the moment you started to relax.

Ignoring it was an easy call. If it’s any sort of emergency you can bend the truth a little and say you were sleeping. There was little that could happen to make this day worse, you won’t give the world a chance to show how creative it can be.

Then it rang again. And again, a couple seconds after. You waited in front of the door, fingers brushing against the handle. Groaning once the annoying high-pitched sound reached your ears, you unlocked it. And froze in place.

“Were you sleeping?” Nanami’s words didn’t make to your ears. You saw his lips moving, the sharp jaw tremble, but not a damn sound made to you. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He was here. In front of you. At your doorstep. With a bouquet in hands and a couple paper bags on the other, Nanami smelled like home. That convinced you it wasn’t a dream made to bring torment upon you. Not even the best of them would recreate it so well.

“I thought you were allergic to clothes that aren’t suits”, you said, like an idiot.

In your defense, it was the first time you ever saw Nanami without one. A brown buttoned pant hugged his waist without his usual belt and suspenders. His linen blouse was ironed and well cared for but unbuttoned and revealing part of his broad chest, unlike his perfectly aligned blue shirt. The open coat made more evident his neck lacked scent blockers, the second time you ever saw him revealing his throat.

Compared to his own standards, Nanami was basically naked.

“I have an adrenaline pen on me”, his jaw relaxed. After stressing all night, Kento could only hope for you to say something he wasn’t expecting. “Hope I won’t need to use it.”

You took a step back, allowing him to enter your home. A new wave of scent hits as he passes by you, so strong it felt as if your nose wasn’t broken anymore. It makes sense now why he’s so careful about his blockers. Nanami mentioned taking suppressants, and if that’s him on them… you can’t even imagine what it would feel like for any other omega to be around him.

The inside of your house was more of less how Kento expected it to be. Chaotic and welcoming, nothing like his sterile and practical apartment. Trinkets and decorations of all kinds filled what used to be white walls. Jewelry forgotten on the couch, letters attached to the fridge, blooming flowers and others not quite so. Everything’s warm and colorful, everything smells like you.

He took the liberty of placing the paper bags on top of your table. Kento fixed his hair as you locked the door, only then noticing what you wore—or what you weren’t. Kento holds his breath.

“You’re here.” Across from him, you leaned on a chair and ignored most hospitality rules. “Will you tell me why?”

“I missed you”, Kento said. One step closer, he gave you the white bouquet. You didn’t miss his rosy ears. “Dearly.”

(You made a mental note and swore to never forget it, one that was quickly erased from your memory when you stopped paying attention: hungover turns you into a depressive mess—do not make assumptions or choices before a nap.)

Deep in forgettable thoughts, you didn’t realize to be still staring at him. Kento couldn’t read your expression. Crushed by the sheer pressure of your gaze, he grabbed the paper bags and took their contents. Kento hoped doing something with his hands would calm his failing heart.

Watching him, you nosed at the flowers. “And missing me dearly makes you decide to fill my cabinets?”

A few different types of bread. Three flavors of juice. Skim, low-fat and whole milk. He didn’t knew what you’d rather have for breakfast. The headache medicine was the only thing Kento got without overthinking about it first.

He chuckled, a moment closer to a heart attack. “It looks like it.”

Nanami Kento, an alpha too young to already be this tired, is sweet. He doesn’t whisper or soften the truth, doesn’t wear insincere smiles or walks away when there is work to be done. Nanami Kento groans, curses the world and often acts as a spiteful retiree. He’s as sweet as his awful coffee is a waste of water.

“Nanami-kun”, you purred. Kento stopped in place, eyes instinctively staring right back at you. Such a soft sound, one that filled him with the urge to calm down. “Thank you. Take off your coat, sit down. I’ll get a vase and some plates.”

Kento did as you said, chest growing calmer as he watched you danced around the kitchen. Vase filled with water, you came back to the table and focused on undoing the bouquet. Petals brushing against paper filled his tired mind.

Satisfied with how it looked, you smiled at yourself. “To think I assumed you were playing with me.”

It took Kento a second to understand your words. He blinked and you were away, opening the cabinets in search of clean plates and glasses—too worried about not having anything beautiful for guests to hear him moving closer.

“You thought I was what?”

“You know”, you shrugged. The tinkling of mugs made you groan when they almost escaped between your fingers. “Seeing how far I would’ve let you go just for the sake of it. I was feeling like shit two minutes ago.”

You keep on catching Kento off guard with it. There’s not a moment when your heart isn’t at the tip of your tongue. You say things easily, truth spilling out of you even when it shouldn’t. If he ever reached for it, fingers exploring your mouth with the kindness it deserves, could Kento trace the veins and arteries of your heart?

Turning around, the mugs almost fell again. This time not because you tried to get more than you could hold, but due to Nanami kneeling on your kitchen floor being an astonishing sight.

“I never did anything like that before”, he stared into your eyes. “I’m ashamed for not regretting a single word I’ve said.”

“Ashamed of being shameless”, your lips tugged higher. A subtle smile, almost invisible if not by the way your eyes softened. It reminded Kento of his own smiles. “Those flowers are the accompaniment of an empty apology?”

Kento raised his hands towards you, only now the fabric he held catching your attention. You would’ve noticed he took it from a paper bag if you weren’t so interested in his rosy ears.

“They come with my confession”, Kento started. “It’s been some time since you turned into the best part of my days. My mind is tangled between your every flaw, and even those are endearing to me. I want us to bond. Give me a chance to prove I’m more than a shameless alpha. Let me court you.”

Your smile faded away. Brows furrowed, you took the fabric from him and unfolded it. A white shirt ironed carefully and smelling like Nanami Kento. You squeezed it between your fingers. Warm and soft. Real.

For the first time in his life, Kento had you speechless.

“I want to bond for life”, Kento stated. Staring at the way you held his shirt away from your body, he rushed to silence any hesitation filling your mind. You deserve the same honesty you give him. “You don’t need to answer me now. You don’t need to say what I want to hear. Just think about it.”

You brought his courting gift closer, brushing your nose against the fabric. His scent took over your lungs. “Give me a week, Nanami-kun.”

“Kento”, he smiled. “Call me Kento.”

[breath it in]

Sometimes Kento knows he’s about to hear your voice. He knows you present weekly meetings, train new interns right beside him, eat lunch together with the rest of the team. Kento can prepare himself for those moments, shield his soul to endure the longest week of his life.

Sometimes Kento doesn’t. That’s when it hits hard, a cut straight to his aching heart. Haunted by your sweet melody, surprise makes his defenses lower in hope of hearing your answer. You never say what he wants to hear.

Kento keeps on listening, nonetheless. He feared you would’ve distanced from him to think clearly. To have you whispering for him to pay attention to what the other table is gossiping about is better than your silence. Kento rather live a week of torment than not hearing your laughter.

Friday came without an answer. You asked for a week, Kento can go two more days without one. It would’ve been easier to ask you to date him. Instead of days, it would’ve been a matter of seconds to know your answer. Kento doesn’t want to date you. He wants something way deeper than that. It’s only fair for you to take your time.

“He thinks it’ll take me three days to finish this project but, and you can time it, in three hours I’ll be done with it”, you smiled, baring your fangs. This sight gave him the strength to survive the weekend. “I should feel bad about it, don’t I?”

“It’s his fault for not knowing better about his own department”, Kento hissed.

“I thought you’d say that.” You shrugged, eyes landing at the files on your desk, index playing with the yellow scarf around your neck. “It’s best for me to get started.”

You’ve been using it lately. It can be chilly inside the office, yet you never wore a scarf there before. Kento worries that knowing your scent affects him as it does makes you uncomfortable. If you wish he hadn’t mentioned it. Kento didn’t ask about it, fearing you would see it as him trying to get an early answer from you.

Work done, shift over. Kento would’ve stayed for longer if you weren’t focused on getting done with this project for a new client. Overtime here pays well, they still can’t make up for the torment of being close but not close enough.

His steps were slow, mind too heavy for his body to work faster. Kento usually walk in a hurry—even when not in one. Always late for something, time seems to be what he lacks the most. Making his way to the subway, Kento stares at the darkening sky and wonders. Time lasts longer now.

Glass half-full, if his car wasn’t at the mechanic’s Kento would’ve been an irresponsible driver by constantly getting distracted with thoughts of you. A notification interrupted his music. Waiting for the train doors to open, his left-eye twitched.

From: Walking Mess

are you still in the building?

meant to talk to you but can’t find you anywhere.

…

well, i’ll head home then. see you next week, kento :)

As the doors opened, a crowd climbed up the stairs of the subway. No one, not even the first to walk off the train, was faster than Nanami Kento. Three steps at the time and soon Kento was running through the same streets he walked spiritlessly.

Briefcase crumpling his perfectly ironed suit, Kento grabbed the access card from it and slammed it against the sensor at the reception. An alpha approached asking if he needed help. Kento heard nothing. Passing through the turnstile, Kento pressed the button for all elevators on the ground floor.

Trying to catch his breath, he calculated how long it would take for him to climb up stairs to the right floor. Cursing the tall building, the annoying whistle of the elevator made him open his eyes. Running his fingers through his hair, Kento waited.

You crashed into his chest, your phone almost slipping through your fingers. “Sorry, I was distracted.” You took a step back, entering the elevator again, and blinked once you saw Kento. “I… was looking for you.”

“You wanted to talk”, Kento licked his lips, breath still too short. It has nothing to do with his little race. He entered the elevator, each of his steps forward making you take one back. “I’m here now.”

The doors closed. He pressed the emergency button. Looking into his eyes, you hoped to see the truth through them. “You want to court me”, you started. All you saw was Kento’s utter attention to whatever you have to say. Nothing new. “Because you want for us to bond.”

“Nothing would make me happier”, Kento bit the inside of his cheeks.

“Which means you want us to bond and will court me until I agree”, your voice grew bolder. “Did I understood it correctly?”

Kento could feel the blush reaching his chest. “Yes. You did”, Kento held his briefcase tighter. The way you worded it made his inwards melt. It felt so much more intimate to know you understand his intentions. “I’m patient. I can wait.”

You looked down, brushing your fingertips against the scarf around your neck, and handed Kento your phone. He held it for you, a question dying within his throat as you started to take the scarf off.

“I’m not good at being an omega. Truly, I’m so bad at it”, with a step forward, you placed it around his neck, covering the leather collar. “Patient, you said. Good. Then I can try again if it doesn’t smell like me.”

Staring at your hands carefully smoothing the fabric, you left Kento speechless. Sunday he confessed. Monday you appeared with this scarf. You weren’t deciding. All this time, you already knew your answer.

The wait was bitter, the fruit was sweet. So sweet.

“I appreciated your gift, I hope you can appreciate mine.” Kento saw your fangs when you smiled. “It matches your tie.”

Looking at you, still not moving, Kento smiled. Truly. It was wide, impossible to ignore or mistake it for anything else. It bared his fangs, lips tugging towards his rosy ears. You imagined that’s how you look when smiling.

“It’s perfect”, Kento said. With the scarf around his neck, all he could feel was you. “You’re perfect.”

Laughing, you grabbed his horrendous tie and pulled him closer. This time, waiting for him to kiss you was never an option. Pushing him against the mirror, you demanded for it. Kento attended to your wish instantly. He didn’t knew how not to.

It was slow, so slow, a mess of tongues and giggles as you explored him thoroughly. Not letting go of his tie, you took off his glasses. Kento sighed into your mouth.

Forced to face the truth, Kento admits that there is something way better than your scent. It is the taste of your laughter on his mouth.

[dive headfirst, treasured lover]

Lately, you’ve been learning a lot about Kento. There’s always a new detail to see as long as you pay attention. It’s what you do most as it turns out you can concentrate easily when Kento is the subject. It isn’t a task you need to get done with or movie that can’t hold your focus. It feels natural to learn about him. Right.

Kento doesn’t spend time with you—he doesn’t see it as investment. Kento doesn’t put in effort to meet you where you are—he doesn’t see you as work. For someone so constantly tired, Kento’s willingness to sacrifice his time and energy for you even when you don’t think he should is still a surprise. A good one.

You didn’t ate anything burned since he offered to cook for you. Kento insisted. Although you liked his food it still left a bitter taste to think he could’ve been doing anything else on the time he put on that. It took three days of chewing on lettuce to realize Kento knew cooking for you was easier than making you agree to eat salad.

Knowing Kento’s also learning about you tastes sweet as honey.

You never thought of him as someone patient because you used to think of it as sitting quietly in place. His patience reveals itself in ways you didn’t expect. Kento’s good at waiting. Kento’s better at waiting when crafting better routines for the two of you. Routines that reduce the amount of trash on your desk, lost jewelry inside furniture and working overtime.

All so you have more time to kiss him.

He’s patient with that, too. Breathy whispers itching your throat, firm hands locked around your hips. Kissing Kento is what you do best, keeping you close is his specialty. It doesn’t feel like kissing him, more like making up for lost time.

“You make it so difficult”, you whisper, lips moving against his. Sat on his lap, you kept on doing what you do best. “Not to tease you.”

Your nest already smells like him, his book lost and forgotten between soft pillows and comfy chiffon. His scented shirt is there, too, a treasured gift. Two weeks ago, he replaced a few burned bulbs hanging on top of your nest with blinker ones. Kento is part of your nest, your safe place smells like him. That’s a soft intimacy that hits harder than any gentle words.

Kento breathed in. “I’m not doing anything.”

And he wasn’t. His mouth doesn’t go lower, his fingers never travel higher. Close yet never close enough. You don’t know how you made that far without Kento pushing you away. He usually stops you the moment you start to get ideas.

Tilting your head, you cradle his jaw and strokes the soft skin. You move his chin up, index scratching a straight line to his throat. You feel Kento swallowing a lump. “You’re red”, you lay a kiss on each of his eyelids. “Burning red. Alarmingly red.”

Angling your hips forward, your chest moving up and down against Kento as you spread kisses all through his skin, his erection grows. You can feel it beneath your panties and his clothes, hardening more with every whisper and hungry touch—blessed be the bodycon dress you bought last week.

Lips bruised by his fangs ache as Kento doesn’t stop sucking on them. He bites and licks and sighs into your mouth, the only place he’s fully dedicated to touch. He’s trying so hard no to reach for the rest of your body his hands might leave marks on your waist. You can already feel them.

“That sounded like teasing”, Kento rest his forehead on your shoulder. It was meant to be a moment to breathe in, calm down his feverish body. Being closer to your scent glands didn’t help him at all. “Don’t be mean, love. Not when I’m nice to you.”

“You’re more than nice”, you purr. He can felt it vibrating through your body. It makes Kento want to discover where it comes from. What inside you were made to soothe him so well. “Always so good to me. Treating me so well, kissing like it’ll kill you not to. You’re cute, that’s why I don’t tease.”

Kento laughs against your shoulder and for a second he sounded like a mad man. You never saw Kento so eager to let you torment him. Then it hits you why he’s acting like that, eager to satisfy your every wish.

“Fuck”, you mumble. Using his tie as leash, you lower his head towards your throat. “Does it smell good, Ken? Better than usual?”

Kento licks your glands before nodding. He kisses it like it was your mouth, tongue and teeth all over your skin. His cock throbs beneath your damp panties. You can’t help but rubbing your cunt against it, a hand stroking his hair and the other attached to his forearm.

“I wasn’t paying attention but now, uhm, Ken, I think”, you whisper, not to tease but because it’s the best you can do without stuttering. “My heat is in a few days.”

His hands move. They rest on your tights, fingers making circles on your skin. Kento barely stops licking to answer you, and he does it with a few unintelligible murmurs.

“Take a week off”, you suggest. “Alpha, stay with me.”

Kento stops altogether. His mouth moves away from your sweaty skin, fingers releasing your tights. Fixing his posture, he looks into your eyes again. You can almost hear the thunderstorm inside his mind.

“It’s okay to say no”, you clean the sweat gathering on his forehead with your knuckles. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything. I mean, you already take care of me so well.”

Kento goes back to holding your hips. He hesitates for a moment. “I’m virgin.”

It takes you a second to process. “Oh”, you blink. Trying to get off his lap, Kento holds you in place. “Ken, I didn’t…”

“I want this”, he stops. There are no remains of hesitation inside his sweet, brown eyes. Kento breathes in. “I want you.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you smile. “I want you, too. And I’m patient, you know? There’s no need to rush.”

Kento takes your hand between his, eyelids closed as he treated your skin with small kisses. He leans on your palm. “Will you take care of me, omega?”

“Better than anyone ever could”, your whisper as if telling him a secret.

“Then take care of me”, Kento whisper, bringing you closer. “And I’ll do the same.”

You’re soft on him now, softer than you’ve ever been. There is no need to rush, no need to explore like a hungry animal searching for something to consume. All you want is to feel him closer. To have Kento relaxed again, easing those stiff limbs.

Unbottoning his shirt, you look at his exposed throat. What a beautiful alpha you have. One that deserves the very best. And you will give him all you have.

“Let me spoil you.” Sliding your fingers throught his torso, you rest your weight on his lap. It makes Kento sigh. “Tell me and I’ll stop, alright?”

Kento nods. You kiss his nose and reach for your bag, forgotten somewhere behind him. To think this started with you two reading together. You hand Kento your lipstick, throwing the bag away.

“Go on”, you smile. “You know what to do.”

Slowly, as if you’d get mad if he made a mistake, Kento reapplies the lipstick on you. Holding your chin to keep your face steady, his focus is one suited best for demanding tasks. Careful as always. “Done.”

You take your time to color Kento. His cheeks, shoulders, broad chest always hidden beneath suits. His white skin is covered by you, marks that will take long to get out. Kento strokes your hair, face almost the same tone as your lipstick.

Imagining yourself washing it away for him, you smile. “Beautiful.”

Kento pokes at your middle. “You’re teasing”, he says. He does that sometimes. Sounds like he’s in love with you.

You get up from his lap, kneeling between his legs to unbotton his pants. You press your thumb against the tip of his still covered cock. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

He’s bigger than you expected, bumping lightly on your face when you free him from the underpants. You don’t look at Kento. He isn’t the one needy for your attention, his leaking cock deserves it way more. Ignoring his piercing faze, you kiss the pink tip.

Your fingers trace a vein from the base with trimmed blond pubic hair until the lipstick mark. Heavy balls discover the warmth of your mouth first. You do it like that hear Kento sigh in surprise. Catlike licks get you back to the tip, you kiss it as if it was his mouth.

“F-fuck… Love, don’t be so”, Kento cries. It doesn’t change your pace. His voice dies when you take him into your mouth, inch by inch without rushing. Kento moan softly, your pride grows bigger.

Nose almost touching his trimmed hair, your hands go back to his balls. His cock throbs inside your mouth. You move your head up and down until your neck burns and then keep going despise it when his sweet sounds reach your ears once more. You drool all over Kento.

You stare into his eyes, too curious to see Kento to keep on ignoring him.

His cum hits your throat. It flows through your lips when you take him off your mouth, running down your chin and dropping on his skin.

“Shit, oh fuck”, he breathes. Kento tilts his head back, hands trembling as he brushes them on his face. “Love, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I couldn’t-”

“You’re sorry?”, you mock. Licking your lips, you sit on his lap. Grabbing and tossing away the pillows behind him, you push Kento to lay down. “For feeling good?”

His hands go back to your waist. “Sit on my face.”

“Shameless”, you lean on his chest and place your knees between his legs. Taking your panties off, you don’t look away. “You don’t need to.”

You hold the black fabric in front of his face. Kento does nothing, brain overwhelmed to understand quickly what you’re doing, then he gets it. With him sniffing it, you see his cock hardening once more.

“Do it”, is his answer. “Teach me how to pleasure you.”

“Kiss her. Make it wet and messy”, you say. Crawling towards him, you decided not to get off your dress. That’s for him. Knees around his head, you took his shaky hands and put them on your lap. “Hold me, tap it if you want to stop.”

Kento starts slowly. He kisses your thigh, looking into your eyes. He doesn’t look away. Not at the first small lick, not as his kisses made those embarrassingly loud wet sounds. He hummed against your core, slick going down his chin, and grabbed your thighs. He did it tighter after seeing your reaction.

It wasn’t perfect. Not on rhythm that would get you crying on top of him, not the right pressure in the right place. Kento doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t stop. He changes a bit every minute, searching for a reaction that shows him he’s doing you right.

Your hips move on their own, slowly riding his face as the pleasure doesn’t stop coming. Slick floods through your cunt. His hands moved, one grabbing your waist and the other making circles a bit higher from where his mouth explore.

“Right there, Ken”, you murmur against your fingers. “Don’t change a thing. Keep it like that and, uhmm, Ken, just keep it like this.”

He does exactly what you say, his humming vibrating on you. All you can do is curse. You look back, his hard cock looking so lonely behind you, and whisper his name. It makes it twitch.

You see the lipstick marks once more. Your heart feels heavier. It’s so strange. It makes you want to sob just to have Kento consoling you. Everything feels too much, except him. You’ll always want more of him. You’ll always need more of Kento.

You never thought of Kento as a patient alpha, you wonder if he ever saw you as a greedy omega. Because it’s still not enough. You don’t think it will ever be.

To get away from his tongue you had to fight his tight grip.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kento watches you. That’s the correct way to put it. He never looks at you, he always watches. “We can stop.”

Shaking your head, you don’t waste a second to get back to his lap. You touch his ignored cock, so sensitive Kento’s worry fades away. Yours. He’s yours. You want him. As close as he can get.

The sound coming from his mouth goes straight to your clit. Kento grabs your hips, making it more difficult for you to go slow. All you want is him deeper into you. Taking care of him, being nice, was never so hard. Still, you did it. Inch by inch, no hurry.

“How can you be so warm?” Kento almost cries. Pride grows bigger once more, little would be needed to make it explode inside of you. “Love, omega, you’re… Perfect. I need you. Fuck, I need you.”

A cold tear falls on his chest. Kento tries to focus, eyes doing their best to avoid his every wish. Once he can see your face, a heartache makes him hold his breath.

“Hey. Love, look at me.” Kento sits, bringing you closer to him. His thumb cleans every tear, mouth kissing where they reached. He puts your head on his shoulder, nose on top of his glands, and hugs you tightly. It stops you from moving. “Tell me what to do. Omega, tell your alpha what you need.”

“You smell like home”, you sniff. His scent fills your lungs. More. “Ken… Ken, I can’t think. It’s too much. Too much and I need more and I can’t think.”

He can smell it in the air. Now that he has something more important than your body on his mind, it’s obvious. Your heat was close enough for him to feel it, and now it was triggered. Kento kisses your shoulders, hands stroking your head.

His incorrigible slothful omega needs to be taken care of.

Carefully, still inside you, Kento puts you on your nest and places a soft pillow beneath your head. He kisses you again and again, scenting you more until your tears stop. He moves, and when it does you moan for more.

Kento gives you all he has. He slides inside of you, once slow but only fastening the more you ask for it. Kento doesn’t thrust hard. He doesn’t know if you want this, if it would hurt, if he would last. He can barely contain himself as you purr, pussy throbbing so much it makes him shake.

“Stop squirming”, Kento groans. You obey. “Stay still. Don’t move. I’ll take care… I’ll take care of you.”

You tilt your head back, crying his name so loud Kento will never forget the way it sounds perfect coming from your mouth. He licks your scent glands, fangs closing around it as he prepares to you make you his. Bond with you, have you in a way no one could ever compare. He’ll make you his. Kento will have you for himself only.

When you look at Kento again, you see a red blur. Eyes focusing, they widen. His lips are raw, fangs cutting meat as he keeps his face right on top of yours. He doesn’t stop fucking you. He doesn’t stop giving you more even as blood drips warm on your cheeks.

I want more, you thought. I think I love him.

“You can do it”, you show him your throat. “Bond with me, Ken.”

“No”, he whispers. You don’t think he can do much more than that. “Not now. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Alpha”, you moan. “Make me yours. Please.”

It’s sharp and cold.

You shake violently—the strongest orgasm you ever had. So good it’s painful, so good it makes you cry and thinking nothing but his name, his touch, his scent. Muscles tight, no air comes to your lungs. You won’t made it out alive.

Pain and pleasure fill your mind. Everything makes sense. Everything feels right in place. Every heartbreak led you to him. Every step on the way brought you closer to Kento. Your body accepts the bond, his love for you consuming you wholly.

You cry. It hurts and burns, blood on your cheeks and neck. Coming again, his name is all you can say. He laps at the blood and the pleasure doesn’t stop. It grows bigger, now not taking but giving. You stop moving.

His vision goes white, and so does your womb. Knot keeping you nice and still, a mess of cries and moans enchanting him. Kento looks at the bond mark, at your eyes full of satisfaction, and a feeling so good he can’t even name takes over him.

Kento laughs. You do it, too, he tastes it in his mouth.

Now, he knows he was right. All those years ago, arguing with his dad and pretending to agree because he had no other choice. Kento was right. “I love you”, Kento whispers against your lips. Words can’t lose meaning, so he says it again.

There is no better taste than his love on your mouth.

I REALLY REALLY REALLY SHOULD'VE BEEN DOING MY ARCHON QUEST. SORRY RAIDEN I'M BACK TO YOU NOW.

+ i'll grant a wish for anyone who recognizes who was the inspiration for nanami's "basically naked" outfit.

tagging ; @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer @brooke-gvf @missthatgirl @romantisized @catcactusoww @toadtoru @stxxrzz @motthe

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