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She insists on being called Lady Nagant — or Tsutsumi, if you must — so of course Rumi calls her Kaina.
It gets the same reaction every time: those pretty, pale lips tightening around a twitch in her jaw, like she’s holding back bared teeth, and a sidelong glance barely leashing her disdain. Rumi can practically hear her thought process: there’s only a few weeks left until this insolent girl is done with her internship. I just have to endure her until then.
Oh, but Rumi loves being a problem.
All the heroes she’s worked under during her schooling, for some fucking reason, think that being stoic is some banner of self-discipline and moral righteousness, which doesn’t even make the top ten list of stupidest shit Rumi’s ever seen in this upside-down field — but it’s her favorite to push back against. Teasing and disobeying and raising her voice, grinning to the very backs of her teeth, until her superior’s collected facade breaks never fails to get her adrenaline rushing. Everyone in attendance (and she always ensures there’s people watching) pales beautifully with shock when the stone-cold professional loses their shit and screams their face blue. Look how they act like animals beneath that curt little front, she always thinks. Is this the idiot that’s earned your respect?
Of course, Rumi gets punished for it. She’s on her third internship in just as many months, and has got to keep this one unless she’d like to be expelled.
(She figures it’s obvious by now that the punishment is part of her fun.)
Kaina is a little more bearable than the other heroes Rumi’s seen. She’s as reserved and iron-willed as the best of them, but doesn’t hinge that on some inflated, necrotic ego. She’s humble, in a quiet and practical sort of way, and while she’s quick to shut bullshit down with a glare or dismissive word, she’ll ultimately admit it when Rumi’s right. It must be the omega in her; every alpha hero thinks their cock and stench are god’s gift to society. Kaina works using experience, not delusion. It’s a nice change of pace.
But Rumi still wants to see her scream. Not snap into the transceiver when Rumi bounds off from her assigned post again, not scold low and icy when yet another intern makes a beginner mistake. That old hag — and fuck whatever she says about how I’m hardly over a decade older than you, girl, those crow’s feet speak for themselves — needs to drop her fangs and yell until her voice corrodes.
(“Your hormones are going to get you killed,” Nemuri had said when Rumi first expressed the thought. “Have you considered a castration?”
“She’s beyond hope,” Shouta had muttered, face scrunched like the conversation was decaying his brain.
“We’ll come visit you once you get expelled,” Hizashi had consoled her. Rumi thought them all dramatic, faithless little bitches, and put herself to work.)
Vying for a reaction during fights was fruitless. Skipping patrols, running off against direct orders, engaging enemies despite strict avoidance policies, breaking every rule on the books about property damage and crowd control — all it got her was a stern, impartial lecture, or even worse, an utterly indifferent admission that Rumi’s strategy had been better than Kaina’s own. Arguing to her face about mission plans and how much paperwork is legal to make an intern handle similarly made little progress. A low huff, if she’s lucky, and that captivating fidget where Kaina pulls off a piece of her hair and aimlessly squeezes it between her fingertips, but the woman stays stone.
It’s fucking infuriating that using her given name, out of all things, is what gets Rumi the most consistent twinge of annoyance.
Kaina’s alone in her office when Rumi saunters in, tired eyes locked on her laptop’s sickly glow while she blows on a mug of black coffee. Her curls are disheveled and her pantsuit (who wears a fucking pantsuit to an agency office anymore?!) is wrinkled. Rumi hopes the long night’s frayed some nerves.
“I’m taking the day off, boss,” she announces, sitting down on the paper-littered desk with an easy smile. She’s taller than Kaina from this angle, and the older woman has to tilt her chin up to lock their eyes.
“Have you finished your patrol?”
“Eh, got halfway through. Our district is safe, we’ve been over this. Patrolling every three hours just makes us look paranoid.”
“Your case files, then?”
Rumi exaggerates a yawn, and tips her head back so her battle-grimy hair can trail along the pristine hardwood. “That shit can kiss my ass.”
“You do know your internship hours will be nullified if you keep taking time off without reason.”
“Aww, but you won’t let that happen to me, yeah? Sign it off as an excused absence. C’mon. My leg totally hurts.” Rumi lays down across the desk, grinning up at the coffee mug’s underside with her hands behind her head. Stained papers flutter to the ground. “Or maybe I’m in a rut and I’ll start fucking some poor omega sidekick of yours on your couch if you don’t let me leave. Can’t have that, can we?”
Kaina takes a long slurp of her coffee, lashes fluttering shut as she breathes out steam. “Don’t they teach you kids manners anymore?” she sighs. Rumi’s ears perk up at the annoyance in her tone, but her face is still too soft, her eyes too unaffected. She’s peering down at Rumi with almost a playful sort of look, like this is just as much a game to her as it is to her intern — but beyond that, total and stubborn indifference.
“Don’t they teach you damn dinosaurs to lighten up a little?” Rumi shoots back.
“Maybe I’d lighten up if there weren’t a code violation on my desk.” Kaina drinks her coffee again, pushes Rumi’s thigh aside to make space to set the mug down. Just barely peeking out over the bitter aroma is Kaina’s own scent, soured with age and exhaustion but still guava-sweet enough to make Rumi’s mouth water.
“Mmm, but you love seeing me bloody, don’t you? Means I’m workin’ hard catchin’ the riffraff you’re too haughty to bother with.”
“Not that kind of violation.” Kaina’s lip twitches with the ghost of a smile. “Cream your panties off the clock, little alpha.”
Rumi glances down at her half-hard dick and swallows. The omega scent around her grows a little heavier, a little sweeter — how one might comfort a child who spilled their ice cream on the sidewalk.
This… is new.
“Is this why you’re always so disobedient, you brat?” Kaina sighs and twirls a lock of Rumi’s hair around her finger. “Playing macho with the adults gets you all leaky?”
“Sh-shut up, you damn fossil. I’m as much an adult as any of you.” Rumi turns her head away, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and pretends to study the office decor. Her cheeks are warmer than they should be, and her ears and feet keep twitching with the alarm bells of predator close by, run for your life. But Kaina just slouches in her chair and types at her laptop like none of it really matters.
She can’t leave now, because that’s admitting defeat when the whole point of being so aggressively crass is to break Kaina’s resolve. And if she stays here indefinitely, then she’ll have to do something about the chub between her legs. Either letting it deflate naturally — which is fucking embarrassing, and feels damn near impossible right now — or getting herself off somehow. While lying sprawled out on her boss’s desk.
What the hell has she gotten herself into this time?
(And why does the predicament only make her harder?)
Before she makes up her mind, Kaina chooses for her.
“Stay there and put my mug away when I’m finished,” she mutters. “Then you can take the day off.”
Another nudge to Rumi’s thigh as Kaina sets her coffee down, but this time, slender fingers pry her legs apart, nails digging into tense muscle, and —
“A-ah!”
“If you spill it, you’re working overtime.”
So hero-in-training Usagiyama Rumi, who takes shit from no one and orders from even fewer, spends a foggy Monday morning trembling supine on a desk with a hot cup of coffee lodged between her thighs. And whenever Kaina takes a sip and puts it back, she drags the porcelain edge down the length of her clothed cock, just enough to keep it twitching with want.
It’s got to be some karmic favor that no one comes in through the (very open) door, or that Rumi doesn’t run into anyone when she scrambles to return the empty mug to the kitchen before knotting her fist so hard she sees stars — kneeling on the bathroom floor, spit dripping down her chin, tasting guava and black ice.
(And if Rumi is a bit more civilized in the following days, doing her patrols without complaint and squabbling with a little less bite than before? Well, Kaina doesn’t let it show on her face, but there’s just a touch of sugar on her scent when it wafts by. Something like I’ve got you all figured out, little bunny.)
Good thing Rumi’s never been one to go down without a fight.
The next time Kaina’s all alone is late at night, elbow slung over the back of an armchair as she finishes off a cigarette. Her half-shredded hero costume exposes so much: her muscled shoulders, her toned abs, the dip of her collarbone where the sweat dripping down her neck collects, scabbed and bruised legs crossed at the ankle. Rumi saw the battle that caused all that on the news earlier today.
And it’s cute, isn’t it? Untouchable mentor slick with grime while the filthy intern is in a pristine, freshly-updated costume as she slinks in for the graveyard shift; almost like they’ve reversed roles.
“Hey, no smoking indoors!” Rumi calls out as she strolls through the agency lobby’s front gates. “Or has your memory started to go already?”
Kaina glances up through her lashes, once again impressively impassive — if not for Rumi knowing each little tell by now. There’s a thin muscle in her temple that jumps, just slightly, when teased about her age. Rumi wonders whether it’ll jump if she runs her tongue over it.
“Come to bother me again?” she sighs.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Rumi drapes herself over Kaina’s lap, legs thrown over the armrest, and for her trouble, she gets the cigarette extinguished on her abdomen. It leaves a dark stain on the white bodysuit, and Rumi’s fangs itch as she stares at it.
Omega marked me, her instincts say. What the actual fuck kind of thought is that, the rest of her cries.
Kaina runs her chipped nails over Rumi’s thigh almost absently. Her scent is pungent, her eyes heavy-lidded. Mostly tired and sweaty, Rumi knows, but perhaps a little soft around the edges.
(No one else could waltz over and deposit themselves on her lap like this. But then again, no one else would dare.)
(She’s beginning to lose the thread here. The original goal was to make Kaina growl and froth and scream — and Rumi still wants that, fuck, she dreams of it — but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see her moan instead. See her spread out on something soft, experience’s scars a cacophony on her body, with that note in her harsh eyes that almost invites Rumi closer.)
Those hands keep exploring: feeling up her bodysuit, tipping back her chin, digging nails behind her ears so firmly it makes her breath hitch and her scent plume. Rumi doesn’t miss the bead of saliva that builds on Kaina’s bloodied lip.
“You look fuckin’ wiped,” Rumi purrs. “How about you let me take care of you tonight, Ka-i-na?”
Jaw twitch, sidelong glare. Kaina takes advantage of the proximity to smack Rumi on the back of the head.
“Focus on patrols and getting your grades up, Miruko.”
“Aw, not even ‘Usagiyama’? It’s just us, you know.”
“Insolent rabbit,” Kaina amends, bending her arm and using the muzzle of her rifle to shove Rumi off her lap. “Listen to your boss.”
“Good thing you’re pretty. I wouldn’t give a shit what you said otherwise.”
Kaina molds a bullet from her hair, loads her rifle, and aims it. Rumi scampers, alarm bells ringing and nerves sparking with adrenaline.
She’s having way too much fun with this.
(Nemuri calls her insane when she tells her later.)
Rumi’s legs are still shaking with the comedown as she wipes the gashes on her forehead, and god, the mirror isn’t telling a pretty story. Her ears and hair are matted, her skin singed, her costume reduced to torn strips hanging off her shoulders and waist. When she leans over the bathroom counter to spit into the sink, it’s red.
(And while Rumi is a brat, she isn’t stupid. She knew this villain was too dangerous to fuck around with. She’d followed every order Kaina gave to the letter, and yet…)
(Kaina. She wonders if Kaina’s okay.)
“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
She glances up from glowering at the mirror and reels in her scent — and since when did the entire bathroom smell like angry, possessive alpha, anyway? — to meet tired eyes. And relief hits her like a truck.
“Damn,” she greets, instead of saying something stupid like thank god you’re okay, I was about to go nuclear. “You look fuckin’ miserable.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to use the communal bathrooms and not my personal one?”
“Can’t help it if you pros hog all the amenities. I mean, really, Kaina, sakura hand lotion? Didn’t take you as the type.”
Kaina huffs softly, and nudges Rumi aside with her hip so she can scrub the grime off her arms. Rumi watches for a perfectly socially acceptable amount of time as pale, muscled skin emerges from beneath dirt and suds, and drools only slightly when Kaina pops out her rifle to clean it, too.
She fought at long-range, so she looks less destroyed than Rumi does, but the age and weariness in her face seem carved in marble during moments like these. Rumi reaches a hand out to tuck a curl behind Kaina’s ear, and earns a fleeting, almost grateful blink in return.
“I’m glad you’re alright, Miruko.”
Rumi barks a laugh. “Hah! I almost got myself killed! Where’s my lecture, old woman?”
“Clearly, my lectures don’t get through to you.” Kaina dries her arms off in a plush towel, lip twitching with what might just be a fond smirk. “Perhaps the beating will teach you better.”
“Tch. You’re no fun.”
“You’re no treat yourself.”
Rumi starts on bandaging the burns littering her arms, and tries not to let her nose twitch too much when slow, cold fingers begin carding through her hair. Kaina’s tall enough for her breath to ghost along the backs of her ears.
“I always tell you to put your hair up in the field,” she grumbles. “Now look at it.”
“Nothing a shower can’t fix,” Rumi chuffs. “I think you just like ordering me around. Get your rocks off to seeing me obey, omega?”
“Heaven forbid you go one second without running your mouth.”
“Mmm, but I’m the spice of your life.”
The world falls quiet for a moment, save for the shuffle of the bandage roll and the scrape of Kaina’s nails as she brushes out Rumi’s hair. Even the commotion in the downstairs changing rooms has died down, now that everyone’s been tended to and succumbed to the gravity of incident reports and post-battle fatigue. The silence allows her to feel it down to the bone when Kaina’s scent sweetens a little, wraps around Rumi not unlike a shove. Exasperated. Affectionate.
“I ought to call your school myself and tell them to kick you out.”
“But you won’t.”
“No,” she murmurs, leaning her temple against the back of Rumi’s head, “I won’t.”
Warm, sturdy hips settle over the swell of Rumi’s ass — her trapped tail gives a little wag, and she catches Kaina’s smirk in the mirror. One hand falls from white locks to skate over her shoulder, her bicep, the exposed planes of torso where her sports bra yields to hard muscle. The other reaches up to scratch behind her ears.
“Arrogant little bunny,” Kaina mutters. “The thrill of conflict gets you hard, hm?”
“Almost dying doesn’t.”
“Please.” Kaina bends her right arm as she traces back up Rumi’s body, letting her rifle click and hiss steam as it pokes out. “You love that I could kill you.”
“Who’s the arrogant one again, omega?”
That wandering hand dips low again, and Rumi’s breath stutters when it traces the waistband of her boxers. Kaina meets her gaze through the mirror, unreadable, before dipping down to kiss the nape of her neck.
A slow trickle of pheromone oil drips from Rumi’s mating gland, cutting through Kaina’s soft scent that always lingers in this bathroom. Her heartbeat picks up again, legs twitching with the urge to run, predator close, going to be eaten.
So, of course, Rumi shivers and whines like a whore when soft fingers close over her half-perked cock — over fabric and the shredded remains of her bodysuit, but electric all the same.
Kaina hums, voice low and gravelly as she starts to massage it, carefully avoiding the slit of Rumi’s boxers so it won’t pop out. Her free hand does something with her hair that Rumi can’t quite discern through her own lowered lashes and the stains on the mirror, but something elastic ends up winding around her wrists, pulling her arms behind her back. When she gives a tug, she finds the restraint hard as steel.
“From your goddamn hair?” she hisses. “I thought you could only make—”
“Tell me, alpha,” Kaina interrupts. “Why are you intent on making my life miserable?”
Her cock’s fully hard, now, and Rumi gasps and whines as Kaina strokes down its length. The friction of soft cloth leaves her wanting, has her tipping her chin back to burrow into the older woman’s shoulder.
“Wanna see you break, omega,” she growls, swallowing back mouthfuls of spit as her fangs drop. “Wanna get you, ngh, fuck, your h-hand…”
“What about it, hm?” Kaina twists her wrist again in that sinful, mind-melting motion, and Rumi’s body shakes as she writhes. “Mouthy alpha finally at a loss for words?”
Rumi swears helplessly, flexing her arms against the hardened restraint, but Kaina’s free arm braces against her torso and she’s picked up off her feet, holy shit, just fucking dangled between that arm and a soft chest as Kaina ghosts their mating glands together. A white flash in the mirror — Kaina’s fangs have dropped, too. Just as small and kitten-like as Rumi had dreamed, but still, her instincts scream run.
She’s so fucking hard it’s embarrassing.
“You can’t cum until you tell me,” Kaina murmurs. “Is all of this just because you need to be put in your place by someone stronger than you?”
Rumi growls and hisses and drools past her lips, and starts scratching at Kaina’s legs with her claws when her cock’s finally pulled out of her boxers and stroked skin-to-skin. Her cockslit’s so fucking red, leaking so ridiculously, deliriously much that it’s dripping down the pale wrist wringing her length like it’s punishment —
“Tell me, bunny.”
“Yes,” Rumi confesses, tears hot on her lashes, “yes, fuck, ngh, need to be — w-wanna be — destroyed by you, ah—”
Kaina sighs like this is the most boring information in the world. “Always this with you alphas,” she mutters, and squeezes.
Rumi comes so blindingly hard she goes limp.
And Kaina purrs.
When she finally scrapes together the mental faculties to open her eyes, they’re both sitting on the cold tile floor, with Rumi cradled on Kaina’s lap like she’s some fucking child. Her knot is lodged in Kaina’s fist, cock-veins throbbing as pulses of come dribble out — onto pale fingers, over dark thighs. Kaina’s scratching behind her ears again. Her scent is so potent that Rumi can read it like she’s reading lips: good bunny.
Something inside her clicks into place.
“Satisfied?” Kaina asks.
“Mmmf,” Rumi groans.
The fingers around her cock start to recede, and it’s so unbearable that —
“No, no, no, no, keep touching, please keep touching—“
“Insolent,” Kaina sighs.
She closes her hand around Rumi’s knot again, and keeps it there until she deflates.
(When Rumi offers to return the favor, Kaina mutters, “don’t worry about it, Usagiyama.” And when Rumi eats her gorgeous, mouthwatering cunt until she grips her ears and screams, she earns an, “oh, god, Rumi, don’t you dare stop.”)
(Nemuri calls her a whore when she recounts it all later, but Rumi considers it a victory.)