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“What I don’t get is,” Mizuki said, her warm breath condensing into a white fog that hung in their air between them.
The other Mizuki, or “Bibi” as the older one had just divulged her old nickname, looked up to meet her eye with a sharp intensity. Her bangs had long since been drenched through with sweat from the mask she no longer bore, and she merely resigned herself to the memory as the question she dreaded fell from her clone’s mouth.
“-why did mommy and daddy only adopt one of us?”
Bibi let her eyes close.
—-
Morning.
That’s when they came.
Sitting in that big office that your eventual adoptive father took all the prospective parents to.
“Okiura,” You hear the name as you hug the wall, “Your name proceeds you, it’s good to make your acquaintance.”
“As does yours, obviously” the woman said, with a polite chuckle that made your stomach curl. You knew why they were here, you’d managed to sneak in to see the application despite every attempt at keeping you away.
“I’m glad you took an interest in Mizuki, admittedly I was a bit worried about her.”
“Oh?” the man said, with this Okiura woman.
“You see she has a sister,” the man said, and your stomach jumped to your throat. You weren’t caught, right?
“Oh well…is this a…it sounds bad but package deal? Because we could theoretically take on two-”
“No,” he responded, “I always intended to separate them.”
“Isn’t that,” the husband hesitated, “rather cruel?”
Yes. Yes it is.
“Normally. But it's a mercy in this instance. You saw her paper, she shows abnormally early signs of…”
“Being an omega, yes. That will be no issue,” The woman said.
“Well, her sister is likewise.”
“Two omegas is hardly uncommon,” the husband shrugged.
“Not an omega.”
The wedded pair exchange looks between them.
“While also inherently not an issue, that often requires…careful consideration of the bond that sisters like that may share. For these two, there is a level of…”
“Closeness?”
“Well yes. But.” That man reclined in his big leather chair pondered his words for a moment.
“There is an amount of possessiveness that has set in the elder.”
“Ah.” it clicking for the pair “we understand.”
“Let’s proceed with finali-”
You didn’t hear the rest. You were already running to find her. No adult was going to tell you that you couldn’t always be with your clone. She was…
—
“Same reason why I hid myself all these years,” Bibi said, her eyes opening but remained cast to the ground.
“What?” Mizuki, “you already said. Tearer and the cloning and…”
“More than that,” Bibi sighed, still refusing to meet her gaze, “You’re an omega.”
“A-and?” Mizuki asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“I’m…an alpha,” Bibi winced, the embarrassment rushing through her. As well as another memory.
—
Your mind was in a haze. You haven’t had a drop of alcohol, you’re too young, but you have some understanding that the world might spin just like this if you had.
You’re hot. Too hot. Burning. You strip off the last sticky layer of clothes that clung to you, and you find yourself naked twisted up in the sheets with a hand trembling between your clenched legs. How many was it, 5..6? Did it even make a dent in that pulsing you can hear through your very core as you can hear the very blood rushing to your ears.
An alpha, the one who seeks, who claims. Yet you feel the one in the grip of whatever sickening desire has overridden your brain. You tried so hard to not let your mind wander. Stick to the old classics. Girls that look nothing like you. It's dangerous when they do.
“Bibi…” your mother knocks softly on the door.
“WHAT?” you bite, before realizing biting is something you ought to never do.
“I called your school and let them know you’re…sick.”
There’s concern in her voice. Deep concern.
“You took your suppre-”
“TWICE,” your words are sharp. You don’t want them to be sharp. But you are violence incarnate right now. An animal better caged. Or put down.
“O-oh…ok,” she says, “I’ll set water and food…”
Her footsteps blessedly pitter down the hall, and your hand finds purchase in your swollen and aching body once again. Your body is raw, and it hurts to push your body to these limits. And in that brief moment you lose composure.
You think of her.
The one your mind has claimed, even if your body hasn’t…never…can’t…claim.
You shutter intensely and the 6th or the 7th or the 8th or the doesn’t even matter washes over you as you try to thrash inside your mind begging those wonderful and horrible images to be cast out of your mind once and for all. You’re the worst, a freak that has long past her expiration and drags along with it a monster chained to your heart that can’t be satisfied.
You cry. You cry as you twitch from the pleasure. You pray to gods you know don’t exist to smite you. Then you pray to devils you’re sure do to take back their wickedness.
No answer comes, except for your hand trailing back down your stomach as that guilt and arousal rise once again.
You really are awful, aren’t you?
—-
“Ok?” she tilts her head innocently. Bibi sighs internally, knowing this girl could never jump to the kinds of conclusions everyone else in the world would.
“I…your right, it’s nothing,” she tries to play it off poorly, expecting resistance from the girl that never came. One part disappointment, the other elation.
“Follow me, I want to show you something.”
—-
It’s sweet. Like a rose, but drenched in honey and doused in what could only be described as the smell of sex. You’ve smelled it before, as your room got humid with your attempts of self soothing that lasted for days, proving just how potent your horrid instincts are. A room trashed with forgotten chores and sheets drenched over and over.
That smell washed over you and you felt how it immediately kicked your body into the highest gear you have. That wasn’t good for an engine as fragile as yours, your weak heart can’t take a beast like yours thrashing inside it.
Merely being in the same room.
“Y-you!” she said, wide eyed.
You had to take a second to remember your appearance, and the last time you saw her. Holding that gun, at that distance it couldn’t impact you like it did right now.
“Need a hand?” you manage to get out, glad the voice changer hides the panting quality of your voice. You were…glad to work through some of the heat building in your with violence. Your mind hardly registers it as such though. This is work. It’s a workout. Exercise. Violence is something that you do alone in your room thinking thoughts you ought to have buried over a long time ago.
You never were able to.
After a brief conversation about the investigation. You say everything you need to. You worry she’s on a path to finding out your true self but maybe you can stop it still.
You don’t know. Your mind is already swimming. You leave before the worst of it but you get halfway to your hidden bike and it hits you like a torrent. It’s been so long.
A smell like that doesn’t ever leave your body. She’s probably a week or more out from a heat. If she was closer you may not have lasted as long as you did. But it still hits you. Hard.
You’re so sensitive. The mere pressure from your body suit has you stumbling. Shuttering, bracing yourself against the trees. A wounded animal, being eaten alive. Except you’re a predator so you get eaten from the inside out instead. It claws its way up your throat and grips you there, as you are barely able to throw your cloak off and throw it down on the ground.
Discarded, your pride and your last bit of dignity.
Everything still smells like her. Why does it still smell like her? It’s been years. Years since you’ve smelled her and it’s exactly as you remember it. She’s stuck in your mind and in your sinuses. A parasite in your mind as you are a slave to the sin that is unzipping your body suit and shoving gloved fingers inside your wanting self.
You try.
Not very hard, but you try.
And yet it’s just her.
Mizuki in your mind and in your hoarse voice that chokes out a sobbing moan as you easily rip the first of many brief moments of relief from your body which now crumbles to the leaf covered floor of the pitch black park.
You’re debased, a mewling animal that can’t put a single thought together that isn’t formed with some combination of “mount” “my” “sister” in that particular order. Violence, that feeling again and your distorted sob breaks through your mask as you shake from the third orgasm. Third? When was the second. It doesn’t matter. You are broken and at the lowest of lows fucking yourself silly the first moment you can.
In nature, amongst the other animals you start to understand that the lion is sinful not for the act of killing but for the very act of living. Your hand cramps up as you shutter once more, but you don’t care. It’s a need, not a want, and what is slight discomfort in the face of life or death. You feel sweat drip down where your bodysuit is unzipped, your exposed chest cooling in the night air. It feels like your body should’ve evaporated that liquid away from the heat that spills out from your body that twists barely propped up against the base of a tree.
One more and your body twitches as you remove your hand from yourself, your glove stained in a way that makes your burning shame go from yellow to white. Fire like that shouldn’t exist in a person without burning up something beyond repair.
Maybe it already had, a long time ago.
You manage to stand on weak legs, a newborn, a lame horse. A wolf looking up from a corpse.
Mounting your bike makes your horrid mind race again and you hump fruitlessly on the seat for one more. Two more. For good measure. Maybe you’ll be level headed to drive soon but even removing your mask and gulping in the cool air of the night doesn’t help. The seat is wet, and your bodysuit is practically dripping and you collapse onto the handlebars and try to cool yourself down. To no avail.
You know what your body needs and it's the one thing you can’t use to satisfy that urge.
—
“We’ve talked a lot over this last week. We stayed up in bed talking for hours.” Bibi said, but she could tell Mizuki had more on her mind.
They really had been inseparable for the past week. And she’d maxed out the daily limit of suppressants probably about three times over. But she’d been able to survive.
Barely.
Yet Mizuki kept looking at her, and knitting her brow. There was concern there.
Bibi just couldn’t figure out what it was. She recognized that expression though.
—
You’d never been on this side of the interrogation table.
It was.
Well.
Despite the awful circumstances, your body wasn’t allowing you to think anything besides it was deeply arousing. It was wrong to be sitting here, getting grilled by your clone and all your mind can do is race with thoughts of all the ways that handcuffs, a webcamera, a two way mirror, a metal table, and a chair could be combined to accomplish what your body so desperately desired.
But you had managed your heat better this time. It’s potent but with it having happened so recently it was tampered with the suppressants still in your system.
But that smell was flooding the room, and your body was engineered to synthesize that smell into sin. So your hands gripped the edge of your cold metal seat and you were so thankful that the chill seeped into your body even through the layers you had on. For any other perp it was a curse to have the room so uncomfortable and cold. For you, and you are a perp that deserves many the same fate and worse, you found it a blessing.
“Why aren’t you answering?” she asked. Oh gods, your mind barely remembers the question. Barely. But you do.
“Because I don’t want to” You reply in a snide remark, praying she doesn’t notice how you fidget in your seat.
This goes on for a while. You are fighting a losing battle until your mind is addled as long as you are in the same room as her. You need to be outside where it’s less potent.
She stands up, knit brow, intense expression. She’s figured something out, and you may very well have your wish answered.
Your body aches at the lack of release. And you swallow it as best as you can.
Not now.
For that matter, not ever.
—
“Hey Boss.”
“Mizuki, it’s late. What’s up?”
“Bibi wasn’t picking up her phone.”
“I’m still at the office, I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Probably, but she always answers.”
“Really? That’s news to me.”
“Boss, I’m worried.”
“Fine, fine. The house code is-
—
You’re alone for a few hours and your body decides its time to catch up on the last week of suppressed desire.
It’s a payback you knew was coming. Suppressants always made it worse on the other side, and you’d been writing so many checks you’d never be able to cash. This time might break you, but it was worth it to feel normal around her for a mere week.
You could die happy.
You very well may.
You feel so very weak, the pillow between your thighs doing horridly little around the eighteenth mark. Your hand had given out around the eleventh, and your vibrator died about five after that. You never remembered to charge it and you were not exactly in a “hunt down batteries” type state.
Energy was a sparse resource with how dehydrated you were, your bed soaked up much of what moisture you contained. Your lips were dry from how heavy you panted and blood dried where you had bit your lips hard enough to crack it. A fan and an open window weren’t enough airflow to banish the sticky atmosphere that perverted your room, but you can’t imagine a fan powerful enough to absolve you of your hot, damp sin that you wallowed in.
You’d given up trying.
You knew you were alone, maybe horridly so but at least you could moan her name softly into the blanket you white knuckled for some amount of comfort.
It hurt. You were surprised how long it took to get to that point of rawness to set in. You must’ve been positively drenched with slick. Yet as always it was never enough. No amount of wet could overcome the blessed friction that your body ached for. The pressure you desired.
You imagine what it would feel like to actually enter her. For you to actually enact that violence you so craved and so despised. The biology of it didn’t matter, you knew your body would conform to what was required but that thought of feeling her body pulse on yours, to tighten around you and push against whatever violation you craved.
It brought you to a sobbing nineteen.
You couldn’t stand it. You knew it would get worse and you’d get less and less able to achieve any reprieve. You shuttered, and sobbed. How long has it been since you crossed that line of fantasizing about her? Your guilt washes over you and you twitch in a way indistinguishable from the twentieth that you rip from a body that can’t decide if you need so much more or should’ve stopped a long while ago.
You pant and wince, and your body ran out of tears and you feel like throwing up if you had anything in your stomach.
Dry heaving is a way to get your mind off your sore cunt and you crawl to the bathroom, dragging your sheet behind you as your arms and legs wobble in your odyssey.
You prop yourself up on the edge of the toilet and predictably nothing comes out as your throat tries and fails to produce anything but air. It feels like choking and your rotten brain gets a sick satisfaction from it. If you were about ten fewer in you might’ve been able to get off to that thought.
All you manage is to curl up on the linoleum and feel the heat from your body sink into the floor. Your hair sticks to you as you manage to raise an arm to turn on the small faucet. The bucket underneath it collecting the slow stream of cold water you use to run through your hair and take a sip from.
You feel sick.
You know you’re sick.
You can’t take this.
“Hello”
The front door closes with a heavy thud. Your mom has seen you in more sorry states than this, but some amount of dignity you are sure you don’t have makes you prop yourself up against the tub, the sheet trailing in from the other room pulled up onto your body.
“...Bibi?” A voice came down the hall.
That’s not…
Oh gods, are you hallucinating?
Did you actually run up a fever in the midst of your heat?
You croak out a hoarse “No…”
The sound probably didn’t even leave the bathroom but a moment later you hear the door that’s just out of sight creak open.
And of all the punishment in the world you deserve, you never could’ve dreaded smelling that scent in this state. Even a body at the end of its tolerance still can’t help but respond to instinct.
“Bibi?”
“Go…away…” you whisper, pleading.
“Bibi, are you okay?” the form stepping into the light was a shape that you were all too familiar with. Your unfocused eyes only able to make out her shadow but it was enough to make your heart sink. She really was here.
“Please…please leave…”
“Bibi!” Mizuki cried, falling to her knees beside you, cupping your face with her hand. The other on your forehead. “You’re burning up…”
“No…fever I…” You panted, your body sinking into the small contact, despite how it made your body ignite once again “It’s…you have to…leave.”
“I can’t…leave you like this,” she said.
“Mizuki,” You said, trying to make your voice a plea but you knew there was only one type of sound you could make when being touched by that thing that made you like this. Deep in your heart, you knew it came out as a pant. As a different kind of plea. You hated herself for that. But you hoped she could understand. “Please. Go.”
You can’t bite with your words, because if you start biting you won’t stop. You know what kind of monster you are.
“I’m taking you back to bed,” She said, scooping up your limp body. You have no strength to resist, but enough mental capacity to feel the shame that may have been white hot before but was super nova now. All the stars in the universe merely eyes that cast their judgement from the heavens as you shuttered in the supernaturally strong grasp of your sister. Your clone. And something your body craved her to be but she never could.
“Please, you have to…” you say as she hikes you up further into her grasp. Your head buried in the crook of her neck and your mind starts to waver. What was so wrong with claiming her? Her shoulder is right there, and your teeth are so…wanting.
Your vision unblurs a little as she jostles you, pushing open your door and the brief awareness allows you to resist the stupor her scent puts you under. Of course it would be wrong. How would she ever forgive you.
“Where are your suppressants?” Mizuki said, petting your hair as you curled up on the bed. You felt small, vulnerable. Horribly so. Weakness is the most sure fire way to die. But dying right now might be the best thing you could do.
When you don’t answer, she finds the bottle on the floor. It’s a twinge of shame that you must expose yourself too.
“They…won’t help…” You pant, twisting in the sheets you’ve barely been able to keep some modesty with, “I..took them…already. Too many…”
“Bibi…” she said, reading. She’s a smart girl. She can put it together. You always loved her intelligence. Always drawn to her…her…she’s so brilliant. So…perfect.
You need her.
You can’t unmuddle your thoughts as you look at her furrowing her brow looking between you and the insanely high prescription that’s barely making a dent in your rut. She knows. Full display at how pathetic of a creature you are. Unable to control herself. Monster out of the bag.
You’ve dampened the sheets between your legs, and you struggle to resist the horrid urge to grind right then and there. Looking at her isn’t crossing that ultimate line, even if it would be a low you never imagined you’d sink to.
“You poor thing,” she said, turning back to you finally and approaching. It knocks you from the dream-like state you were in back to the horrible reality that she is here. In your room. Oh gods your room, it must be in an awful state. She needs to leave right now. She won’t forget but she may at least be kind about cutting you out of her life and not bringing it up ever again. You know that she’ll be graceful about how disgusted she is. Wait…no she hates perverts. Why would you ever think she’d let you off easy?!
You are a monster and monsters deserve pitchforks. Maybe you're worse than a monster. At least a werewolf has the dignity not to get off on the idea of being chastised by their prey.
Twenty one…you bite the sheet and pray she didn’t notice what happened as she finally sits down a few inches from your twitching form.
“Bibi…,” she said, putting an arm up. You flinch. You shouldn’t flinch, you deserve the slap. Why not at least welcome it. Wait not, you’re not allowed to want it. Just don’t make sure she doesn't seem like the bad person for doing what she should’ve done already.
“Hey…” she coos as the hand, puzzlingly, rests on your arm. “You’re like this because of me, aren’t you?”
“M-mo!” you manage, the sheet still in your mouth muffling what might’ve been a yell.
“I’m so sorry…” She said and your mind sputters out in its haze. Sorry? Why is she sorry? You’re the one who’s sorry. “I should’ve noticed sooner..”
“I…” you spit out the sheets, “I…”
“Shh,” she pets your damp face and your body can’t help but cling to her arm. When your hands got there you don’t know and you try to let go but you can’t. You don’t deserve to touch her. But she’s so…soft…
You pull her arm closer and rub your face on it, your lips ajar as you pant against her skin that you can taste on every inhale.
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…sorry…sorry” you can only manage as your mouth opens softly, the world spinning but your grasp on reality only tenable enough to avoid bringing your teeth down on that oh so delicious looking ridge on the outer edge of her palm.
“Bibi…I want to help you,” she whispers, her eyes boring into the darkest recesses of your want. And somehow, doesn’t look away. Void staring back and all.
“No…” you can only manage, but the pull of your arms grasping at the exposed skin you’ve been blessed with only tightens.
Oh gods, you didn’t even notice how close you were. You’re stupidly licking at her skin, and your thighs grinding against each other…
You need her to leave. You need her to stay. You need her to put you out of your misery. You need her to block you and never talk to you again. You need her to chain you to the radiator and leave you to starve. You need her to kiss you. You need her to choke you. You need her to beat you mercilessly. You need her to submit to your every whim. You need her to never have existed. You need her to be the only thing that there ever was. You need her to be the last thing you ever see. You need to be tossed aside and forgotten. You need her…
You need her…
You need…
You need..
You need.
Her arm is pulled out of your vice like grip and you can’t help but bury your face into the sheets to try and soak up the smell that she left.
She’s probably on her way out the door now…there is no helping you. She can see that.
Your breathing is ragged and the hot air of our exhale makes your already overheating body that much more unbearable but you can’t do much more…
Twenty two is a number you were certain even your sober mind couldn’t count to. It felt like infinity. It felt like a number that shouldn’t be possible for it to exist. How many prefectures are there in Japan? Certainly less than that, for a country couldn’t tolerate that high of a number.
You needed more. But how to achieve more when you’ve already reached as high as numbers can go. Your mind spun.
And your body felt a push.
You’re too weak to resist anything. Your useless body slumps onto your back, and your vision blurs as something gets on top of you.
“I want to help you…”
You can barely make out the shape that is your sister. But sleek. There’s no longer the sharp line the collar on her neck, or the folds of her shirt on her arms, or the flare of her skirt.
She’s different. Too smooth. Too angular. It’s so foreign. This isn’t what she looks like. No she normally isn’t so…bare.
Oh gods.
She’s naked.
It took you this long to realize? Your mind is far, far gone. But your body has long taken over, rocking your hips as she hovers above you.
“Let me…please…”
Is…is she asking for something?
What could she…she wants…
Your head is swimming. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever she wants she can have. You nod your head.
And she puts her hand between your legs.
Oh.
She can have anything but that.
“N-no…”
“Bibi…please” her face gets closer to yours and you see it. Her face, it’s flush.
“It’s just…scent. You…please…no…” you choke out.
“I want this.” She said, and you can feel your body respond.
Her sweet scent is different. There’s a bite to it. You knew it was going to end like this. Even as you fought against it. She didn’t leave. She didn’t listen.
“I want you,” you say, with no better judgement left in you.
“I want you too.”
She lowers herself onto you and you feel like you might pass out.
“Holy…fuck,” she moans, and you can feel every microadjustment of yourself entering her. Every pulse from her inside, every bit of pressure, every bit of heat, every bit of slick you can feel it all. It’s gratifying, and nauseating, and overwhelming to your senses.
That odyssey lasts somewhere between a few seconds and an eternity, and you find yourself on the tail end of it having remembered every single feather light shift in her body on your heat. You’re finally fully inside her and there is a satisfying finality to her finally hilting all of you in her…
And all at once she collapses on your damp body, and presses her lips against yours.
Despite quite literally being inside her like the craven beast you are, the kiss is somehow more intense. Hot breath, and lips battling for dominance. Your weak body, and chapped lips completely forgotten as you find renewed strength if only to pull at her body and bring her closer to yours.
She nips at your lip and your already scabbed lips bleed shockingly easily. Not a second later and she licks that small pooling of red onto her tongue, letting it rest there for your unflinching gaze to stare at before she swallows. Her gaze was intense, as she knew what she was doing. She was goading you, and it was working.
You sit up on your elbow just enough to slip a hand to the back of her head and you pull her back down on top of you. Your lips collide once again and you waste no time in kissing, licking, and biting at her lips. Her own starting to trail your chin and in turn yours wandering down hers and to her neck.
Danger.
Your mind emerges from the tidal wave of hot need for a brief moment.
“If I don’t stop…” you practically growl at her. Your weary bones pushing past their limits and you can feel your heart racing. You have so much to worry about, and yet only one thing that matters.
“Don’t stop…” she pants, “whatever you do, don’t stop…”
“I can’t mark you. You’re…”
“Yes you can,” she claws at your chest, “please.”
“I can’t. I can’t…” You said, yet your kisses trail down her neck anyways.
Ever closer.
“I can’t” you plead. With her or with yourself you aren’t sure.
“Yes, please.” Her breathing hitches each time your lips make contact with her body.
“It’s wrong.” You pant. Hot. Heavy. Guilty. And needy.
“I don’t c-caree–” her voice wavers on the e as your lips part with a foreboding languidity.
“It’s…”
“Bibi. Please mark me,” her fingers gripping you hard enough it feels she may rip the muscles right out your arms, “please, please, ple-please…”
“I…”
Inching isn’t accurate to describe how slow your mouth is moving. You can’t pull away. Your mind thundering with disapproval but your body has taken over.
“I’m sorry…” you eek out before your jaw clamps down onto the divot of Mizuki’s shoulder. Immediately you have a concern that you broke skin, as your instincts kick into high gear. A jugular would have less to drink in, despite there being nothing but your own saliva mixing with the intense scent of your sister. Your clone. Your mate.
Oh gods you did it didn’t you.
You marked her.
Some piece of your mind crumbles in shame in the back of your head, but the rest of you is too wrapped up in the act of doing it barely registers the act of thinking.
Your teeth sink into that soft skin, your and her hips rocking together. You could die right now. You probably should but you’re too happy. Too satisfied. You counted to infinity and counted one more. It feels like you are coming apart at the very fabric of your being, unweaving and your limbs detaching and your vision going and every single system shutting down.
You come to a screeching halt.
Holding her there in your arms, her sitting in your lap, you both stop moving.
Your jaw still clamped on her shoulder and yourself still buried inside her, you remember to breathe if nothing else.
You remain there. Breathing deeply and you feel…a chill. For the first time in a long time you’re aware of the cool air passing over your skin from the fan. And it feels…good. Refreshing. It clears your head in a way that makes everything rush back to you but…with a level head. You feel invigorated not…swept away with all the emotions that crash into you.
—
“Bi…bi…” a soft, whine sounds from the girl slumped against Bibi’s teeth, and she finally starts the heart-rending task of detaching her teeth from the other girl’s shoulder.
“A-ah……AH” grunts in pain sound delicious but Bibi tries not to let her mind run away from her again.
“I…I really…” She stammers, meeting Mizuki’s eyes.
They are warm, and soft, and a smile parts her lips. And small tears form in her eyes.
“Oh..” she crashes into her with a hug, “thank you…”
“Y-you really wanted me to…it wasn’t just…” Bibi’s hands hover over Mizuki’s body as they fall back together, a fear bubbling up in her of returning the hug until she knows.
“Yes.” Mizuki said, kissing her. “I really really wanted that. More than anything.”
“I…”
But her mind was clear. And it was easier to feel what’s true without her mind so muddled…
“Me too…thank you…Mizuki”