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The sound of the door slamming reverberates through Nagi's apartment like a gunshot, jarring her from the half-sleep she'd been drifting in and out of for the past several hours. Her body feels heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion that sleep never seems to cure, and the sudden noise makes her entire nervous system recoil. She doesn't move from where she's sprawled across the unmade bed, tangled in sheets that smell faintly of sweat and the lingering ghost of yesterday's smoke.
"Nagi!" Reo's voice cuts through the apartment, sharp with an edge that immediately puts Nagi on alert. There's something manic in the tone, some barely contained energy looking for an outlet that Nagi knows will be her. "Where the fuck are you?"
Nagi's fingers automatically go to the leather collar around her throat—a simple black band with a small silver ring that Reo had fastened there weeks ago. The weight of it is grounding—a constant reminder that she belongs to someone, that there's at least one person in the world who wants to claim her— as she traces the edge with her fingertip, feeling where the leather has started to soften from constant wear.
"Here," she calls back, though her voice comes out rough and barely audible. She clears her throat and tries again. "I'm here." It's not much louder.
The sound of heels clicking against hardwood grows closer, accompanied by what sounds like Reo muttering furiously under her breath. When she appears in the doorway, Nagi's breath catches despite herself. Reo is still in her business attire—a perfectly tailored black suit that probably costs more than most people's cars and hugs her like sin—but there's something disheveled about her appearance that speaks to whatever storm she's been weathering. Her hair, usually immaculate, has strands escaping from what was probably once a sleek updo. Her lipstick is slightly smudged in a way that makes Nagi's stomach turn, and there's a wild look in her eyes that makes Nagi's pulse quicken.
"Look at you," Reo says, and there's something between disgust and adoration in her voice, eyes gleaming. "Just lying there like you haven't moved in days."
Nagi probably hasn't moved much. Time has a way of becoming fluid when she's having a bad spell, hours bleeding into each other until she's not sure if she's been in bed for one day or three. The thought of getting up, of showering, of doing any of the basic maintenance tasks that normal people manage without thinking...it all feels impossibly overwhelming. And so she doesn't.
"Bad day," she offers by way of explanation.
"Bad day," Reo repeats, her voice climbing toward hysteria. "Bad fucking day. Do you want to know about bad days? I just spent four hours in a conference room full of middle-aged men who think they're being subtle when they stare at my tits. Four hours of listening to them explain concepts I understand better than they do, while they take credit for work I've done. Four hours of smiling and nodding and pretending I don't notice when they 'accidentally' brush against me."
She's pacing now, her heels marking an aggressive rhythm against the floor. Nagi watches her move, noting the way her hands shake slightly, the way her breathing is too quick and shallow. Reo is spiraling, has been spiraling probably since she left for work this morning, and now she's here to crash into Nagi like a wave against rocks.
"And then," Reo continues, "then I come home to find my..." Reo pauses here, swallowing some word. Nagi thinks she might say something nice—girlfriend, lover, partner—but her face has that sour look as she stumbles for a moment that lets Nagi know she'll get no such mercy. "My ... dog hasn't moved from bed, probably hasn't eaten anything, definitely hasn't washed her hair because I can smell you from here."
The criticism stings more than it should. Nagi knows she's a mess—can feel the grease in her hair, the stale taste in her mouth, the way her body feels foreign and uncomfortable in its own skin. She wants to be clean, wants to feel human again, but the gap between wanting and doing feels insurmountable most days. She just can't.
"Sorry," she says, though she's not sure what she's apologizing for exactly. For existing in a way that disappoints Reo? For not being able to maintain herself the way normal people do? For being another source of stress in Reo's already overwhelming life? She doesn't know, but the word bubbles up on her lips anyways.
"Don't," Reo snaps. "Don't you dare apologize. I don't want your fucking apologies, I want—"
She stops abruptly, pressing her palms against her temples. When she looks up again, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I want you to need me," she says quietly. "I want to matter to someone— no, I want to matter to you, Nagi— I want there to be one thing in this world that's mine."
The vulnerability in her voice makes Nagi's chest ache. She understands, in her own limited way, what Reo is asking for. In a world where everything else is controlled by her father, where every aspect of her life is monitored and managed and manipulated, Nagi is the one thing that belongs entirely to her. The one space where she gets to make the rules. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Reo's rules are not much kinder. Something about apples and trees, Nagi muses.
"I do need you," Nagi still says, and means it. Without Reo, she's not sure she would remember to eat or pay rent or do any of the things that keep a person tethered to the world. "You know I need you, Reo."
"Do I?" Reo's voice is getting that sharp edge again, the one that means she's about to say something cruel. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you'd be perfectly happy to rot away in this bed whether I exist or not."
It's not true, but Nagi doesn't know how to explain the difference between needing someone and being able to show it. She needs Reo the way she needs oxygen—constantly, unconsciously, so fundamentally that she doesn't think about it until it's threatened—but translating that need into words or actions that Reo can recognize feels impossible.
"Reo, that's not—"
"Isn't it?" Reo cuts her off sharply. "When was the last time you asked me to stay? When was the last time you told me you missed me? When was the last time you acted like my presence in your life matters at all?"
Nagi opens her mouth to respond, then closes it. The questions feel like traps—because no matter what she says, it will be wrong. She misses Reo constantly when she's gone, but expressing that feels too vulnerable, too much like admitting how completely she's come to depend on someone else for her sense of reality. She wants Reo to stay always (forever and ever and ever until they both rot and their bones melt into each other), but asking for that feels selfish when she knows how much Reo already sacrifices to be here.
"I'm...not good at saying things," she says finally.
"No, you're not," Reo agrees, and there's venom in her voice now. There's always venom in it, these days. "You're not good at saying things, you're not good at taking care of yourself, you're not good at existing like a functional human being. But you know what you are good at?"
She moves closer to the bed, predatory in a way that makes Nagi's pulse spike.
"You're good at being mine."
The possessiveness in her tone should probably be concerning. Any rational person would recognize the unhealthy dynamic they've fallen into, the way they've become so entangled that neither of them knows how to exist independently anymore. But Nagi has never been particularly interested in rationality, and the idea of belonging so completely to someone—no, the thought of belonging so completely to Reo—makes something warm and desperate unfurl in her chest.
"Take your shirt off," Reo says, and it's not a request.
Nagi hesitates. She's aware of how she must look—pale and unwashed, her body soft from too much time in bed and not enough food. She's aware that she hasn't shaved in weeks, that her skin is marked with the fading evidence of their last encounter, that she probably smells like depression and weed and stale sheets.
"I'm disgusting," she says.
"I know," Reo replies, but there's unabashed hunger in her eyes as she looks at Nagi. "I know exactly what you are. Take your shirt off anyway."
The command sends heat pooling low in Nagi's belly. There's something intoxicating about being wanted even in this state, about being desired not despite her never-ending flaws but because of them. She sits up slowly, every movement feeling like it takes tremendous effort, but she sits for Reo, and pulls her oversized t-shirt over her head.
Reo's eyes immediately fix on her chest, and Nagi feels a familiar mix of self-consciousness and arousal. She's always been larger than average, something that used to draw unwanted attention when she still went places where people could stare. Now it's just another thing about a body that doesn't serve her anyways. Besides, it's not like anyone ever sees her but Reo.
"God," Reo breathes, already reaching for her. "Look at you. Look at what's mine."
Her hands are warm against Nagi's skin, possessive in their exploration. She traces the curve of Nagi's breasts with something approaching reverence, thumbs brushing over nipples that harden immediately at the contact. The touch sends electricity through Nagi's nervous system, waking up parts of her that have been dormant for hours.
"I was thinking," Reo says conversationally, as if she's not currently twisting Nagi's sensitive nubs between deft, manicured finger, "about getting these pierced."
The casual tone doesn't match the intensity in her eyes. Nagi's breath catches, partly from arousal and partly from mild alarm.
"Why?" she manages to ask.
"So I can put a chain through them. So everyone knows you belong to me." Reo's thumb circles one nipple, then pinches it hard enough to make Nagi gasp. "So you can't forget who owns you."
"No one sees me but Reo," Nagi points out, though her voice comes out breathy and distracted.
"It's not about other people seeing," Reo says, and there's a touch of breathless frustration in her voice. "It's about you knowing. It's about having permanent proof that you're mine."
She pinches harder, and Nagi arches into the sensation. Pain has always been one of the few things that can cut through the fog in her head, make everything sharp and immediate and real.
"I already know I'm Reo's," Nagi says.
"Do you?" Reo's hands move to frame her face, forcing her to make eye contact. "Because sometimes I think you forget. Sometimes I think you exist in this little bubble where nothing matters and no one can touch you. But I can touch you, can't I? I can make you feel things."
To prove her point, she kisses Nagi hard, possessive and demanding. Nagi opens to her immediately, letting Reo's tongue invade her mouth with a desperation that speaks to hours of pent-up frustration. It's wet and it's messy and Nagi doesn't kiss enough and Reo kisses too much and it feels like she's being drowned but when they break apart, both of them are breathing hard.
"Actually," Reo continues, as if the kiss was just a brief interruption to her train of thought, "I don't trust anyone else to do it. I don't want some stranger looking at your body, touching you, seeing parts of you that belong to me. If that happened...mmm, I'd probably have to kill them."
The possessiveness should be alarming, but instead it makes something dark and warm spread through Nagi's chest. She thinks about Reo's hands on her, marking her, claiming her in ways that can't be undone.
"You'd do it yourself?" she asks.
"I'd do anything for you," Reo says, and there's something almost religious in her fervor. "I'd hurt you if you asked me to. I'd let you hurt me—choke me, stab me, break my limbs, whatever—if you wanted. I'd burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you."
The words are too much, too intense, but they make Nagi's pulse race anyway. She's never been the center of anyone's universe before, never been wanted with such desperate, consuming need. It's intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. It's Reo, and it makes her heart sing.
"I don't want you to burn the world down," she says quietly. "Sounds like a pain..."
"Don't you?" Reo's smile is sharp, predatory. "Sometimes I think you do. Sometimes I think you like knowing you could destroy me if you wanted to."
And much like most else Reo says, she's not wrong about this either. There is something compelling about having that kind of power over someone, especially someone as beautiful and seemingly untouchable as Reo. The idea that she could break Reo completely just by walking away—it's heady in a way that nothing else in her life is.
But she doesn't want to walk away. She wants to stay here in this bubble they've created, where nothing exists except the two of them and the desperate need they have for each other. She wants to stay with Reo, live with Reo, be with Reo, fuck Reo, breathe Reo in until the end of time and then some. Walking away means death, and Nagi, despite it all, selfishly wants to live.
Reo is already working at the buttons of her suit jacket, her movements sharp and impatient. When she shrugs it off, Nagi can see the damp patches under her arms, can smell the faint scent of sweat and expensive perfume and something distinctly Reo that makes her mouth water.
"I've been thinking about you all day," Reo says, her voice getting that breathless quality that means she's already getting worked up. "Sitting in that conference room, listening to those idiots drone on about market projections, and all I could think about was coming home to you. All I could think about was how you'd look when I walked through that door."
Her shirt comes off next, revealing the expensive lingerie underneath. Black lace that probably costs more than Nagi's rent, perfectly fitted to show off her small, perky breasts. She's everything Nagi isn't—polished, put-together, socially acceptable—but there's something wild in her eyes that speaks to the chaos underneath all that perfection. Reo's crazy, that's for sure. Only someone crazy could stick with Nagi.
"Touch me," Reo demands, grabbing Nagi's hand and pressing it against her chest, letting Nagi's fingers curl over her tits. Her heart is racing, her skin flushed with arousal and adrenaline. "Feel how much I want you. Feel what you do to me."
Nagi's fingers trace the edge of the lace, feeling the rapid flutter of Reo's pulse. She's always been amazed by how quickly Reo responds to her, how easily she gets worked up. It's a stark contrast to Nagi's own sluggish arousal, the way her body takes time to warm up to the idea of pleasure.
"You're already wet, aren't you?" Nagi observes.
"I've been wet since I left the office," Reo admits, her cheeks flushing darker. "I've been thinking about your mouth, about your hands, about all the ways I want you to touch me."
She guides Nagi's hand lower, past the waistband of her skirt, and Nagi can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her underwear. Reo is wet, soaked through, and the evidence of her arousal makes something hungry stir in Nagi's chest.
"Show me," Nagi says, surprising herself with the command in her voice.
Reo doesn't hesitate. She pushes her skirt and underwear down in one fluid motion, then spreads her legs to show Nagi exactly how much she wants her. Her fingers part her own folds, revealing the slick pink flesh underneath. Nagi almost salivates at the sight.
"See?" Reo pants, fingers circling her slick entrance. "See how ready I am for you? See how much I need you?"
The sight of Reo touching herself, displaying herself so openly, makes heat pool low in Nagi's belly. She's beautiful like this—desperate and needy and completely unguarded. All the polish and perfection stripped away to reveal the raw want underneath.
"Come here," Nagi says, and Reo obeys immediately, climbing onto the bed to straddle her hips.
The weight of her is grounding, real in a way that cuts through the fog that's been surrounding Nagi for days. She can feel the heat of Reo's arousal against her skin, can smell the sharp scent of her desire mixed with the lingering traces of her expensive perfume. Nagi stares and she stares, drinking in the sight of her.
"I need to taste you," Reo says, her voice breaking slightly. "I need to put my mouth on you. I need to make you feel good."
She doesn't wait for permission, just slides down Nagi's body until she's settled between her legs. Nagi hasn't shaved in weeks, the coarse white hair creating a barrier that Reo has to navigate, but she doesn't seem to mind. If anything, she seems to prefer it this way—natural and unkempt and thoroughly unlike the polished women she is herself.
"You smell like yourself," Reo murmurs, pressing her nose against the inside of Nagi's thigh. "Not like soap or perfume or any of that artificial shit. Just you. Fuck, Nagi, you smell so sexy."
Her tongue follows the path her nose traced, licking a long stripe up the inside of Nagi's thigh. The sensation is electric, shooting straight to Nagi's core even though she's not particularly aroused yet. Her body has always been slow to respond, slower to warm up, but Reo has learned to work around that.
"I love how you taste," Reo continues, her breath hot against Nagi's skin. "I love how you feel under my tongue. I love that you're mine to taste."
When her mouth finally finds its target, lapping at her folds, Nagi's back arches off the bed. Reo's tongue is persistent, patient, working her over with the kind of focused attention that makes Nagi's head spin. She can feel her body starting to respond, blood pooling in all the right places, nerve endings coming alive under Reo's ministrations.
"That's it," Reo murmurs against her. "There's my good girl. Let me make you feel good."
The endearment sends a shiver through Nagi's entire body. She is Reo's girl, in every sense that matters. Reo owns her as completely as another person can own someone, and the thought should be terrifying but instead it's deeply, primitively satisfying.
Reo's tongue finds her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure, and Nagi's hips jerk involuntarily. The sensation is almost too much, her overstimulated nervous system recoiling from pleasure the same way it recoils from everything else.
"Too much," she gasps.
"No," Reo says firmly, not stopping. "Not too much. Just enough. Trust me."
And Nagi does trust her, maybe more than she's ever trusted anyone. Reo knows her body better than Nagi knows it herself, understands how to coax responses from it even when it seems determined to remain disconnected and numb. She lets herself sink into the sensation, lets Reo take control in the way they both need.
"You're getting so wet for me," Reo observes, pulling back slightly to watch her own fingers slide through Nagi's arousal. "Look at you. Look how beautiful you are when you let yourself feel things."
Nagi can't look—the vulnerability of it is too overwhelming—but she can feel the way her body is responding, opening up to Reo's touch like a flower seeking sunlight. When Reo's mouth returns to her, she's ready for it, her hips rolling up to meet the pressure of her tongue.
"That's it," Reo encourages. "Move for me. Show me how good it feels."
The pleasure builds slowly, a gradual warming that spreads through Nagi's entire body. It's not the sharp, immediate gratification that some people experience, but rather a slow burn that consumes her from the inside out. Reo's tongue traces her folds and violates her insides, and by the time she's close to the edge, she's panting and writhing beneath Reo's mouth, completely lost to sensation.
"Please," she whispers shakily, though she's not sure what she's asking for. "Please, Reo— Reo, Reo, Reo—"
"I know," Reo says, her voice rough with her own arousal. "I know what you need."
Her tongue moves faster, more insistently, and Nagi feels herself teetering on the edge of something vast and consuming. When it hits, the orgasm rolls through her like a wave, making her entire body convulse with pleasure. She cries out, her voice raw and desperate, and Reo doesn't stop until she's completely spent and then some.
"Beautiful," Reo murmurs, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thighs that send shockwaves through Nagi's overloaded systems. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me."
Nagi's body feels boneless, wrung out in the best possible way. The fog in her head has cleared, replaced by a crystalline awareness of every sensation, every point of contact between her body and Reo's. This is what she lives for—these moments when everything else falls away and there's nothing but the two of them and the desperate need they have for each other.
But Reo isn't done with her yet. Never is.
"Turn over," she commands, her voice taking on that authoritative edge that makes Nagi's pulse spike. "I want to see your ass while I fuck you."
The crude language sends heat shooting through Nagi's already sensitive body. She obeys without question, rolling onto her stomach and presenting herself to Reo in a way that should feel degrading but instead feels like worship.
"God, look at you," Reo breathes, her hands mapping the curve of Nagi's spine, the swell of her hips. "Look at this perfect ass. Look how ready you are for me."
Reo traces the soft flesh, kneading it with a firm hand that's almost too much. Nagi, despite herself, bucks into the touch. Reo huffs a short laugh before bringing her hand up to smack Nagi's pert ass. Nagi jolts, a loud whine being forced from her, and Reo simply leans down to kiss the now-reddening skin.
"Couldn't help it," she murmurs against the skin. "I hope it bruises..."
Her fingers find Nagi's entrance, still slick from her orgasm, and slide inside easily. The stretch is good, filling in a way that makes Nagi feel complete. She rocks back against Reo's hand, seeking more contact, more pressure, more everything.
"Greedy little pup," Reo observes, but there's affection in her voice. "My precious girl wants more, doesn't she?"
"Yes," Nagi gasps, shaking her hips involuntarily, beyond caring how desperate she sounds. "Please, more."
Reo adds another finger, then another, working her open with practiced ease. The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on too much, but Nagi craves that edge between pleasure and pain. It's the only thing that makes her feel truly present in her own body.
"I love watching you fall apart for me," Reo says, her voice getting that manic edge that means she's spiraling into her own need. "I love knowing that I'm the only one who gets to see you like this. The only one who gets to make you feel this good."
She's moving faster now, her fingers pumping in and out of Nagi with increasing urgency. The wet sounds of their movements fill the air, wet and squelching—and obscene and perfect and completely consuming.
"You're mine," Reo continues, her voice breaking slightly. "Say it. Nagi, tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," Nagi obeys, the words torn from her throat by the intensity of sensation. "Only Reo's."
"That's right," Reo says fiercely. "Only mine. Forever and always, no matter what happens. Promise me."
"I promise," Nagi gasps, and means it completely. She can't imagine belonging to anyone else, can't imagine wanting to belong to anyone else. Reo has claimed every part of her, body and soul, and she's never felt more complete.
When her second orgasm hits, it's even more intense than the first, leaving her shaking and gasping against the sheets. Reo doesn't give her time to recover, just flips her over and settles between her legs, their bodies pressing together in the most intimate way possible. Reo's wet hole rubs against her hot folds and Nagi keens out a moan, body shivering and sensitive.
"My turn," Reo says, and there's something wild in her eyes, something that speaks to the desperation that's been building in her all day. "I need to feel you against me. I need to know you want me too."
She positions herself so their cunts align, her slick heat pressing against Nagi's oversensitive flesh. When she starts to move, both of them moan at the contact. It's raw and desperate and perfect, the kind of connection that transcends the physical and becomes something approaching religious.
"You feel so good," Reo pants, her hips rolling in a rhythm that builds the tension between them with every thrust. "So fucking good against me. Like you were made for this."
Nagi can only hold on, desperate for any purchase, her oversensitive body responding to every point of contact between them. She's already had two orgasms but she can feel another one building, her nerves singing with overstimulation and pleasure. It's only Reo who can do this to her, who can fulfill her so thoroughly, who can break and claim her with such fervour that she feels alive, that she feels human.
"I love you," Reo gasps, her movements becoming more erratic as she chases her own release. "I love you so much it scares me. Fuck, Nagi— I love you so much I don't know who I am without you. I love you so much I'm nothing without you."
The words hit Nagi like physical blows. She's never known what to do with Reo's love, how to reciprocate something so intense and all-consuming. But lying here with Reo moving against her, with their bodies joined in the most fundamental way possible, as Reo gasps and whines against her, she thinks maybe she's starting to understand.
"I love Reo too," she whispers, around a moan and the admission feels like jumping off a cliff. "I don't know how to show it, but I do. I love— haaah— love Reo."
Reo's eyes fill with tears, but she's smiling through them, wide and manic. "Say it again."
"I love you," Nagi repeats, louder this time. "Mm— I love you, Reo. I'm Reo's, always Reo's, forever Reo's— ah—"
The words seem to be what pushes Reo over the edge. She comes with a broken cry, her whole body convulsing against Nagi's. The sight and sound of her falling apart is enough to trigger Nagi's own climax, and they ride it out together, clinging to each other like they're the only solid things in a world gone liquid.
Afterward, they lie tangled together in the sheets, both of them breathing hard and slick with sweat. Reo's head is pillowed on Nagi's chest, her hair spread across pale skin like dark water. She looks younger like this, softer, all the sharp edges worn smooth by satisfaction and exhaustion.
"Better?" Nagi asks quietly.
"Better," Reo agrees, then lifts her head to look at her, brushing a tired finger over Nagi's nipple. "But I'm still thinking about those piercings."
Nagi can see the determination in her eyes, the way the idea has taken root and is already growing into something she won't be able to let go of. Reo gets worked up so easy, and it's always so serious with her...there's no point in fighting it. It should probably concern her, this escalation in Reo's possessiveness, but instead she finds herself curious about what it would feel like. The weight of the metal, the constant reminder of who she belongs to.
"Okay," she says.
"Okay?"
"If Reo wants to do it, do it," Nagi says simply. "I trust Reo."
The smile that spreads across Reo's face is radiant, transforming her from beautiful to breathtaking in an instant. "Really?"
"Really."
Reo kisses her then, soft and sweet and full of promises that neither of them knows how to keep, but, in this moment, wrapped up in each other and the afterglow of their connection, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters to Nagi except the two of them and the desperate, unhealthy, perfect love they've built together.
They're probably destroying each other, Nagi realizes distantly. They're probably making each other worse instead of better, feeding each other's worst impulses and most destructive tendencies. But they're doing it together, and somehow that makes all the difference.
She traces the line of Reo's spine with gentle fingers, feeling the way her breathing has finally slowed to something approaching normal. Tomorrow, Reo will have to go back to her world of bullshit politics and family expectations and pretending to be someone she's not. And Nagi will sink back into her fugue and bedrot herself into an early grave until Reo comes knocking at her door again
Tonight, though, Nagi has Reo. Her hand clumsily fiddles with Reo's bangs, pushing away the little hairs slick and stuck to her forehead with sweat, before wriggling around a bit to better place a chaste kiss to the fevered skin. Reo sighs contentedly in her arms.
This, Nagi knows, is all she will ever need.