That Doyoung Fic I Just Posted Was Written Three Years Ago And Honestly, If You Liked My Stuff From Then,

- on childhood loneliness

@aphexxtween on tiktok/ @mazzystarjpg/ mastermind- taylor swift/ the virgin suicides/ @heavensickness/ if you’re anything like me- taylor swift/ pen15/ @mango-season

can u mayhaps do a yedam as your bf post

yes i may!! also sorry for the long wait but thank you for requesting <3

feel like I got really carried away with this considering how long I made it, and I still had so much more to add 😭😭😭anyways enjoy!!!

Yedam As Your Boyfriend

he’s vvv shy at first

before dating you were literally an angel to him

he still thinks of you as an angel when you two start dating

only difference is that his gf/bf is an angel!!

he really adores you 🥺

he’s so shy at first that he actually struggles to keep eye contact with you

he just thinks you’re too perfect

ugh listen he just really adores you

once you two get comfortable with each other:

he won’t stop talking

but in a good way!!

he tells you about his day without missing any detail

and he expects the same from you!!

full of laughs

really listening to you sing

even if your not good at it

makes you two duet at karoake

would make the both of you memorise song lyrics so you two can make a cover of it

and he’ll listen to those covers whenever he misses you 🥺🥺🥺🥺

he absolutely loves it when you two rap

mino x bobby songs are his favourite to rap with you

he always records the two of you whether you’re rapping/singing just for fun or not

and when you ask him why he tells you they’re memories <333

takes pictures of you when you’re not looking

has a whole album dedicated to you

his whole drive is literally filled with songs and pictures and videos of you smh

loves putting those cute filters on when taking selfies together

COUPLE ITEMS

ok so with Yedam it wouldn’t be full on

but like it would be discrete but not too driscrete you get me ????

like matching phone cases, jewellery, hats and shoes!

he’ll definitely buy you 827;837472929 of them

ESPECIALLY when he goes on tour

y’all would have matching key chains uwu

your dates would consist of you two in isolated areas

where there’s not many people around

so no restaurants or theme parks

but lots of picnics and walking on the beach uwu

sorry but....

STUDY DATES

ok he’s literally Einstein as a kpop idol 😭

y’all are gnna study together

so if you’re failing in any subjects

don’t worry!!! Yedam will help you!!!

even if you don’t ask him too

the second he finds out your falling behind in any classes he will do his best to help you

mans is literally ranked no.1 in his own school

he

will

help

you

you’ll get those good grades ok!!

so you know how he has those plush key chains on his bag ????

would be a switch when cuddling

would be the big spoon and the little spoon

doesn’t really mind he just wants whatever makes you happy

but i kinda feel like he leans a little towards the big spoon side ????

is it just me ???

but like on days where he’s upset he has to be the little spoon

he just likes the feeling of you having your arms wrapped around him when he’s upset

brings him comfort and lets him be reassured that he has someone

I feel like he’s somewhat obsessed with your hair

he looked at it once while he was the big spoon and was like ‘you got really soft hair’

loves running his through it

he probably wants to style your hair too

but he’s too shy to ask :(

so when he stares at your hair vvv intensely

don’t say anything

just hand him the brush ok.

Yedam gets at 10/10 for being a good boyfriend !!

can somebody plz request a part 2

Settle

A commission for my lovely 🐦anon 💕thank you for indulging me with this one!

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW non-con, nsfw, daddy kink, breeding kink, smut, drugged reader

Part 2: Sea Change

It’s a little after seven thirty when you hear the telltale click of the front door announcing your employer’s return. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Oikawa calls, slipping his shoes off and dropping his bag by the door. A hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you turn, bouncing the baby on your hip as he leans over to press a kiss against Hatori’s head. “How’s my boy?”

You smile, “He’s been good today. I was just about to put him down for the night. Unless… you want to?” 

Despite his earlier apology, he’s actually home earlier than he usually is. Most days you have Hatori fed, bathed, tucked in and fast asleep in his crib long before Oikawa walks through the door. It’s part of your job, and you’re more than happy to do it but you’re mindful that with the demands of his career as a professional athlete he doesn’t get to spend an awful lot of time with his son. 

Really, outside of Mondays - his one ‘official’ day off - he’s barely home. It’s not as bad in the off season, or so he’s told you, but you don’t want to intrude on the little time he does get with Hatori. 

But Oikawa just shakes his head with a soft laugh, “No, he always cries when I do it, I think the little traitor likes you more than me.”

Keep reading

Bad Decisions

was meant to be a drabble inspired by the opening of It Follows and it turned into something a lot longer than I expected sorry if it’s trash

Warnings: kidnapping, noncon, dubcon, death

The waves of the ocean lazily lapped at the sandy shore, the water hitting you every time the tide came in. The stereotypical image of a beach that had crossed your mind when you’d thought of this destination, one of a deep blue sea on golden sands, was nowhere to be found. Instead, the waves were black, reflecting the dark, empty sky above. The only light source in your vicinity was that of the car parked behind you, keys left in the ignition so you could keep the headlights on. You sat in the middle of that spotlight, hugging your knees to your chest as the water continued to hit you, soaking your feet and the seat of your shorts, leaving the fabric feeling cold and heavy on your body.

It was as though the waves were trying to pull you in, to take you into the abyss that sat before you, where you could disappear into its depths and never be found again.

The waves came rushing up, hitting you once more and then pulling away, tempting you with the same offer as they had been since you arrived.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, “he’d still find me.”

Keep reading

I need to get back to this

please give us more of the blogs you like<3

Blog Recs

Alright then, since you asked so nicely, I'll put in the effort and just go through my entire following!

Keep in mind that some of these blogs may be inactive, but their old works are definitely worth taking a look at!

Not all of them are yandere, but they are satisfying nonetheless, so check them out!

Also, most of these blogs, and blogs in general, write for fanbases with specific characters. I follow mostly people who write either BNHA, JJK, or Haikyu!! So, if you like that, you'll probably like most of these.

Other than that, sorry, I won't be writing anything specific for each blog. I suggest just checking them out one by one. I'll make an exception to my delete later rule and leave this post up for good, so take your time, people!

My mutes in the order I started following them:

@mrsdarkandyandere7 @gojosprettyprincess @yandere-romanticaa @deathofacupid @elsecrytt @delulustateofmind @madamechrissy @jay-joy113 @depravitycentral @yanderedrabbles @dcsiremc @lymtw @yanderecrazysie @kachowden @moyazaika @suiana @misstycloud @kakushino @envy-of-the-apple @temptacioun @ozzgin @justabratsworld @eevwrites @moechies @youryanderedaddy @moshimochis @aquadenks @ghostsy @cheesecakethots @cursingtoji @mostlyheinous @the-grimm-writer @dilfhos @wilderuby @shaisuki @lewed @dabislittlemouse @ectologia @mamayan @call-memissbrightside @saintshigaraki @dj--owlixx @athanatoz @yanstan @emperorwriter @its-makonom @unicreamuwu @starcrossedyanderes @sems-diarie @iwasei @ssplague @seiyasabi @potatoes-is-are-food @hotwings0203 @after-witch @tomurasprincess @shinkun @tainted-wine @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @shorkbrian

Others in the order I started following them:

@casuallyanidiot @gojosoups @what-the-dark-has-foretold @fangdokja @manmuncher777 @frid4y @yeyinde @running-with-kn1ves @ridingthatd @bratbby333 @lamefish @lxnarphase @chososcamgirl @spacelabrathor @angelltheninth @romantichomicide95 @prettyboykatsuki @ceilidho @quarterlifekitty @lady-lauren @zeninsama @specialgradefckr @monstersholygrail @monstersflashlight @depravityfever @arias-diaryy @uvobreakmylegs @shumidehiro @dear-yandere @stickyspeckledlight @the-saltiest-saltine @teabutmakeitazure @sqoa @mellowwillowy @bunnis-monsters @cumtastiics @onmyyan @whore-ibly-hot @allurilove @jessamine-rose @webism @heich0e @lesinquietes @jaegerbby @killsaki for old fics and @kis4kis for new @ghostbeam @bunnirabbits @meo-eiru @yandere-sins @yandere-writer-momo @amusedyan @wri0thesley @kiiozawa @strafepanzer @suguann @alottieluv @suguwu @streimiv @hawnks @katsukikitten @miggiisdumb @iwaasfairy @of-a-darkness-untold @doumadono @jazzthatonewriterchick @kingkatsuki @crybaby-bkg @crikeygatormate @willowser @thecowboykatsuki-anon @cyancherub @oh-katsuki for old fics and @woahjo for new @touyaz @libiraki @angelatsumu @animeyanderelover @yanderemommabean @weebsinstash @inkykeiji @morgana-ren @humanitysfandomhoe @pbelfz @korpuskat @minnie-mei @love-toxin @obscureamor @villain-hotline @ddarker-dreams @your-yandere-kiss @seijorhi @yandere-daydreams

@yanderenightmare-reblogs

Guessing Game

For Valentine I paired up with @uvobreakmylegs to post an Illumi fic :D This is a long ass fic (which was also the working title of this one) and I'm surprised Tumblr lets me post this in one go. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: A/B/O-setting in college, Yandere! Illumi x Reader, alpha! Illumi, beta! Reader, violence, classism, weird misogyny, non-con, blood, somnophilia, masturbation, 26k words

You sat on your bed with your back against the wall, typing away on your laptop. The small space you’d claimed on your bed was cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and random bits of your life, all fighting for attention. You were supposed to be focusing on the upcoming group project, texting your classmate, but in a form of semi-productive procrastination, you’d decided to do some readings first, summarizing them in a separate document, trying to forget the bit of anxiety the assignment was already causing you.

The current readings were on the ‘dichotomy of social status in a post-transformative hegemony’ and to be fair you hadn’t really absorbed a single word in more than thirty minutes. 

With a sigh you put away your laptop. You’d read the abstract before class tomorrow. 

Closing your eyes you pushed away some stuff, slid down the wall until your shoulder reached the mattress and curled in on your side, snuggling into the bed for a bit.

…

You turned to your other side, facing the wall. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, counting to five and holding for seven seconds like you’d once seen someone explain in a yoga video. 

…

With a frustrated exhale you sat back up. You were too stressed to take a nap, and the only thing that would probably work in calming your overactive mind down, would be to actually do a little work or procrastinate with something fun. The dorm had been mostly vacated when you’d made dinner in the dingy dorm kitchen (ramen with an egg to be fancy) so you probably couldn’t even bother anyone to distract you.

A little work it was.

But that left the group project, since you weren’t gonna read a single word more written by Prof. Reima et al. They’d had their shot. 

So all you had to do was grab your phone and send a text to the name that’d been next to yours on the match-up sheet that was posted online earlier today. Just… a little….text.

With an embarrassing fuck yes you were happy no one was around to hear you found out you didn’t have his number and he wasn’t in the class group chat.

Though your happiness was short-lived, since now you were just stressed, with no idea what to do to fix it.

You just really didn’t want to talk to the stranger you’d been assigned. 

You didn’t consider yourself awfully difficult to work with, and part of the exercise was of course to work with different people- with different personalities, and still make a good end-product. Nevertheless, you’d secretly hoped to be matched up with Mariah or Bianca, your dorm ‘neighbors’, knowing you could count on them not to procrastinate till the last minute or hand in shit work. 

Not that you expected this person to be bad, per se, it was just…

You didn’t know him. 

You’d seen him in class, right in the front. He had very long, beautiful black hair that made him stand out from the collection of bed-heads and hoodies up front. The seats next to his were always empty, and when you’d asked around as to why that was, people had confided in you it was because his scent was often strong enough to even unnerve the most confident alpha in class.

Not a problem for beta’s like you, but you tended to follow by example.

The only two words you’d shared with him was a while back when you’d dropped something and instead of picking it up, he’d merely informed you that you’d dropped your keys, even though he was standing next to them. You’d walked back, bent down to grab them and gave him an earnest ‘thank you’, since even if he was a bit weird or rude, at least you didn’t have to call a locksmith or commute back to the classroom to find them. 

He had an awfully intense look about him, like a man who couldn’t be paid to smile, and despite being tall, handsome and meticulously groomed, there was something off about him that would dissuade even the bravest from approaching him (all except that red-head alpha from a year up that you’d seen walk with him a few times). 

But then there was that little ‘A’ at the end of his name on the sheet—a single letter that carried more weight than it had any right to, making you clench your jaw in frustration before you’d even spoken a word to him. He was an alpha. And as a beta in college, you knew exactly what that usually meant.

Betas were rare enough that it was easy to feel out of place most of the time, caught in the social dynamics of a world that didn’t quite know what to do with you. Lacking the keen sense of scent that alphas and omegas relied on so heavily, you couldn’t pick up on intent or emotion in the same way. That made you clumsier, not out of carelessness but simply because you missed social cues others considered obvious. 

It wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating when alphas in particular interpreted your missteps as a lack of social intelligence.

The worst part was the fact that you did have a scent. Everyone around could read you like a fucking book, while you had to scramble and try harder just to avoid all kinds of mistakes. 

People could hate you, and you’d be none the wiser unless they’d say it out loud, but you couldn’t get even the slightest bit annoyed without someone next to you turning up their nose and knowing.

You couldn’t even consistently wear scent blockers, since they’d yet to be tested on beta’s and so the pharmacist wasn’t allowed to hand them to you. On important days, in the past, you’d stolen some from your uncle, but after getting a really bad fever after taking one too many, the medicine cupboard had been locked.

So. All in all, not the best hand to be dealt.

With omegas, it was easier. They were generally more forgiving, more open to communicating frustrations once they realized what you were, and their common desire to smooth over conflicts often meant you could find common ground without too much difficulty. But alphas? Alphas were different.

To them, a beta’s inability to respond in kind wasn’t just a gap; it was an absence. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the perception that you were perceived as somehow less to them. They found you annoying, since you couldn’t adapt yourself to what they wanted, and they always tended to get what they wanted.

Added onto the fact that you were biologically utterly useless to them, no heats or hormones that’d match up, and getting along was often a pipe dream.

You’d seen it happen over and over again: discussions where your input was brushed aside, decisions made without consulting you, and the ever-present condescension, always cloaked in well-meaning advice. Even when they weren’t trying to belittle you, the effect was the same. It was exhausting. So you’d learned to temper your expectations, to approach alphas with the wariness of someone who’d been burned before and to try and read body language and social settings like your life depended on it.

Still, it wouldn’t do to walk into this with prejudices, as long as you kept your expectations low to begin with. He seemed serious about school. It wouldn’t be like last time. It’d be fine. It’d be fine. 

You checked how much of your grade was impacted by the assignment and cursed.

Well… off to find this ‘Illumi Zoldyck’ then.

After class, you followed Illumi out of class, calling his name once to grab his attention. He didn’t hear you and walked out, making you have to follow him through the hallway. 

Not having seen him take a corner, you wandered around for a bit, before you saw him and that red-haired creep talk by the coffee machine. You wouldn’t have been so mean to Hisoka, if he hadn’t broken your friend Bianca’s heart, standing her up after she’d prepared to ask him out for weeks and then ignoring all her texts. You sure didn’t get what she saw in him, but decided that in some light, he could look pretty cool with his half-shaven up hair and piercings. 

Before walking up to the both of them, you grabbed your body spray and coated your neck in it, worried your irritation at seeing Hisoka would be noticeable. After putting it away, you walked up to the both of them.

Illumi was saying something, but you couldn’t quite catch it yet.

“Hmm~ Fine. But make sure Chrollo is there.” Hisoka said, a sultry tint to his voice even when making simple plans. His eyes flickered to you and he tilted his face your way in a borderline predatory manner. Dear god, what was wrong with this dude? You tried not to look too nervous, but saw his lips curl up into a smile nevertheless. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, and I’ll give my precious spot over to your new admirer~”

Illumi’s face turned to you as your face scrunched up.

“What?” You said, not having expected that.

“Don’t have to look so mortified.” Hisoka said, walking past you and waving Illumi away. “He doesn’t bite~”

“Ignore him.” Illumi said, as if that wasn’t the weirdest thing to say about a friend ever. “Organisational structures, right?”

A part of you was surprised at his tone of voice. His face was entirely expressionless, but his voice sounded rather casually amused, as if to compensate for how stone-cold he seemed otherwise.

“Yes.” You shifted your weight, trying to ignore how Hisoka still hadn’t walked away but was standing directly behind you. You could smell him, which was impressive considering you generally didn’t smell a whole lot. The little bit that you caught was a horribly sweet scent that would’ve made you believe he was an omega if it just wasn’t so suffocating. Omega’s always smelled comforting, a discovery you’d made recently during a sleepover with Bianca, and this was like walking around a carnival while on really bad shrooms, so the furthest thing from comforting. “I wanted to ask when you wanted to meet to talk about it.”

“Ha ha…” Came the creepy off-putting laugh from behind you, followed by a slow inhale that made every hair on your body stand upright. You looked over your shoulder and took a step forward, kind of shocked by how close he’d been standing. Shifting gears, you held out your hand for the phone Illumi was holding.

This wasn’t much better, since now you were standing a little too close to Illumi. His scent, while lighter, was unfamiliar and odd in its own right, like a musky perfume that needed to settle a little to get rid of the rubbing alcohol smell. Damn. You understood those empty seats now, knowing that if your nose was even a little better you’d also not want to sit next to either of them.

Though it would’ve aided you a bit in navigating this odd social interaction. Scents were often described as a whole separate language in itself. A russian novel you’d once picked up for a literature class had dedicated three whole chapters to the minutiae of the intent behind scents during an exchange between an alpha and omega at a dinner.

All you got from smelling was an indication whether or not someone smelled nice or not.

Having a strong scent was usually considered a ‘good’ thing, especially if you could control it a little, which you still didn’t really understand. How was such a thing controllable, wasn’t it just basic bodily functions? Googling it didn’t help, as you didn’t understand the medical jargon and the only normal articles about it were just on how to increase scent strength in order to be seen as more dominant and successful.

You looked at Illumi’s face intently, finding absolutely no indication of any sort of emotion. Was he angry? Was he annoyed you’d interrupted his conversation with Hisoka? Why was he being so quiet? 

You raised your hand a little further.

“I’ll give you my number, text me.” You said, eager to get out of this situation as soon as possible. Why did alpha’s have to be so weird? Even the so-called standard alpha had so many quirks that it made life quite unbearable for someone like you who didn’t like to be sniffed all the time, despite knowing it was technically normal. “I’m on campus every day next week for my thesis, so feel free to just pick a moment.”

Illumi handed you his phone, already open on the contact screen.

“Busy bee~” Hisoka murmured as you entered your contact information, his voice carrying some blatant mockery.

“Are you done?” you snapped, unable to stop yourself. Hisoka’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your planning.” He twirled on his heel, sauntering off with an exaggerated sway to his step.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as Hisoka finally disappeared around the corner, but the unease lingered. Illumi watched you silently for a moment.

“I’ll text you,” he said simply, as if nothing unusual had happened. “But I won’t meet you here. I’ll send you a location.”

“Hm? Why?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended, but you couldn’t help it. His demand caught you off guard and you were still on edge by that Hisoka figure.

Illumi raised a single, sharp eyebrow, as though your confusion was unwarranted and nodded towards the coffee machine. “The coffee here is horrible. I much prefer the café close to the business district.”

You stared at him, your lips parting in disbelief. Was he serious? You didn’t know which café he was referring to, but the  business district was at least a thirty minute walk. You narrowed your eyes, trying to gauge if this was some kind of test.

“And pay ten times what the coffee costs here?” you asked, your voice edging toward incredulous.

His head tilted slightly, his lack of expression unchanged. “I’d prefer not,” you added, folding your arms in a defensive stance.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s expensive,” 

“It’s really not,” he replied without missing a beat. His tone was so matter-of-fact that you almost felt a flash of secondhand embarrassment for yourself.

You huffed a small laugh, half-joking to break the awkward tension. “I don’t mind, if you pay for my drink.”

“Low on funds, are we?”

Your laugh died in your throat. The way he said it made it feel less like a tease and more like a diagnosis. Fuck.

“...” You stared at him, words failing you for a moment. Then, very bravely and wisely deciding this conversation wasn’t worth pursuing any further, you shook your head and turned on your heel.

“Bye,” you said, the word clipped as you walked away, clutching your bag a little tighter.

As you put distance between you and Illumi, you couldn’t shake the feeling of having lost. You resisted the urge to glance over your shoulder, refusing to let him see how much he’d rattled you. 

“You’re late.”

Illumi was seated at the corner table, wearing a dark red button-up that seemed like it was ironed just before you got in the café. He’d tied his hair in a very low-ponytail, and not for the first time you marveled at how pretty his hair was. 

In comparison to how put-together he looked, you were wearing the same outfit you’d been wearing yesterday, only remembering that to be the case when you were three minutes away from the café. It was hot, and you felt sweaty. 

You grabbed your phone. “You sent me the location twenty minutes ago. This was a thirty minute walk. The fact I made it in twenty-five should be impressive.”

“It isn’t.” He said, already sipping his drink. 

“What? It is a thirty-minute walk.” You were already grabbing your phone to show him.

“No,” He said. “I mean it isn’t impressive.”

Your fingers stopped typing the address to show the route you’d taken. For a full ten seconds you stood there in silence before just sitting down and sinking into your seat. “So. The project.”

You’d promised yourself you’d be cooler this time, and you’d already failed. It wasn’t like you were keen to impress alpha’s, but this was just plain embarrassing. 

For the first time since you’d met him, the edges of his lips inched upward.

The two of you settled into the task at hand, pulling out notes and reference materials. The café buzzed softly around you, the staff cleaning up empty tables and clinking cups creating a soothing backdrop. You worked in silence, focusing on the project with an intensity that kept your thoughts from wandering too far.

The two of you decided on a subject pretty quickly, and you both split up for a bit, trying to find sources and ideas online that would make for a good baseline to work from. Illumi sent you a reading he deemed pretty worthwhile, and so you tried to work out what it was implying so you could work ahead.

Illumi pointed out a specific section he wanted to use, his finger lightly tapping the screen as he indicated the passage. You nodded and set out to read it. The text, however, was dense and convoluted. 

You squinted, your eyes scanning the same lines repeatedly, trying to wrestle meaning from the words. Frustration prickled at the edges of your mind, a tight knot forming in your chest. You bit your lip, determined not to show any signs of struggle. The last thing you wanted was to seem clueless in front of Illumi.

‘Within the nuanced framework of matrix organizational structures, as seen in fig 1., the dual-reporting lines and the interdependence between functional and project-based hierarchies create a lattice of authority and responsibility, indicating that in order for managers to navigate the intricate equilibrium between vertical accountability and-’

What the fuck did this mean.

He was waiting for you to respond to it.

You were being slow. You didn’t want him to know. You should just quickly think of something vague to say, and try to read it again. You opened your mouth, to reply something, anything, but nothing came out.

Illumi’s gaze lifted from his own work, his eyes settling on you with quiet intensity. His posture remained relaxed, one arm resting on the table, but his piercing gaze made you feel like he could see straight through you. “You’re confused,” he stated plainly.

It wasn’t a question. The bluntness of his observation made your face heat instantly. You could feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “What? No, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “I’m just... thinking.”

His eyes remained on you, unblinking. “Your scent says otherwise.”

You froze, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Of course, he could pick up on that. You were mortified, knowing he could sense every flicker of your emotions, even the ones you tried to suppress. Bianca and Mariah pretended not to notice, and your family knew better than to say it this bluntly.

“I—” You fumbled for words, glancing down at the laptop screen. “It’s just... this part is confusing, that’s all.”

Illumi tilted his head slightly. “Is it?”

The simplicity of his statement only made you feel more self-conscious. “I’m just-,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll get it in a minute.”

“You’re not majoring in business, are you?” 

You exhaled sharply. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

He didn’t press further, simply nodding and returning to his work. But the heat in your cheeks lingered, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly exposed. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus back on the task at hand. Even though the embarrassment lingered, you were determined not to let it derail the rest of the session.

You did grab your body spray again to lather your neck, a move which made both Illumi and the waitress crinkle their noses.

The rest of the meeting went better, and at one point he even nodded approvingly at something you’d written, which made you inwardly cheer. Your scent had probably betrayed you again despite the overdose of perfume you’d used, because his eyes flickered up at you again at that.

“Would meeting again tomorrow work for you?” Illumi said, pulling out his phone to check his agenda. “I want this done before the holidays.”

You hesitated. “Didn’t we just divide the parts?” Usually, one or two meetings were enough, with the rest of the communication handled online. You also had plans to watch a movie tonight, and squeezing in another session seemed excessive. “I won’t have a lot done by tomorrow.”

“I prefer to work on this exclusively like this,” Illumi said. “I don’t like waiting for replies when I’m working on projects.”

“Oh.” You could understand that, but you weren’t keen on trekking all the way to the café again. “That’s fine, but I don’t have time to commute all the way here tomorrow. Is meeting on campus okay?”

“No,” Came the immediate response.  “You can take a cab to my place. This café is too noisy after all.”

You glanced around, noting the nearly empty space. His comment caught you off guard. “...No,” you said after a moment of stunned silence.

“Ah yes, low on funds,” he remarked, sitting so upright that it was hard to tell if he was even leaning against the backrest. “I’ll order the cab then.”

“You do realize you sound insane, right?” You were genuinely unsure. “Just come over to my place instead. No cabs, and it’s close to campus.”

“Fine.”

“And also—oh.” You’d been ready to argue further, but his swift agreement stopped you in your tracks. “Okay.”

“You’re going to meet him again?” Bianca said incredulously. “Didn’t you already meet up twice this week? How much effort are you putting in this thing?”

You shrugged. “It’s going pretty smoothly, and I could use a good grade. Would make up for that horrible excuse of an exam for Global Business.”

“Fair.” Mariah voiced.

“It’s not fair, it’s interfering with girl talk.” Bianca whined, lightly pawing at your sleeves. “I wanna choose the pictures for your dating profileeee~”

“Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to live your single life through me.” You laughed. “You can swipe for me on dating apps next time.”

“Ohhhhh~” Bianca immediately let go. “Deal.”

Mariah held up a hand in greeting, her eyes not having lifted off her book during the entire conversation. “Have fun.”

“Byee.”

You had expected him to sit across from you at your table, as he usually did, maintaining a comfortable distance. But today, he had chosen to sit next to you, his presence a steady, silent weight at your side. His long legs stretched out slightly under the table.

Your heart thudded a little louder than you liked. You tried to keep your focus on the text in front of you, eyes scanning the words, but his proximity made it difficult. The warmth radiating from him was subtle, yet unmistakable, and the occasional brush of his sleeve against your arm sent tiny jolts of awareness through you.

Illumi, as always, seemed entirely unaffected. His eyes moved steadily over the pages of his book, his expression serene, as if the world around him didn’t exist. His fingers, long and elegant, flipped the pages with quiet precision.

You, on the other hand, felt acutely aware of every little detail—the slight creak of the chair as you shifted, the way your knee almost bumped against his when you adjusted your position, the soft rustle of fabric as you reached for your notebook. If he smelled this flusteredness you were experiencing and made mention of it, you’d jump off a bridge.

It’d been three hours already, and the project was good and done for today, but despite having finished, instead of leaving when you’d said you’d finish some other tasks, Illumi had pulled out a book and started reading next to you. 

Distracted from your work, you looked up at him. “Is it any good?”

“Depends on your taste.” He showed you the title. ‘A Bandit’s Secret’ the cover read. “It’s a little full of itself.”

“In what way?”

“It’s good, but the writer knows it a little too well.” He sighed and immediately you felt like he was annoyed you’d interrupted him. Had reading next to you not been a sign he wanted to spend more time here with you? Perhaps you’d read too much into it. “The day he’ll get the Pullitzer will feel like a deja vu with how often he must’ve imagined it already.”

You laughed at that, and Illumi looked at you with a neutral face. Oh, had he not intended that as a joke? Whoops.

Trying to not make more of a fool of yourself, you turned back to your laptop, managing to handle the returning silence for a total of three minutes before you cracked.

“Did I say something wrong?” Your voice broke the silence, soft but deliberate, as you leaned back in your chair.

Illumi shut his book completely this time with a snap. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, squinting at him as though searching for a crack in his stoic armor. “You don’t have an expressive face, and the conversation fell silent, so I worried you got angry at something I did.”

Some people got embarrassed when you straight up tried to ask what was wrong, or they’d twirl around the subject, annoyed you couldn’t just tell what was happening. Some people somehow couldn’t accept that their scent didn’t just carry across the message, despite knowing you physically couldn’t be able to tell even if you wanted to.

Despite that, you preferred outright asking and working things out before things got into a big deal. You’d been once named and shamed for weeks for readily accepting a ‘i’m fine’ from a girl in school, happily talking about your weekend, while everyone around could apparently tell she was grieving and depressed, making you seem like an asshole for just ignoring that and talking about yourself.They all understood but that didn’t mean they didn’t judge you.

Because of incidents like that, you’d come to prefer asking outright. It was cleaner, even if some people bristled at the directness.

“You did not say anything wrong,” Illumi said finally.

“Okay,” you replied, experiencing some silent relief, “but be sure to tell me if I do. I don’t like it when I go home oblivious and weeks later I find out someone’s mad at me.”

“Does that happen often?” 

“Used to a lot. Not so much now in college, luckily.” You picked up your pen again, rolling it between your fingers. “I don’t hang around alpha’s a lot, or new people in general.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me,” he said bluntly. “I’ll tell you if I feel you need to know something.”

That sounded like he might take some far-reaching liberties with what you needed to know, but fine. As long as the two of you could understand each other. You tilted your head, considering him, before nodding.

“Thanks,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I appreciate it.”

He didn’t open his book just yet. “Any plans for the weekend?”

A little surprised at his interest in something as menial as that, you recounted your plans, mentioning that you’d probably be spending it all with Bianca and Mariah, to make up for ditching them this evening. 

“She’s gonna swipe for me on a dating app,.” Came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. That was a weird thing to tell him. Stop, stop, drop the subject. “it’s a whole thing. I think she has done more of the talking on those things than me.”

You didn’t drop the subject.

“Dating apps? What’s the use of that?”

Noooooo-

“...Dating?” You said slowly, pretty sure you were missing a point, before realizing what he probably meant. “Oh, you must not hear about it much, it’s mostly just beta’s trying to meet others like them. It’s not as simple to meet someone for people like me.” You pointed at your nose. “Can’t just tell if someone’s a good match.”

Why had you still not dropped the subject.

“So what’s it take instead?”

“Different for everyone, but most beta’s I know date a long time and decide like that.” You didn’t want to admit that in your lifetime you’d only spoken to a handful of beta’s, all people outside your age range. Your rural middle school once tried to make a hang-out group for beta’s, but you’d been the only girl, and hadn’t really been into playing call of duty, so it wasn’t a success. Still, it’d been a good initiative, since you still followed those guys on social media and they seemed to still be hanging out now and again. “Spending time together, dinners, that kind of thing. It’s very socially exhausting. I’ve tried a few times, but it’s frustrating seeing everyone else just know  when we’re supposed to guess. Or at least, that’s how it seems for me.”

“Hm.” Illumi said, seeming to mull over your point. “I see.”

“So what’re your plans?” You said, eager to have the conversation shift away from your doomed love life. “Wait till some omega’s scent knocks you off your feet and go from there?”

“Something like that.” While you’d prattled on, it seemed Illumi was much better in dropping a subject, as he opened his book again. You were about to die from embarrassment at having overshared so much when he fixed you with a look. “Why are you embarrassed?”

You let your forehead hit the keys of your laptop. “...Nothing.”

Where are you? 

You looked at your phone again, trying to remember if there’d been plans you’d forgotten. The assignment was over and done with, and if the work you’d seen other groups hand in was anything to go by, the two of you’d passed with flying colours. After checking your agenda and coming up empty, you decided to bite the bullet and just ask.

I’m back home for the holiday. Did we make plans? 

You saw the text bubble pop up and disappear a few times.

I’m closeby. Can I pick you up at seven?

You blinked as you stared at the text. He was here? Up north? Had he also gone to visit family? A part of you that immediately wanted to text him a paragraph full of questions is silenced, knowing he’d only reply with ‘limit yourself to yes/no’ if you did that. 

You thought to yourself for a bit. You’d gone home to spend time with family, but you’d been let loose today to do some social calls. Those would be done by seven, and curiosity as to what he was planning was kind of tipping the scales. 

You walked to the kitchen, where your aunt stood pouring some tea for herself.

“Hey, a friend from uni is nearby and wants to meet up at seven, is that okay?”

She huffed. “Don’t have to ask me for permission. Who is it?”

“The weird alpha.” 

“Ah.” Her eyebrows raised at that, and you could just tell she had some thoughts on the matter, but decided to drop them. “Well, don’t say no on my account, but if you need an out, be sure to call me and I’ll pretend to have given you a curfew.”

You scoffed. “I think I’m grown enough to just tell him to take me home.” 

“...Are you?” She held out a cookie for you once you walked past her.

You stopped and genuinely considered it, taking the cookie she offered. “Probably.”

A few hours later, you stood outside the apartment complex, genuinely lost for words when a car stopped right in front of you. Not one with Illumi driving, mind you, but with a driver.

The car door swung open smoothly, almost silently, the kind of automated luxury that didn’t just suggest wealth but flaunted it. You hesitated for a split second, your eyebrows lifting in a mix of awe and unease. Steeling yourself, you climbed in, settling into the plush leather seat that practically enveloped you. Everything about the car—from the subtle hum of the air conditioning to the scent of new leather and faint cologne—spoke of extravagance.

Illumi was already seated next to you, his posture composed and rigid. His long black hair draped neatly over his shoulders, the sharp lines of his suit immaculate. His dark eyes flicked over you.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked.

You glanced down at yourself, picking at the hem of your oversized sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed Bowling Champion of ’78. The faded letters were slightly cracked, and the fabric smelled faintly of detergent and something musty.

Grinning, you leaned back against the seat. “I didn’t pack enough clothes, so I had to raid my old closet. Vintage, right?”

Illumi’s brow twitched ever so slightly. “Don’t look so happy about it,” he said, his voice sounding the same as usual, but his words carried the weight of disapproval. “You’re going to make a fool of yourself in the restaurant.”

“Oh, is that why you’re wearing a suit?” you shot back, your grin widening as you gestured vaguely at his tailored ensemble.

“Yes,” he replied, deadpan, as if the answer were obvious.

“Maybe you should’ve told me the dress code for the place then.” You snickered to yourself. “I-”

“Yes, yes, I’m paying, don’t worry about it.”

Wooow…

“Fuck, man. I was gonna say I would’ve dressed up nicer.” You felt the familiar twinge of irritation rise in your chest. Not for the first time spending time with Illumi, you felt utterly mortified, but you bit your tongue. You knew it was just… him. It wasn’t worth the fight, and honestly, you’d probably lose anyway. “What got you in this area?” you asked instead, changing the subject.

“Work,” Illumi said simply.

“Work?”

“I am helping with the family business.”

“What do they do?”

“...Business.” He said after a moment of deliberation. You sensed he didn’t want to talk about it, so you decided to change the subject, feeling proud of yourself for reading his reply so well.

“And you decided to bother your poor little classmate as soon as you were done?” you teased, leaning your head against the headrest.

“Am I? Bothering you?” 

“No, just curious,” you admitted with a shrug, fiddling with the sleek panel of buttons along the car door. There were so many—each labeled with tiny, glowing symbols—that you didn’t even know what half of them did. The temptation to press them all was almost overwhelming.

“I was just surprised when you texted me.”

“I’ve texted you before,” Illumi said, and there was a faint trace of defensiveness in his tone.

“Yes, but never for something like this,” you countered, gesturing vaguely to the luxurious car and the promise of an equally extravagant meal. Then, realizing the conversation was veering into uncomfortable territory, you waved your own words away. “Never mind that. I appreciate the invite. Really.”

The car glided to a smooth stop. You glanced out the tinted window, half-expecting to see the restaurant, but instead, your door swung open with a soft hiss. You blinked, confused, as a woman in a sharp suit appeared in front of you. She moved with practiced efficiency, holding a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms. Without so much as a word, she extended the bundle to you, her expression professionally neutral.

“Uh—” you started, but she was already stepping back, retreating to the sidewalk like a phantom. The door shut softly behind her, enclosing you and Illumi in the car once again.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” You said, looking lost at Illumi.

Illumi didn’t even look fazed. “Wear it,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The dress code is non-optional. You won’t get in looking like that.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, glancing down at your sweatshirt again. Okay, fine. Point taken. But still—

“...And your driver just had an extra set of clothes, ready?”

“Good personnel doesn’t need to be asked,”

He looked at his phone as he said so, making you realize just how little he thought of the driver’s efforts, like it was completely normal for something like this to be arranged without giving even a single indication. Bianca had once vacuumed your room, just because she’d already been going at it, and you’d been grateful for an entire week. You hoped the driver was paid well, at the very least. Dental, even.

You blinked at him, genuinely stunned. “Damn,” You blinked, looking again at the clothes. “You’re really rich, aren’t you.”

 “That bothers you?”

“Well. No? I guess?” You shrugged, trying to regain the casual tone you’d been holding onto earlier. But it wasn’t as easy this time. This whole situation—being whisked away in a luxury car, handed designer clothes like it was nothing—was excessive in a way that made you feel uncomfortably out of place.

You’d reckoned he was well-off, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just a cabin with a boat for the holidays, this was a rented-out ski lodge abroad type rich.

Your confidence wavered as you tried not to dwell on it. A beta from uni, dressed like a walking thrift store sale rack, picked up from a one-bedroom house shared with four people living in it. You’d never been self-conscious about it before, but suddenly felt judged.

You forced a laugh, clutching the clothes against your chest. “I am gonna google you when I get home though,” you joked, feeling like a joke yourself, clueless on how to deal with him.

“Get changed,” he said simply, his tone dismissive as he leaned back in his seat, his focus shifting to the window.

“What? Not in here.”

“Where else? The windows are tinted.”

“Yeah, but you’re still in here,” you shot back, flustered. Your hands tightened around the neatly folded pile of clothes in your lap. It wasn’t just that he was here; it was that he was Illumi. His mere presence was disconcerting enough without the added layer of stripping down in front of him and there was no way he was seeing your mismatched bra that had a little hole in the side of the lace. 

“I don’t see the problem,” 

Your face heated. “That’s uncomfortable,” you said firmly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. You couldn’t believe you had to explain this to him. Did the guy really not understand why changing in front of someone—even someone as seemingly indifferent as him—was awkward? It was kind of insulting that he probably saw you as so undesirable, being a beta, that he thought absolutely nothing of it.

For a moment, he just stared at you.

You stared right back, refusing to back down. No way were you giving in on this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Illumi broke first. “Fine,” he said, with a faint trace of annoyance.

He pressed one of the buttons on the sleek console beside him. Without missing a beat, the car slowed and glided to the curb. You barely had time to blink before Illumi opened the door and stepped out.

“I’ll be up front,” he said over his shoulder, his voice muffled as he closed the door behind him.

Left alone in the backseat, surrounded by the anonymity of tinted windows, you looked at the clothes and realized you couldn’t really get out of this now. 

“What am I doing…” you muttered, shaking your head as you surveyed your impromptu dressing room. With its sleek, (in your mind) futuristic luxury, the car didn’t make the situation any less ridiculous.

You unfolded the clothes carefully, inspecting them. The dress was a deep, dark red, the kind of shade that felt simultaneously elegant and intimidating. It was mid-length, form-fitting but not overly so, and surprisingly, it looked like it might actually fit you. Stockings were included—stockings, of all things—along with a low-cut grey fur coat that was absolutely ostentatious.

The pièce de résistance, however, was the jewelry. A small bag sat in the center of the pile, holding a few shiny silver pieces that looked like they’d cost more than your rent. You sighed deeply, shaking your head again as you held up a necklace to inspect it.

“This is insane,” you muttered to yourself. 

Quickly, you started changing, feeling both grateful and mildly paranoid about the privacy the tinted windows provided. The dress slid on easily, hugging your figure without being suffocating. The stockings were more of a challenge—halfway through wrangling them on, you cursed loud enough for them probably to hear you in the front seat—but you managed.

Finally, you shrugged on the fur coat, its weight settling over your shoulders like a silent declaration of wealth you didn’t actually have. The jewelry was the last touch: earrings, a bracelet, and the necklace, which you fastened carefully around your neck.

Looking at your sweatshirt and pants, you folded them and placed them next to you with a little bit too much empathy for the discarded clothing. 

You’d liked the shirt, at the very least. 

“I look like a prostitute.” You said, looking at yourself in a reflective storefront while walking down the sidewalk. All you were missing was the bold red lipstick.

Illumi very seriously looked you over as he led the way. “Well. I am paying for dinner.”

You laughed loudly and slapped his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

The restaurant had been unlike anything you had ever experienced. Its grandeur had overwhelmed you from the moment you had stepped inside. The towering ceilings, gilded chandeliers, and the soft hum of a string quartet had all contributed to the sense that you didn’t belong there. 

You were glad Illumi had insisted on changing clothes, since you were sure you’d be shot like a lame horse if you’d walked here in the bowling sweatshirt. 

Still, you’d have felt more like yourself.

Beside you, Illumi had moved with his usual composed elegance, utterly unbothered by the extravagance surrounding him.

Your table had been positioned near a massive floor-to-ceiling window that showcased the glittering city skyline. The twinkling lights outside had reflected in the crystal glasses and polished silverware on the table. 

When the waiter had handed you a leather-bound menu, you had trailed the spine, making too loud comments wondering if it was real leather, making a couple across from you giggle behind their wine glasses.

“Don’t mind them.” Illumi had said, surely because your discomfort was tangible in the air. 

The words on the menu had been foreign. Each dish had sounded more elaborate than the last, and the descriptions had only added to your confusion. You had glanced at Illumi nervously, hoping for some kind of guidance, but couldn’t manage to make eye contact. 

Before you had gathered the courage to ask for help, he had closed his menu and spoken to the waiter in his usual calm, measured tone. His words had been efficient, a series of dish names that you couldn’t repeat if he asked you to. When the waiter had turned to you for confirmation, you nodded wordlessly, trusting Illumi to have chosen something appropriate.

When the food arrived, it was a collection of dishes that not only looked beautiful, but tasted like the cook had poured his heart and soul into every last bite. You’d probably been a bit too loud in your enjoyment of the food, but the waiter had given you a happy looking smile, so at least someone seemed to appreciate you.

“Do you enjoy it?” he had asked, his voice cutting through your enjoyment of the dessert. You nodded, murmuring an agreement, seeing him clap his hands in joy, before adding on a robotic sounding “I’m glad.”

On the one hand, it was really nice to be given so much attention.

On the other, you still didn’t know why the fuck Illumi had invited you out to eat to a place so outrageous. Some type of classist guilt? A thanks for the good grade that was not even made public yet? It was fun, for sure, but why?

You couldn’t figure it out, and that feeling remained until you got home.

As the door clicked shut behind you, the smile you’d been wearing immediately slid off your face. Your shoulders slumped as you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

“Language,” your aunt’s voice called from the living room, sharp and automatic. She appeared a moment later, a pair of reading glasses perched low on her nose and a book still in hand. She stopped when she saw you, her eyes widening as they took in your appearance.

“What are you wearing?!” she exclaimed, her hand coming up to adjust her glasses as if she needed to see you more clearly to make sense of it. “Where’s your sweatshirt?”

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly hyper aware of the extravagant outfit. For a second, you considered explaining, but your brain was too fried to come up with a coherent response.

“I think I left it in the car,” you blurted instead, your words disjointed as you tried to process the whirlwind of the night. “Sorry. I’ll, uh... I’ll ask for it back.”

Your aunt raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “But seriously, why are you dressed like that?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped further into the house. “Illumi picked me up,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual. “Apparently, his plan for tonight was to go out to eat.”

Your aunt gave you a look, the kind of pointed, knowing look that only someone who had raised you could pull off. “And?”

“There was a dress code,” you continued, gesturing vaguely to the outfit. “They got me clothes within, like, three seconds, and I—” You trailed off, glancing down at yourself again. The whole evening still felt surreal, like you’d accidentally stepped into someone else’s life for a few hours. “It was fun, there were like ten courses but... what the fuck?”

Your aunt didn’t reply immediately or scold you for your swearing. Instead, she picked up her phone from the side table, sliding her reading glasses back into place with a deliberate air.

“What’s his last name?” she asked, her tone entirely too calm.

“Please don’t google him,” you said, exasperated despite having thought the same earlier the evening, holding out a hand as if that would somehow stop her.

“You come home looking like a movie star after meeting with a boy,” she said, wagging a finger in your direction. “I wanna know the details.”

“It’s not like that,” you said firmly, already anticipating where her mind was going.

Your aunt gave you another one of those looks, her eyebrows raising in mock skepticism.

“It’s not!” you repeated, dropping your hand to your side with a sigh. “He’s an alpha, remember.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “And? That doesn’t mean you can’t have a perfectly nice time with him. You see new types of couples on tv every single day. I even saw two omega’s get married on the news last week.”

“It’s just... not like that,” you said again, though your voice lacked the same conviction this time. You rubbed at your temples, trying to figure out how to explain the situation without getting into the absurd details. 

Your aunt hummed thoughtfully, clearly not convinced but thankfully choosing not to press the issue further. Instead, she set her phone down, crossing her arms as she studied you for a moment.

“Well, complicated or not,” she said finally, “you look amazing. Ridiculously overdressed for my living room, but amazing.”

You snorted, finally cracking a small smile. “Thanks, I guess.”

“And next time,” she added, her tone turning teasing, “maybe put on some lipstick before meeting this Illumi fellow, you know, just in case he’s taking you to the Oscars.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t help but laugh a little, before holding up your hands to your face. “Nooooo- Don’t take pictures!”

“Put those hands down, I want to send this to your dad.” Your aunt snickered to herself. “He’ll get a laugh out of it.”

“Noooooooo-!”

After finally wrangling the stockings off—another heated and mildly humiliating struggle—you tossed them onto the pile of borrowed clothes on the floor with an exhausted sigh. You sat down heavily on your bed.

Your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and you picked it up, staring at the screen as if it might offer some answers to the swirling thoughts in your head. With more deliberation than was probably necessary, you opened the notes app and began drafting a text to Illumi.

You erased the first attempt. And the second. The third message sat on your screen for a while before you rolled your eyes at yourself and deleted that one too.

“What am I doing?” you muttered under your breath, rubbing a hand over your face.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you forced yourself to settle on something simple, neutral. No overthinking, no analyzing every word—just a straightforward message.

I had fun :) Thank you for inviting me!

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, but you pressed it before you could talk yourself out of it. The message sent with a faint whoosh, and you immediately locked your phone, dropping it onto the bed beside you like it might combust.

Sliding under the covers, you pulled the blanket up to your chin, trying to let the comfort of your bed lull you into some semblance of relaxation. But even with your eyes closed, your thoughts refused to quiet down.

You reached for your phone again, checking it out of habit, but the screen was empty of new notifications. Of course, you thought. Illumi wasn’t exactly the type to send quick replies. You placed the phone face down on the nightstand this time, determined to let it go.

You closed your eyes again, but instead of the darkness bringing rest, it only conjured up vivid flashes of the evening.

It’d been fun.

You’d been awkward at first, but once you’d managed to get him to talk as well, the conversation went really really well. He’d explained all the dishes, let you have the cookie they gave with his coffee, and he’d actually laughed aloud at one of your jokes, which had made you so giddy, even the waitress seemed happy for you when she’d refilled your glass.

Though perhaps she was just good at her job, because you’d seen her smile even more brightly at the tip she’d been given.

The way Illumi had smiled at you, faint but real, his lips quirking just slightly at the edges as he watched you stumble through your thoughts. The teasing remarks the two of you had exchanged over the dinner table. How he’d caught you before you slammed into the pavement when you’d stumbled out the restaurant, a little tipsy after all the wine courses.

Your heart fluttered uncomfortably in your chest. When you’d gotten home, you could still catch his scent clinging to your skin and hair, and by the raised eyebrow your uncle had given you when he’d come home, so had the rest of the world.

What was it saying?

It was too embarrassing to ask your family that, but you needed to know so bad. Was it saying ‘I’m in love’ or was it saying ‘I’m just messing with her’. Could it even be that specific? Did he smell something about you tonight? Had you been accidentally screaming into his face that you were kinda…maybe… perhaps getting a little fond of him?

“Fuck,” you groaned, your eyes snapping open. You grabbed a pillow and pressed it over your face, muffling the sound of a frustrated scream.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Illumi was an alpha from a completely different world. A rich alpha like him would marry some socialite omega the second he was out of college. Not someone who was supposed to linger in your thoughts, who made you second-guess your damn texts.

Classist guilt.

Or gratitude for your hard work.

That’s all it was.

You tossed the pillow aside, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe you were just tired. Maybe this was all just a result of the weirdness of the night, some hormonal bullshit happening because you were deprived of romance your entire life.

Yeah, that’s all it is, you told yourself firmly, though the flicker of doubt, or hope, remained.

Your phone buzzed softly again. You glanced at it, your pulse quickening for a split second before you saw it was just a news alert.

“Of course,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed with a groan. You turned over, determined to sleep this time. 

But even as you closed your eyes again, the scent remained.

To your secret excitement, the dinner hadn’t been the last time you’d see Illumi that holiday, as when you very nervously invited him the next day to go to the movies (you knew you were being stupid and delusional, but you couldn’t stop yourself), he agreed. Annoyingly, he didn’t let you treat him to the tickets, and instead rented out an entire movie theatre, claiming he couldn’t stand hearing others speak during films.

(The two of you talked throughout the entire film.)

“Did you bring my sweatshirt, by the way?” You asked when the final scene had concluded.

“I didn’t bring it.” Illumi said. “I didn’t think you’d want it back.considering the new outfit.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you giggled, the sound playful as you leaned back in your seat. “Enjoy your new pillowcase.”

Illumi, who had been idly following the credits, froze mid-motion. His head snapped in your direction, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. It was as if you’d just said the most outlandish, unthinkable thing in the world.

You blinked at him, your smile faltering under the weight of his gaze. “What?” you murmured, your voice quieter now, unsure of what had caused such a reaction.

“How—” Illumi started. He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts, and blinked slowly before continuing. “Ah. You were making a joke.”

There was something about the way he said it—so serious—that you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “...Yes?”

“I didn’t realize.”

“No, I get that,” you said, your laughter subsiding as you studied him. He still seemed oddly tense, his shoulders stiff and his gaze lingering on you for just a beat too long. “Are you really using my sweatshirt as a pillowcase?” 

“Of course not,” Illumi said, his reply clipped. His gaze shifted away for a moment, his fingers brushing idly over the sleeve of his perfectly pressed shirt, flicking away a rogue piece of popcorn. “I thought you’d said something else entirely.”

“What else could I have possibly meant by that?” you asked, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

He settled on a vague, “It doesn’t matter.”

You raised an eyebrow, his evasiveness only making you more suspicious. Still, the idea of Illumi doing something as absurd as using your old sweatshirt as a pillowcase didn’t fit with the hyper-controlled, almost clinical image you had of him.

Though that image also didn’t fit with him wanting to spend more time with you, but you were taking that for granted.

“Okay,” you said, shrugging it off. There was no point in overthinking something so silly. He’d promised you to tell you things if you’d said something off, or done something wrong, so you were choosing to trust that he was just being embarrassed about misspeaking, in the most Illumi way possible.

Still, the image of him carefully tucking your sweatshirt over a pillow, of all things, was too funny to fully dismiss, especially since the thought tickled an utterly delusional part of yourself that liked the idea. You bit your lip to stifle another giggle, the thought lingering in the back of your mind as you went and grabbed your things.

It seemed that Illumi really liked your company, which was exciting. 

You still weren’t sure whether you like liked him, or just had a itsy bitsy crush, but he wasn’t doing well in dissuading you from believing it was mutual from the way he sought your attention. The only thing holding you back from going all in was a bit of anxiety you still had surrounding the whole situation. It almost seemed too good to be true.

But until the other shoe dropped, Illumi had invited you to a party.

A party.

Oooohhh.

You’d been to your fair share of gatherings, hang-outs and get-togethers, but a party was a world apart. And if the things Illumi and you had done so far was any consolation, it’d be an entire thing of itself.

That thought lingered as you found yourself left to your own devices, standing a bit awkwardly near a graffiti-covered wall. 

The party was set in an abandoned warehouse, its massive interior dimly lit by strings of mismatched fairy lights and the occasional flicker of neon strobes. The air buzzed with a low bassline that vibrated in your chest, the makeshift dance floor at the center already packed with a thrumming crowd.

To the sides, smaller corners offered a semblance of privacy, filled with groups leaning in close to talk over the noise. The smell of sweat, beer, and smoke hung in the air. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like dancing or mingling—far from it—but the unfamiliar faces of the place left you hesitant. You didn’t know anyone here except Illumi, and, as if to prove all your anxieties right, he’d vanished to find someone within three seconds of arriving, leaving you.

This brought back some annoying memories of similar events, and any sort of crush you had on Illumi was put on hold until you’d get an explanation. You didn’t like to be left alone, certainly not at events you would’ve otherwise never gone to. Were you supposed to just talk to some random people? What if you imposed on the wrong group? 

You’d sink through the floor, but at the same time, standing here, not knowing what to do with yourself was also a hell in and of itself. You tugged at the bottom part of your dress, suddenly feeling like you’d overdressed a bit. Everyone looked a lot less birthday party and a lot more techno club in Berlin. 

These events were hard without a group of girls to surround you.

To your utter elation, before you could grab your phone to check the time in an attempt to look like you were just waiting for someone instead of being a wallflower, a man with long white hair approached you. He was wearing a cool yellow coat that seemed reflective in the strobe light that sometimes turned on.

“Are you having fun?” he asked, his voice warm. “A friend of mine just pointed you out.”

“Huh? What for?”

He pointed at himself, puffing up his chest as if proud of it. “Beta.”

“Oh!” You immediately smiled widely, leaning forward a bit to catch his words better. “I haven’t actually met another since going to college! It’s nice to meet you.”

The two of you introduced yourselves and made some small talk. His name was Kastro and he was an art major, which was why you’d probably never met (beta’s couldn’t distinguish each other themselves, so others often made an effort to push them together. It could be awkward, but you appreciated the friend that had pointed him towards you).

“Are you having fun?” He asked, to which you nodded, since that was the case as of this moment. “Came here with anyone?”

“I don’t know if you know him.” You said, before realizing that made it sound like you had a boyfriend. “My friend Illumi invited me.”

“Illumi? Illumi Zoldyck?” He repeated. “Damn.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How so?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He said, waving his own words away. “You hear things. Plus he hangs around with someone I can’t stand.”

“Hisoka?”

“...Yeah.”

“I also don’t like him.”

Kastro smiled widely and bumped your shoulder with his. “Match made in heaven, then.”

There was a flicker of excitement in your chest at his words, a small flutter that made your heart beat a little faster. It had been some time since someone had shown this kind of obvious interest in you (perhaps the first time even), and he was actually a beta. You did like Illumi, but you were still eighty percent sure he wasn’t into you like you wanted him to be. Just as you were about to respond, Kastro gave you a quick wink and excused himself, mentioning he was going to grab another drink-

for you both.

“Okay.” You said to an empty space as he walked off, your eyes following his yellow jacket.

As you saw him disappear in the crowds, you thought about it a little more. He’d been handsome, and seemed nice, but was this okay to do? Did you even want to be flirting right now? Before you could dwell on it too much, a familiar presence loomed behind you. Illumi’s voice, low and soft, brushed against your ear as he leaned over your shoulder.

“He’s not interested.” Illumi said. “Don’t bother.”

You swallowed hard, unsure what to say—or even how long he’d been standing there.

This was awkward.

Part of you felt caught, having sorta flirted with someone else, despite not actually being with Illumi at all. His bluntness in his delivery didn’t make it seem like he minded a whole lot. Okay, so that was another sign your interest in him wasn’t mutual. Perhaps.

“Oh… oh.” You said, deflating and before realizing how sad it would be to say, you let out an unsure sounding: “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Part of you wanted to repeat your ‘are you sure?’ but Illumi looked in the direction Kastro had left in with some distaste, so whatever scent he must’ve picked up must’ve been bad. Had Kastro even been a beta? Maybe he was an alpha pretending to be like you just to make fun of you? It wasn’t something you wanted to believe, but you trusted Illumi, so you’d ask him later, when you weren’t so prone to cry.

Well. That was a shame. You smiled at Illumi, grateful for the intervention.“Thanks. I might’ve made a fool of myself if you hadn’t said anything.”

“Why don’t you come meet some of my acquaintances.” He said, already grabbing your hand and leading you to a bunch of wooden pallets that served as seating spots for a group of people you’d seen in passing. With a bit of sourness in your mouth you realized Hisoka was there, talking to some black-haired man that if you remembered correctly you’d had a class with on ethics. Chrollo, if you had to guess.

A half-smile bloomed on your face as you let him lead you. “Most people call them friends, Illumi.”

Illumi scoffed. “They’re not.”

On the way to a lecture that you hadn’t really prepared all that well for, when rounding a corner, you bumped into a familiar person. Your face immediately dissolved into a cringe when you looked up at Hisoka.

He’d been at the party too, meandering through the crowd and turning up whenever it was most inconvenient. You’d stood outside talking to a woman called Pakunoda (a tall blonde woman with lean features majoring in psychology who’d been interested in your experiences) while she’d been smoking a cigarette and Hisoka had turned up out of nowhere, obviously listening in on the conversation. 

When you’d addressed this, he’d just held up his hands in a peace symbol, mentioning that he was interested in the woman that was taking up so much of Illumi’s time. 

You’d not had an answer for him, but luckily Pakunoda had, stubbing out her cigarette and mentioning needing to go to the toilet, pointedly looking at you to come and accompany her. 

He still made you so uncomfortable, which wasn’t aided by the fact that he was looking down at you now with that god-awful closed-eyes smile.

“Don’t make that kind of face,” He said, sounding way too pleased with himself. “It almost looks like you dislike me.”

“Something tells me that’s what you’re going for.” You said bluntly.

“How cruel, and here I thought we’d be friends, now that you’ve gone and gotten so close with Illumi.” He sighed dramatically, still blocking your way. “Me and him have been such good friends for a while now, so I’d hate to put him in a difficult position. Can’t we start over?”

You should ask Illumi about Hisoka, you realized. The fact that they were even hanging out was kind of weird to you. By now you’d changed how you felt about Illumi completely, but Hisoka still gave you the creeps. It made you think less of Illumi, in some way, and in a weird twist, also about yourself, for even being considered friends-once-removed. 

“What do you want?” You asked simply.

“Why must I want something? Can’t you see I’m merely trying to help a friend?” He brushed past your shoulder and you shivered. “Byee~”

Taking a deep breath, which freaked out a nearby omega who probably thought you were smelling her, you closed your eyes and tried to calm down. This day wasn’t going all too well so far. You rubbed the inside of your eyes and walked on, eager to forget this interaction had ever happened, despite knowing you’d grill Illumi on why the fuck he was hanging out with Hisoka almost as often as with you.

You’d agreed to meet Illumi near one of the quieter corners of campus, where the paths curved toward a secluded seating area bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. As you approached, you spotted him leaning against a low stone wall, a striking figure among the casual, lively crowd.

Illumi’s black slacks and fitted shirt were as impeccably tailored as ever. The sun caught the faint sheen of his dark hair, which fell in perfect curtains around his face. He didn’t seem out of place exactly—just untouched, like he existed in a world just slightly removed from everyone else’s.

You slowed your steps as you got closer, your heart giving a faint, involuntary flutter when his eyes shifted to meet yours. For a moment, he said nothing,then, he straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“You’re late,” he remarked.

“By two minutes,” you replied, stopping a few steps away. “Don’t be dramatic. Do you want to walk with me for a sec? I left my coat in the lecture hall.”

“Two minutes, very impressive,” he said, wordlessly agreeing to accompany you as the two of you began walking toward the building together, his tone laced with dry amusement. “I’m sure it was at least a five-minute walk.”

You groaned. “Will you ever drop that?”

The lecture hall was conveniently close to the entrance, and you led the way through the double doors. The dimly lit hall was silent and empty, the air slightly cool compared to the bustling warmth outside. You noted how your footsteps echoed faintly against the walls, the lack of other students making the space feel oddly massive.

You’d barely taken a step inside when Illumi’s hand suddenly shot out, grabbing your arm firmly. The suddenness of it startled you, and your heart jumped as you instinctively looked down, expecting to see a loose cable or chair you might have tripped over. Finding nothing there, you turned back to him, frowning.

“...Illumi?” you asked cautiously.

His grip tightened, bordering on painful now, and you tugged at your arm, trying to pull free. It wasn’t until you met his gaze that confusion set over into worry. His previously good mood was gone, his eyes wide, his posture leaning slightly forward as though caught in some animalistic trance.

“Okay, seriously, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice edged with both confusion and concern.

Before you could pull away or demand an explanation, Illumi leaned in, and you felt—heard—him inhale sharply, his breath warm against your skin. You froze, staring at him incredulously, waiting for him to clarify what in the world was going on.

“You smell of Hisoka.” Illumi said in clipped tones, his pupils dilated and his mouth set in a grim line. “Explain.”

“Wow, are you alright?” You said, holding out your free hand in front of you in a gesture trying to calm him down. “He bumped into me on the way here.”

“Take off the shirt.” Illumi ordered. “I don’t want that scent on you.”

“I’m not wearing a tank-top underneath-”

“Can you for once just do as I tell you to instead of argue with me.” Illumi said, his voice still level but seething. “Take it off.”

Indignified, you took a step back, still unable to free your arm. “No, you can’t just-”

Before you could finish, Illumi closed the distance in a single, fluid motion. His long fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, and with one decisive tug, he ripped it open, buttons scattering like metallic raindrops on the floor. 

You staggered back, instinctively wrapping your free arm around yourself to cover your now-exposed torso. Heat flooded your cheeks as you stared at him, eyes wide, heart hammering in your chest. It was as if he’d slapped you.

His pupils, dark and blown wide, locked onto yours. "You're my beta," Illumi said, his voice low. "I don't want you smelling of another."

"Excuse me?!" Your voice cracked with indignation as you heard the buttons fall down the steps of the tilted lecture hall. "You can’t just—what the hell is wrong with you?"

"You reek of him," he said simply, as if that alone justified everything. The size of his pupils were massive, his normally dark eyes now feeling like you were staring into an abyss. "Do you understand what it means?"

"No! I don’t!" you shot back, hugging your arm tighter around yourself. "And you’re not explaining anything—you’re just acting like some kind of unhinged lunatic!"

For a moment, Illumi said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. He finally let go of your arm- there was a red mark of where he’d held you-, and stepped back just enough to shrug off his own shirt, revealing lean muscle beneath. Without hesitation, he held it out to you. "Put this on."

You hesitated, glaring at him. "I’m not a goddamn doll for you to dress, Illumi."

"You’re not anyone else’s" he repeated, an edge creeping into his voice. "That means I don’t want you smelling like others. Hisoka knows that, and he bumped into you to be annoying."

"He bumped into me!" you nearly shouted. "And since when am I your beta? When did that happen? Do you even hear yourself right now?"

Illumi’s head tilted again, as if your words were a puzzle he didn’t quite understand. "You don't understand," he said, quieter this time. "Put on the shirt."

You stared at him, bewildered, torn between anger, embarrassment, and confusion. Against your better judgment, you grabbed the shirt from his hands and slipped it on, the fabric warm and faintly scented of him. You wanted to go home, and you preferred doing so clothed. 

Also in your anger you realized that perhaps Illumi was close to a rut or something, and more protective of his friends. 

(You thought you could remember reading about something like that, and it was too delusional to consider any other reason.)

In the end, he was right. 

You didn’t understand.

Maybe Hisoka had really made a mess of things in some way, and Illumi truly was just protecting you from social death here by making sure that bad carnival trip scent didn’t stick to you. 

When covered by other’s scents, people couldn’t often tell you were a beta, which made it really hard sometimes. It’d been a mean-spirited prank when you were younger, to quickly rub some weird scent onto you and watch you go through your day, wondering why everyone looked at you funny.

Number one reason you washed your neck in between classes, and carried around an absurd amount of perfume.

You believed this primarily because Hisoka genuinely freaked you out. The idea of him even brushing against you sent a shiver down your spine, and you definitely preferred not smelling like that absolute freakshow. And maybe, just maybe, instead of some weird flirting, this whole “my beta” thing was probably Illumi’s awkward way of officially accepting you as one of his inner circle. That thought was oddly reassuring.

Didn’t mean you weren’t still mad.

"Happy now?" you muttered, still fuming.

Illumi's eyes flickered over you, and quickly he stepped forward and rubbed the back of his hand on your neck, making you flinch and lean back again. Once he finished doing that, his posture relaxed ever so slightly. "Yes," he said simply. Then, as if nothing had happened and he wasn’t in a state of undress right now, he looked over the lecture hall, probably trying to spot your coat.

You stared at his back, seething. "We’re not done talking about this," you warned.

"No," Illumi said, his voice as cold as ever. "I guess not. Grab your coat"

His tone made it clear he thought the conversation was over for now. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you glared daggers at him, but Illumi didn’t even look up. His calmness only fueled your frustration further.

"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, turning away to pick up the scattered remnants of your poor shirt.

Just as you’d settled onto your bed, laptop balanced on your knees and set to some show you’d been recommended, there was a sharp knock at the door.

You frowned, glancing at the time. It was late—too late for visitors. Cautiously, you padded to the door and opened it a crack.

Standing there was a delivery person holding a stack of neatly wrapped packages, a bouquet of colourful tulips peeking out from the top. "Delivery"

 “Uh… okay.”

The delivery person smiled, clearly unaware of your internal confusion, and began handing over the items. “Okay, so there’s this box, this bag, and, uh, this little basket here…” They kept piling items into your arms until you were balancing an almost comedic mountain of packages.

“Wait, wait—hold on,” you said, struggling to maneuver everything. You managed to drop it all onto your desk in one ungainly heap before rushing back to sign for it. “Who sent this?”

The delivery person glanced at the return address on one of the packages. “Looks like it’s from… Zoldyck?”

Your jaw tightened. Of course it was.

“Sign here, please.”

“Yeah, okay.” You signed the little machine and waved off the delivery man. When the door closed, you placed your hands on your hips and looked over the pile of gifts. What was this?

You grabbed your phone and called Illumi.

He picked up after the third ring. 

“Yes?”

“Why did you send me all these gifts, Illumi?” You asked, foregoing the usual greeting. “You really scared me the other day and I don’t want you to think you can just buy me off after doing stuff like that.”

“...” It was silent on his end for a while. “Apologizing would be useless here, since I stand by what I did.”

You made a high pitched noise of exasperation.

“But, perhaps,” Dear god he really had to force these words out, “I could’ve explained to you a bit better why I couldn’t let you smell like him.”

You looked at all the gifts and sneakily looked inside one of the bags, and with a tug at your heart you realized he’d gotten you merch for one of the movies you’d watched together in the cinema. That was sweet. 

Wait no, you were angry.

“It’s not something I can accurately explain.” He continued. Well, you’d heard that one before. “Can you trust me when I say it was for the best?”

“Well… Okay.” You slowly said, feeling like you had no backbone. “But for the next time if something like this happens, you don’t need to buy me gifts or anything, we can just talk it out.”

“I like giving you gifts.” Came the earnest reply. “I won’t apologize for that either.”

And once again, you were blushing, endlessly grateful he wouldn’t be able to smell how flustered he made you. You were supposed to be angry… angry.

“Just… warn me next time.”

Cradling your own forehead, annoyed at your own stupidity, you suppressed a groan, knowing you’d already forgiven him completely. 

You were fucked.

Dinner was supposed to be a casual affair—a chance to unwind and catch up with Mariah and Bianca, though the latter had gone into heat earlier this morning, so it’d be a week before you saw her again. The diner near campus, with its sticky menus and comforting smell of fried food, seemed like the perfect spot to gossip and reconnect, but the location had changed last minute to some uptight spot downtown, as you’d warned Mariah would happen.

Illumi had been invited, primarily because Mariah and Bianca had been dying to meet the mysterious guy you kept on disappearing with, though you weren’t entirely sure he’d show, despite having made a prepaid reservation. His response to being invited to dinner with you and Mariah had been a little lacklustre. 

But, true to form, he arrived just as you and Mariah were settling into the table.

“Hope I’m not late,” he said, settling into the seat next to you. He glanced briefly at Mariah, then turned to you. 

Mariah shifted slightly in her seat.

“Not at all,” you said, waving it off. “We just got here. Mariah, this is Illumi. Illumi, Mariah.”

“Good,” Illumi replied simply, already flagging down the waiter. You’d gotten used to his… slightly pretentious behaviour, but you were suddenly worried what Mariah would think. Would she think you were just hanging out with him because of his money, instead of despite it?

Dinner started easily enough—or so it seemed. After introductions had been made, you and Illumi fell into a rhythm. He had a knack for saying something just outrageous enough to spark a reaction, and despite yourself, you found it entertaining.

Mariah, though, was unusually quiet. She poked at her food, her fork dragging slow circles in her food. She nodded or hummed when you addressed her but barely looked up. You chalked it up to her being tired or maybe a little shy around Illumi, who wasn’t exactly the warmest presence.

Or maybe she hated the food. 

You could understand that as well, knowing she’d expected being able to order pasta instead of whatever reduction was on your plate now.

“Mariah,” you said at one point, trying to loop her into the conversation, “you promised to tell me about your holiday, how was it?”

She hesitated, her fork pausing mid-air. “Oh, um, maybe another time,” she said, her laugh sounding thinner than usual.

“Oh? You sure?”

“Yes.”

You frowned slightly but didn’t press. “Okay,” you said with a shrug, turning back to Illumi, who looked faintly amused.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Mariah gripping her utensils a little too tightly, her knuckles pale against the metal. Was something wrong? Was she sick or close to a heat like Bianca or something? That felt like a bad question to say aloud at a dinner table, and you were sure Illumi would have had more of a reaction if that were the case.

You dove back into the conversation, assuming Mariah was just having an off night. She was polite enough, you thought, even if she wasn’t her usual chatty self.

As the evening wore on, you barely noticed the way Mariah’s shoulders remained rigid, or the way her eyes darted to Illumi every time he moved. To you, it seemed like a perfectly fine dinner—awkward at moments, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. If there was something more beneath the surface, it didn’t quite register.

Finally, Mariah leaned over and touched your arm. “Hey, can you come with me to the bathroom for a sec?” she asked, her voice too light, too forced.

“Sure,” you said, sliding out of your seat. “Be right back,” you told Illumi, who gave a faint nod but didn’t seem particularly interested in your absence.

Once inside the tiny, dimly lit bathroom, Mariah spun around, her eyes wide.

“What the hell?” she hissed, her voice low but urgent.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused. “What’s wrong?”

“That guy,” she said, glancing toward the door as if expecting him to materialize there. “Illumi. He’s—he’s dangerous.”

You frowned. “What?”

Mariah shook her head vehemently. “His scent—God, it’s like it’s screaming at me to get the hell away from him. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s not just strong; it’s like… like he could jump up from his chair at any point to kill me.”

“He’s never been violent-” You thought about the time he ripped off your shirt. “Well…”

“Be for real.” She leveled you with a stare. “That’s because it isn’t aimed at you.”

Her words gave you pause. 

“Is it that bad?” you said, though unease pricked at the back of your mind.”A little bit of an exaggeration, maybe?”

Mariah grabbed your hands. “I’m not. I know you think he’s your friend or whatever, but there’s something off about him. I can feel it.”

You pulled your hands back gently, unsure what to say. Illumi was… well, Illumi. Sure, he could be unnerving, but you’d never felt truly unsafe around him. Then again, maybe you’d gotten used to his peculiarities in a way Mariah hadn’t. Or…

“So you think he’s just messing with me?” You asked softly, feeling hurt already by the idea, and sounding like a child in your own ears. “That he’s up to something?”

Mariah instantly softened and hugged you before letting a little space between you return. “No, honey, no, if that was the case I would’ve told you sooner, you know that. It’s not aimed at you, I promise. I can tell.” She seemed to struggle finding the words for what she wanted to say. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying me, but if it is just his… intensity, then I would say… perhaps… that he’s smelling like that because he doesn’t want me here. Did he know I was coming?”

“Yes, I think so?” You said. “I texted it.”

“Okay, well, figure that out.” Mariah said. “I’m gonna excuse myself in a bit, and you can ask what all that… cloud of hatred is about. I’m surprised the staff isn’t saying anything about it.”

“Hm.”

“Also…” she began sheepishly.

Immediately you knew what she was talking about. “Yeah I know, don’t worry about it, he refuses to go to cheap restaurants, but in turn he pays. I’ll make a scene if he says anything about it.”

“Please don’t.” Mariah said, more seriously than you’d expected. “Please.”

You nodded, but your mind was spinning as you followed her back to the booth. Illumi glanced up as you returned, his gaze flickering to Mariah for a fraction of a second before focusing on you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice as calm as ever.

Mariah’s fingers curled tightly around her water glass, and you hesitated before answering. “Yeah,” you said, sliding back into your seat. “We’re good.”

“Man, I’m wiped. I think I’m gonna call it after this.” she said, her voice too bright and about three seconds after she’d sat down again. She grabbed her bag in one swift motion and slid out of her seat again. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You frowned in faux surprise, mentally cursing her for not having more tact and at least pretending for another few minutes. “You sure? You didn’t even finish your drink.”

Mariah waved a hand dismissively, her eyes flicking briefly toward Illumi before darting away. “I’m good. Really. Nice meeting you,” she added..

Illumi didn’t look up from his glass of water. “Likewise,” he said flatly.

“Bye,” You said as she’d collected all her stuff. “See you tomorrow.”

Mariah lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to say more, then turned on her heel and hurried out of the diner.

You watched her go and looked like Illumi, trying to pretend it was also sudden for you. Even if your scent didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to be a genius to realize something happened after she immediately left after the both of you excused yourselves to the bathroom. “That’s a shame.”

“She was nervous,” Illumi said without looking up, tucking a few strands of ink-black hair behind his ear.

You turned back to him, feigning ignorance as you tried to fish for answers. “Nervous? Why would she be nervous?”

Illumi met your gaze then, his dark eyes cool and assessing. “Because she’s an omega,” he said simply.

You blinked. “And that means… what exactly?”

He leaned back, his posture relaxed, but his gaze unwavering. “Despite making up nearly half the population, they all expect to be treated with a certain… indulgence. Most of it is unspoken, communicated through scent. Since she’s unmated, she probably assumed I’d ignore you.”

You frowned. That didn’t sound anything like how Mariah had described it. “That doesn’t seem right.”

Illumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone turning pointed. “Is it really so hard to believe that you’d be sidelined when alphas and omegas interact?”

It wasn’t.

But biology aside, Mariah hadn’t looked annoyed or jealous—she’d looked uncomfortable. Scared, even. You’d only known her for a year, but that was enough time to get a sense of someone, wasn’t it? Then again, you’d never gone to one of those mixers with her. You already knew you’d hate the whole experience, so maybe she really was different in that kind of setting.

“That’s… kind of harsh,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “You make it sound like she’s jealous. She’s not like that.”

“It’s not necessarily jealousy,” he said curtly. “But her reaction isn’t unusual.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact he was. “Huh.”

“It’s not just a guess,” he added. “It’s a pattern. Even if she’s your friend, omegas don’t like being ignored or overshadowed. And I simply prefer your company.”

You hesitated. “I… don’t really know what to think about that.”

It was true that you spent most of your time around omegas, and this whole situation with Illumi was new. Thinking of Mariah in such a negative light didn’t sit right with you.

“I might be wrong,” he said.

“Could be, I can’t say.” Another tally for the growing list of frustrations your secondary gender was causing you. “Does that mean you only like hanging out with me because I don't expect you to fawn over me?”

“No.” Illumi said immediately. 

“...Then what?”

“Hm.” He seemed to think about his phrasing. “If anything you should expect more from me.”

“Oh.” You said slowly, feeling stupid as you had no idea what he meant by that.

Illumi didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, his tone was softer but no less unsettling. “Does that idea bother you?”

You still hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, so you just winged it.

“Not really, I guess?” You looked at him. “Should it?”

He nodded. “That’s a good answer.”

You glanced at the door where Mariah had left, unsure what you’d say to her when you’d meet her again. Telling her Illumi seemed to consider her insulted by his lack of interest towards her seemed like a bad call, but you hadn’t ever been in a situation like this one before, so you couldn’t really tell whether or not what either was saying was correct. 

Either Ilumi was, probably unintentionally, really scary, or Mariah was annoyed because your friend didn’t switch his attention to her. 

The silence stretched for a moment, and your curiosity got the better of you. Since the topic was already out there, you figured you might as well ask. “Okay, since we’re on a similar topic, I wanted to ask you what you think I smell like?”

You’d asked Bianca once, and she’d blinked like it was a really weird question. Her answer had been vague, just telling you that your scent was very neutral. 

Illumi did look up at your question, slightly surprised, but didn’t hesitate for even a second before leaning in slightly, his sharp nose barely an inch away from your shoulder as he inhaled.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

He straightened just as quickly. “Cold coffee,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What?” you blinked, startled.

“Cold coffee,” he repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Stale, bitter, with faint traces of something sweet.”

You stared at him, completely at a loss. “That’s… weirdly specific.”

“It’s accurate,” he replied. 

“Well, okay. Didn’t know what I expected,” you said, still processing his blunt observation. “Is that a good thing? Stale and bitter doesn’t sound good.”

“It is good, don’t worry,” Illumi said, tilting his head slightly. “Coffee is dominant, but there’s something else beneath it.”

You frowned. “Something else? Like what?”

Illumi regarded you for a long moment, his gaze heavy. It must’ve been a trick of the light, since you swore you saw his pupils dilate. “I can’t place it. Yet.”

“Yet?” you echoed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

He didn’t answer.

You let out a breath and muttered, “Cold coffee, huh? Guess I’ll take that over, I don’t know, swamp water or something.”

Illumi’s lips curved faintly. “It suits you,” he said simply.

“Again,” you said, side-eyeing him with a faint smile of your own, “not sure if that’s a compliment. And can you, like, really read my emotions out of it? What I’m thinking?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, his words frustratingly evasive.

“That’s unfair,” you whined. 

“I like it.”

You stopped your own exasperation and smiled wider, raising an eyebrow. “You like knowing exactly what I think, while I’m forced to guess?”

“Yes.” His answer was immediate.

“That’s…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. Infuriating? Annoying? “Of course, you do.”

Illumi’s eyes didn’t leave you, and you had the distinct feeling that he was filing something away. Cataloging another one of your on-display emotions.

Meanwhile, you had nothing. No scent to read, no way to tell what was going on in his head, no way to even the playing field. You were left with only your gut—and he seemed entirely too aware of that fact.

“Must be nice,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“It is,” Illumi said, leaning on his fist with his elbow on the table.

Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was irritation or embarrassment. Maybe both. 

Next to you, Illumi shifted, his hand brushing his glass again before returning to his lap. His focus hadn’t wavered, and though he said nothing more, you could feel the weight of his attention pressing down like a tangible thing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“Well, enjoy your unfair advantage,” you said, finally trying to break the moment, your voice light but tinged with dry humor.

“I will.”

A few days later, you and Mariah were sitting in your favorite coffee shop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as you both huddled over steaming mugs, a smell that held new context for you now that you knew you apparently fit right in. 

The tension from last week seemed to have faded, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mariah was still a little off whenever you brought up Illumi. You pushed the thought aside as she leaned back in her seat, her gaze flicking over to you with an almost suspicious look.

Surprisingly, she was the one to bring him up.

“You know,” Mariah said slowly, her voice quieter than usual, “you smell like him.”

You blinked, looking up from your coffee. “What? Like who?”

Mariah’s eyes narrowed as she studied you, wordlessly yelling at you who do you think. “Illumi. You reek of him.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the accusation, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I—I don’t reek of him. I don’t even—he was over at my place this morning so some must have stuck, that’s all,” you said quickly, trying to brush it off.

But Mariah wasn’t buying it. Her eyebrows shot up, and she leaned in, voice low and urgent. “Listen to me, okay? No one smells like that unless the alpha intends for it to happen. And I’m telling you, girl, that scent—his scent—is all over you.”

“You think Illumi is scenting me?”

“Of course he is. He’s marking you.”

You quickly glanced around, making sure no one was overhearing this ridiculous conversation. “What? No, no, that’s not what happened. He wasn’t marking me or whatever. He just—he was there to talk for a bit and—”

Mariah threw her hands up in exasperation, slapping her palm against your forehead in a light but hard thwack. “Are you seriously this oblivious?” she snapped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “He called you his beta, didn’t he?”

You blinked at her, rubbing your forehead where she’d hit you. “Yeah, he did. But that was just... I don’t know, some weird thing he said. Like, I’m his beta now or something. I didn’t take it seriously.”

Mariah stared at you, slack-jawed for a moment, as if you had just confessed to committing some terrible crime. “No, no, no. You don’t get it. When an alpha calls anyone theirs—especially a guy as serious as Illumi—it’s not a joke. Alpha’s don’t joke about stuff like that. He’s marking you.”

You stared at her, images of what ‘marking’ generally entailed in your romance novels popping up in your mind, a hot blush creeping up your neck. “I—Mariah, I swear, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t—he didn’t mark me, he just... he just came over and—”

“I don’t mean sex! Marking is more than that, it’s like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant, but with scents. Sure, being around someone is bound to have some intermingling in scent occur, but he’s clearly been rubbing his scent glands on everything he could get his hands on.” Mariah said pointing at your neck, bag and coat. “It’s in the way he marks his territory, and your scent is telling everyone with a working nose that you’re his.”

“But what does that mean?” You felt like a broken record, but you just couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“I know you probably don’t wanna hear it from me,” The omega said slowly. “but he’s into you. Carnally. Romantically. Sexually. Either which way.”

“That’s-” You looked up at the ceiling, so shocked to hear it so bluntly stated that you couldn’t really figure out what to say. Telling Mariah, who hated Illumi, that you’d been kinda into him for a while now and were kinda happy at hearing all this seemed like a bad call. Better to maybe save that for when you truly figured out what you felt about him instead of this back- and forth you felt currently. “So... what do I do now?”

Mariah threw her hands up. “Honestly, at this point, I don’t know. But you need to stop acting like this is some innocent thing. I don’t know why he’s doing this either, but we gotta call it like we see it, and this alpha apparently has a thing for beta’s.”

Your gaze drifted to your coffee, the bitter taste now suddenly too sharp on your tongue. Her words bothered you. Like she couldn’t fathom someone going to such (hypothetical) lengths for someone like you. Like you were less than, never enough.

Mariah’s sharp eyes softened as she looked at you one last time. “Just... pay attention, okay?” she said quietly. “Don’t let him drag you into something you’re not ready for. Marking is serious business, and for some reason, this guy just wants you.”

“For some reason?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Mariah backpedaled quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no, no.” You held up a hand, feeling frustration bubble to the surface. “I know you think you’re helping, but all you’re doing is showing me how unlikely you find it that someone might actually like me.”

Her comment stung more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t just Mariah’s words—it was your own insecurities coming to life. Deep down, you’d always wondered if you could ever be enough for someone. Enough for anyone, let alone someone like Illumi, who was handsome and nice in his own weird way despite being a snobbish prick fifty percent of the time. 

Beta’s were rare, and there was no promise that you’d click with any one of them, while the rest of the population apparently found it unnatural to be romantically interested in someone like you.

And now, with Mariah voicing those doubts aloud, it felt like confirmation of every fear you’d tried to bury.

“I don’t mean it like that.” Mariah hurriedly said. “I really didn’t. It’s just… Alpha’s, and men in particular, are pretty basic. They follow their nose as much as they do their dicks, and Illumi is acting like you’re an omega, which you’re not. It’s weird that he’s doing this, and I want you to be safe from his freakish behaviour.”

"Freakish"? You repeated again. “Taking me out to dinner, paying attention to me, actually getting to know me instead of labelling me away as a faulty byproduct is freakish? I’m not a little kid, Mariah, and I really like him. I’m not going to quit seeing him just because you cannot fathom someone actually taking an interest in me without being some freak.”

“I didn’t mean—” Mariah winced, her voice lowering as she glanced around. “Get your scent under control, you’re filling the whole café.”

Your eyes flashed with hurt at her words.

“I’m gonna go,” you said quietly, standing up and grabbing your things. You sniffled, trying to hold back the sting of tears. “See you later.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out, the door’s bell jingling softly behind you as you stepped into the cool evening air.

A few nights later, you and Illumi had agreed to stay in and watch a movie at your place. 

You hadn’t spoken to Mariah since the fight, and mornings in the communal kitchen were rather awkward. It was clear Bianca was taking Mariah’s side, since she’d also been rather short with you when you’d walked past her.

It meant you’d been rather lonely and were glad you still had Illumi.

Even ignoring the fight, she had been right about one thing. Everything you had reeked of him. The fact that you smelled like Illumi had since then been confirmed by multiple other sources, a young boy on the subway even asking you who you were and why you were smelling like his older brother.

(You’d been excited at that, having heard Illumi talk about his younger siblings multiple times, but the white-haired boy had just told you to ‘steer clear of that asshole’ which had made you confused once again. Was it just the kid going through puberty, or were you an idiot and was every sign in the universe telling you that this wasn’t a good idea? 

You were leaning towards puberty.)

Since he’d arrived, you’d even caught him in the act. You’d showered beforehand, made sure to be so lathered in body butter that perfumes were clogging up every pore, and you’d deep-cleaned your house religiously. When Illumi entered, you’d immediately noticed a slight upturn of his nose. He didn’t respond with anger or disappointment, as part of you had expected, but you did notice him trail his hand over your couch and put his coat directly over yours at the hanging rack.

The gesture had seemed casual, but something about it made your skin prickle. The weight of his coat pressed firmly against yours, their scents mingling in a way you were now sure wasn’t accidental.

As you settled in on the couch, remote in hand, you glanced over at him. 

"Illumi," you said, your voice steady despite the uncomfortable knot in your stomach, "we need to talk."

He glanced over at you, his eyebrow twitching slightly, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

You took a deep breath, deciding you weren’t going to back down. "About your scent."

His gaze shifted slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You’re still bothered by not being able to read me?"

"No, it’s not that, I—" You hesitated. "I met up with Mariah and she made some comments, and I need to ask you about it. She said that all my stuff- and me-  smells like you, and that such things don’t happen by accident, so I need to ask you why you have been marking me with your scent like that? You know, it's apparently  kind of hard to ignore."

“That girl really dislikes me.”

“...Yeah.” You admitted, not wanting to get into the specifics. “But the point stands, are you really doing that?”

Illumi didn’t seem surprised by the question. He tilted his head ever so slightly, his dark eyes focusing on you. “It’s natural,” he said simply. “It’s in my nature to mark what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, and you were fidgeting with your sleeves to avoid making eye contact. "Just to be, uhm, clear: what do you mean, ‘what’s yours’?"

Illumi looked at you, his expression blank but somehow expectant, like he wasn’t sure why you didn’t understand. "You’re my beta," he said matter-of-factly. "I’ve told you this before."

Your stomach twisted. “I—wait, no.” You shook your head, trying to process what he was saying. “We’re not dating. We’re not in a relationship or anything like that. So why are you—” You paused, trying to find the right words. “Why are you marking me like that?”

He blinked slowly, processing your confusion. "What did you think we were doing all this time?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You suddenly felt like you were backpedaling. Of course you’d noticed possible romantic possibilities, you’d even gotten into a fight over the mere existence of the possibility, but this wasn’t an indication of liking you, this was a confession.

"I didn’t think it was like that," you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I thought we were just... friends. You know, hanging out, watching movies, talking. I didn’t realize you... thought we were dating." You huffed out in frustration. “Why would you think that? You know I can’t tell with stuff like this.”

“I thought I was being rather upfront.” Illumi tilted his head, as if he were considering your words for the first time. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift, he leaned a little closer. "Do you often have friends that buy you jewelry when they apologize to you?”

“I don’t have a lot of super rich friends who can do that, so no.” You said, flustered, unsure whether you should lean back or forward. “but we’ve never done anything romantic or—” You gestured vaguely, your cheeks warming. “—intimate. How was I supposed to know you felt differently?”

“Hm,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ve got a point. I didn’t consider it like that.”

Your heart was pounding when he stood, his movements confident as he approached. You barely had time to react before he loomed over you.

“Illumi—” you began, but the words died in your throat when he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

He didn’t give you a chance to protest—or to think. His lips pressed against yours, firm and insistent, and the world tilted.

The kiss wasn’t gentle or hesitant. His hand moving to the back of your head with practiced ease, he made sure your first kiss with him was something that you’d never be able to forget. He guided you closer, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, leaving no room for doubt or misinterpretation.

Your thoughts short-circuited. This wasn’t what you had imagined—not during embarrassing daydreams or fleeting fantasies during lectures. It wasn’t tentative or awkward at all.

When he finally pulled away, your breath came shallow and uneven. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and speechless, unable to form a single coherent thought.

Illumi straightened, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, like he was testing the waters of your reaction.

“I know you want me to say things out loud,” he said, his voice casual and unhurried. “But now you understand, don’t you?”

The high-pitched ‘huh?’ that left your mouth didn’t convince him you’d understood, so he made sure to reiterate his point.

Okay.

So you were dating Illumi now.

It was a big change, though not a lot had changed between you and Illumi since you realized he’d already thought you’d been dating for weeks already. You, Bianca and Mariah still weren’t talking, and after getting confirmation by Illumi that both their scents were rather antagonistic towards you (he’d visited you and the two of you’d walked past them) you had to come to terms with the fact that you didn’t really have friends anymore.

No more late night talks, movie nights and coffee dates.

At least with them.

You did miss them both, really, but even if you wanted to make up, the fact that they still were really mad at you made you scared to approach them. Illumi assured you you didn’t need them, which made you feel a little bit better, and luckily he’d taken a while off work at the end of the semester to spend some time with you. 

That was… nice. 

No, it was more than nice. It was surprising. Sweet, even. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had cleared their schedule just to be with you.

After the first few days, your routine had completely changed. Instead of going home, you were picked up by Illumi’s car (you couldn’t get used to it) and brought to his apartment, where the two of you would hang out for the entire night or go out and do something fun. 

The first kiss had opened up a dam, since Illumi now wouldn’t let you leave without at least kissing you once, preferably with things going a little further. You weren’t ready for sex yet and had made that very obvious when you’d started to cry when he’d tried and unclasp your bra, but after that he’d interrogated you (that was the word for it) and a list of activities had been made that you did feel comfortable with. 

So no sex yet, but your entire neck was dotted red with hickeys.

Sometimes, though, the car wouldn’t take you to his apartment. Instead, it would whisk you away to one of Illumi’s surprises. These outings were always meticulously planned, and while you appreciated the effort, it was a lot to take in. Dinners at high-end restaurants (which you still didn’t really like), private gallery viewings (of artists you’d never heard of), even a helicopter ride once (you were kind of afraid of heights)—it was thoughtful, but overwhelming. 

It made you feel like you needed to keep up, to repay him somehow.

You’d tried, once. You’d spent hours planning a surprise arcade date, something low-key and fun, the kind of thing you thought he’d never experienced. You’d saved up for it too, scraping together enough for the tickets and even a dinner reservation at a place you thought was cozy and nice. It had been a lot of work, but you were excited to surprise him, to show him you could contribute to the relationship too.

You’d been in the arcade hall for barely half an hour. He hadn’t shown any interest in the games you wanted to try, brushing off your suggestions and seeming uninterested in the bright-coloured collection of games. When you went to pay for some tickets, hoping to at least do that for him, his credit card was handed over before you even reached the counter, effectively undermining your effort. 

To make matters worse, the dinner reservation you’d carefully planned had been canceled without so much as a discussion. Frustration bubbled over, and you couldn’t hold back your irritation any longer. Why wouldn’t he let you choose anything?

You’d put so much effort into finding a place you could afford that you thought he’d like, and it felt like he’d completely dismissed that. He hadn’t seemed to understand why you were upset, either, which had only made things worse. 

Still, despite the bumps, he was giving you everything and it was hard to feel justified when your main grievance with him was that he gave too much. 

It just felt like he wasn’t listening.

But if not being alone meant learning to stomach some well-intentioned over-gifting, perhaps that was just how it was. Or at least, that was the mantra you tried to hold onto, right up until the moment you found yourself standing in front of something you couldn’t stomach at all.

“What’s this?” you asked, your voice low and cautious, your eyes locked on the keys in your hand. They were heavy, the kind with an expensive fob that seemed engraved with actual gold.

Illumi gave you a steady look, his gaze never wavering. “Your new apartment.” 

You blinked, trying to make sense of the words. “I can’t accept this,” you said finally, your grip tightening on the keys as though holding onto them too tightly might undo what was happening. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks. I don’t even know if...” You trailed off, your thoughts too jumbled to finish the sentence.

“It’s already paid for,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting off your protest. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining a math problem. “You don’t need to worry about rent or any of the financial hassle. College housing fees are too high for you, and you don’t need to stay there. It’s the best deal you’ll get.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. The keys in your hand suddenly felt like they were burning your skin. How did we get here? you thought, the enormity of the gesture hitting you all at once. This wasn’t just overstepping a boundary; this was obliterating it.

“Illumi, I don’t— I don’t feel comfortable accepting this. This is... a lot. I’ve been fine in the dorms. I don’t need an apartment.”

Illumi seemed to be studying you, as though he was weighing your every word. “I’m well aware that you’re not financially independent,” he said, holding a condescension in his voice that made you bristle. “The dorms aren’t a permanent solution. I’ve paid for this place, and it’s better than anything you could afford on your own. It’s already done.”

You recoiled slightly. “I... I don’t want to be in debt to you,” you said, voice tight. “It feels wrong.”

Illumi’s lips twitched, a hint of something—disinterest, maybe amusement—flashing across his face. “You’re not in debt to me,” he replied. “It’s a gift. Consider it an upgrade before we eventually move in together.”

The pressure in your chest intensified as you glanced at the keys again. You wanted to argue, to push back, but what could you say? The offer was so one-sided. So easy for him. And yet it felt suffocating.

“I don’t want to owe you anything,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him.

“You won’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice steady. “But it’s already done. The place is yours. As the person responsible for your wellbeing, I consider it to be my responsibility to make sure your place of living isn’t covered in black mould”

“Illumi, we’ve-” You didn’t know what to say. “We’ve been dating for like a month, that’s not enough time to be giving me stuff like this. I’m not your responsibility, not like that. You make it sound like we’re married or mated or something.”

“Not yet.” He said, patting your hair.  

“I didn’t say that to sound enthusiastic, Illumi” You tried to give the keys back, but he wouldn’t take them. “This is going way too fast for me.”

The words hurt to say. 

What if he ended things because of this? You’d have nothing. 

But…

“I think...” you started hesitantly, the words tangling in your throat. “I think... Maybe some space might be good for both of us. Just to—”

You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence. It wasn’t that you wanted to break up, you liked him! More than you had ever expected to care about someone so quickly. But your life had been shifting so quickly since Illumi had entered it. 

At first, it had been nice—wonderful, even. The way he had swept in and taken care of things you hadn’t even realized you needed help with. It was intoxicating, feeling so wanted, so thought of, so prioritized after a lifetime of being forgotten. But these days, you had no friends, and your day began and ended with whatever he had planned. 

You’d already been lying awake some nights, wondering what would remain of your life once he would start working after school again. Would you even know what to do with yourself?

Every day seemed to revolve more and more around him: his plans, his routines, his way of doing things. And while you didn’t mind it in theory—how could you, when he was so thoughtful?—you missed having time to breathe. And it wasn’t like this would last. One of these days he’d find someone else with a sweet scent and he’d forget all about the weird girl he dated in college. You shouldn’t let it get to your head.

You felt selfish even thinking about it. 

Still.

The words weighed heavy in your chest, and as you looked at him, you could only hope he’d understand. “Just to... I don’t know, adjust,” you finished weakly, your voice trailing off.

Illumi stepped forward and grabbed your arms, cutting off your words. His eyes, usually so blank, sharpened into something predatory. Before you could react, his face was inches from yours.

“Space,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “Is that what you think we need?”

“...Just a little?” You whispered.

“Wrong answer.”

One of his hands was placed on the back of your head, keeping you in place as Illumi pushed your shirt down your shoulder in one swift motion, ripping the neckline. You dropped the fob on the ground, trying to step back.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he placed his teeth against your skin.

For a fleeting second, your body tensed, instinct screaming at you to move, to push him away—but before you could even process it, he bit down.

The sharp pain of his bite made you gasp, a strange mixture of heat and cold spreading through your skin. His teeth sunk deep, leaving a mark that burned. The sensation was overwhelming, dizzying. You wanted to pull away, to scream, but his grip tightened, strong and unyielding, holding you in place effortlessly. 

Illumi pulled back just enough to look at you like a cat who’d gotten his prey, his eyes almost glowing with a dark satisfaction. 

Your heart pounded erratically in your chest, each beat reverberating against the raw, burning mark on your neck. You could barely hear yourself over the rush of blood in your ears. You’d been holding your breath from the moment he’d held the back of your head.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice was shaky, barely audible, but it carried the weight of your disbelief.

The weight of the realization hit you like a tidal wave. He hadn’t just bitten you. That was a fucking mating bite. 

“You—you bit me?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice breaking. Panic and anger surged through you, but you couldn’t seem to make sense of either. Your fingers brushed over the tender skin of your neck, coming away slick with blood. “That’s a felony, Illumi! What the fuck?”

His gaze didn’t waver, his expression as casual as when you’d ask him the weather forecast. Slowly, deliberately, he raised a hand to his mouth and swiped his thumb across his lips, collecting a faint smear of your blood. His tongue flicked out, licking it clean.

“That’s how much space we need,” he said simply, as though that was enough explanation. “Now you’re well and marked.”

“No shit, you marked me,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You can’t just—just do that without asking! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Illumi tilted his head slightly, as though your outrage puzzled him. “You’re mine,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone calm, as though he were stating the obvious. “Now even if you get ideas about wanting space, your body will know better.”

“I won’t be able to get rid of this,” You realized as you felt the blood seeping down your shirt. A mating bite was serious business. If one wanted to get rid of it, the entire glands in the neck needed to be cut out, a very pricey and risky surgery that you had to fly overseas for to get. You’d never heard of a beta getting one, and had no idea what it’d do to you. “This- oh fuck.”

You pushed him away, immediately falling to the floor, trying to stop yourself from panicking. 

“You once said that it’s difficult for beta’s to date, because they live in a world where they have to guess, while everyone else knows who’s a good fit.”  Illumi continued as he leaned over your fallen figure, his black hair falling around his face, closing you off from the rest of the room. It was just him.  

“Th-that’s-” 

He just looked at you as you started to crawl away, staining his floor with blood.

“But I disagreed with that statement.”

You were slipping on your own blood. You couldn’t get away fast enough. He was going to get you.

“We don’t have to guess either, because I know. I can assure you you’ll be happy with me, so you don’t have to think about it for even a second.”

Despite your fear, a new part of you wanted to settle down into the floor, to roll on your back and open your arms and have him closer to you. It was like an invisible thread pulling you toward him, tugging at your very soul, but the sick feeling in your stomach snapped you out of it before the thoughts could gain hold.

You wanted to leave. You had to leave.

“I can tell what makes you happy, and you don’t need anyone else for that.”  

The words were meant to be reassuring, if he were to be asked, but they only deepened the knot of anxiety in your chest. The reality of what had just happened was sinking in, and with it came a crushing sense of helplessness.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No,” Illumi agreed, his lips curving into a cruel mockery of a smile. “But you didn’t have to.”

He took a step towards you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had, adrenaline gave you the energy you needed to wrench yourself up, your feet nearly slipping as you stumbled towards the door. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Despite thinking he’d chase you, you reached the elevator, Illumi remaining in the appartment. A random man coming home from work saw you sprint out when you’d reached the bottom floor, calling after you that you were bleeding, as if that was new information.

As soon as the cool night air hit you, the wound started hurting badly, and it felt like your body was being torn in two. It was a bodily reaction to you knowing Illumi was getting further and further away with each step you took.

Your skin crawled, a disgusting ache starting deep in your chest, gnawing at you with the weight of his presence so far away. The sickly, yearning feeling only intensified the further you got from him, and you fought every instinct to turn around and go back.

But you had to leave. 

Mariah had been right. His little brother had been right. Everyone had been right.

Illumi was dangerous.

You walked quickly, heart pounding as you made your way to the street. The world felt off-kilter, as though the very air around you was thicker, heavier. 

You only vaguely knew where you were going, but your feet kept going, despite your body feeling heavier and heavier with each step. You had been out of breath after the first hundred feet, but your body persisted, fueled by the fear that someone was chasing. 

People tried to stop you as you ran, a group of very concerned women even trying to physically stop you from keeping on running. You managed to side-step them, and none gave chase, the few shouts following you drowned out by the heart beat drumming in your ears.

A cold sweat broke out across your skin as the bond gnawed at you from within. Every step you took away from him made the ache worse, the emptiness spreading through you, yet you needed to get away.

It was outside your college dorm that you heard someone call your name.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

You turned to see Mariah approaching, her face pale with concern. But as her eyes fell on you, she stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze locking onto your neck. The blood marked your skin, the bite mark standing out on your neck.

By now your entire shirt was soaked.

Mariah’s eyes widened in shock, and she hurried toward you, her face a mix of disbelief and fear. “What the hell happened to you?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t wait for you to respond. She reached out, pulling you away from the street, her hands trembling.

"Mariah, I—" you began, your voice shaking, but she cut you off.

“No, no, no!” she said, her tone growing frantic as she looked you over. “We need to call the police. Now.”

The reality of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, confused, trying to make sense of the situation. “Mariah, what? I just need—”

“Because that,” she pointed at the bite mark on your neck, her voice trembling with panic, “is dangerous, you could get really sick. Did he just leave you here?!”

“I ran…”

“You ran?!” she said incredulously, pushing her hair out of her face. “For fucks’ sake. I’m calling the cops”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of her words crashing down on you. 

“No,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “I just... I just need to get away from him. Put some alcohol on it and ride this out. I don’t need the police. I’ll be fine.”

But Mariah wasn’t having it. She grabbed her phone, dialing a number before you could protest. “No, you won’t be fine. Forget bloodloss, you just had a bucket full of hormones pumped into you and you’re completely unprepared. We have to get you to a good place. They have separate rooms at the police, if I remember correctly”

As Mariah spoke urgently into the phone, arranging for the authorities to meet you, you just sat on the steps, fighting the overwhelming desire to run all the way back. The pull was almost too much to resist, but luckily for you, the running had completely exhausted you, meaning that even if you didn’t resist, it wasn’t like you could stand up anymore.

When she was done calling, she sat next to you and sighed deeply. You looked up at her and felt like shit.

“I’m sorry, Mariah.” You said, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. “I-I thought.. I really liked him. I’m sorry.”

She sat next to you and let you lean against her shoulder, while she kept pressure on your neck.

The fact that blood seeped into her hands didn’t seem to bother her.

 “I know, sweetie. I’m sorry, too.”

The sterile, fluorescent lights of the police station flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on the walls. The faint hum of distant conversation filled the air, but you were far too disoriented to pay it any mind. You sat slumped in a chair in the waiting room, your body trembling, feverish, and aching. The wound Illumi had placed on you still throbbed painfully.

Your mind was clouded, slipping in and out of coherence as the fever set in. You could barely keep your eyes open.

Half an hour ago, Mariah had left for a bit after they’d administered some medicine to you, which did little but further nauseate you, promising that as soon as a separate room was available they’d move you. She’d whispered that she’d try and file a report while you were recovering. 

You didn’t deserve her, you realized, and you definitely would buy some stupid friendship bracelet once you got out of here.

The door to the waiting room opened, the sound of shoes clicking on the tile floor breaking through your delirium. You looked up, squinting through the haze in your mind, to see two men in sharp suits standing before you. One of them held a folder, the other a briefcase. They didn’t need to say anything; their presence was enough to send a ripple of unease through you.

One of the men held out a form in front of you. “Sign here,” he said flatly.

“Whassdis?” You slurred.

“Release papers.” The man said, pushing the pen in your hand. “We’re moving you to a different location. It’s better prepared to handle your situation.”

You stared at the paperwork for a moment, disoriented, unable to focus properly on the words on the page. The dizziness in your head made it impossible to read anything clearly, and the feverish haze only made it worse. 

“Shouldn’t…” You began, trying to focus on moving your tongue correctly. “Mariah, my friend, she’s here-”

“We’ll make sure she gets informed.” The man said immediately. “Now sign, we need to move you as quickly as possible.”

You reached out with trembling hands, signing the papers, your signature almost illegible.

The men exchanged a quick glance before they closed the folder and stood up. One of them reached down to offer a hand to you, and without thinking, you took it. His grip was firm, steady, as though he was accustomed to leading people like you around.

“Try and walk, if it doesn’t work, say something and we’ll carry you,” he said, guiding you to your feet. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you had no strength to protest. 

They led you out of the station, past the rows of busy officers and the quiet buzz of the station. You barely registered the surroundings, your vision blurring as you were guided through the entrance. Outside, a familiar black car waited, sleek and polished under the dim streetlights. The door was already open, and the men ushered you toward it.

You felt a cold shiver run down your back. Something was terribly wrong. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, your body wouldn’t respond. Your eyes kept fluttering, struggling to stay open.

“I need to talk to Mariah,” you whispered, your voice weak. “Is she coming with us?”

No answer came. The man simply nudged you forward, and before you knew it, you were sliding into the back of the car, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The men climbed in on either side of you, trapping you between them. One of them pulled out a phone and began speaking quietly into it, while the other sat still, watching you.

The car moved. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, the fever in your body making it impossible to process everything clearly.

And then, just as the car began to pick up speed, a distant shout pierced the fog in your mind.

"Hey! What the hell is going on?!"

You blinked in confusion, trying to focus through the haze. Through the rear window, you saw Mariah standing on the sidewalk, her face pale with shock and anger. She was waving her arms, running toward the car, her voice desperate.

“Stop! What are you doing?!” she yelled, looking around at pedestrians as you got further and further away from her. “Get the officers! They’re taking her! She’s—”

The car accelerated, and you couldn’t hear her anymore, her voice muffled by the sound of the engine roaring to life.

Mariah’s words lingered in your mind, but the fever had already taken over, drowning you in the confusion and ache of the bond. You wanted to reach out, to call for help, but everything felt so far away, like you were slipping through your own fingers. You couldn’t remember where you were going, who these men were, or even why you were so desperate to escape. 

An indiscriminate amount of time later, the car came to a stop with a soft, muffled hiss of the brakes. 

You were barely able to move, but the men guided you out, their grip on your arms gentle yet firm. You didn’t have the energy to focus on the details as you were led inside, up a quiet elevator, and down a pristine hallway to a door that clicked open with a soft, satisfying sound.

Inside was... familiar. It smelled of bleach. There was something off-putting about it, but your mind couldn’t piece everything together. Your limbs felt like lead, your head swimming as if you had just woken from a deep, feverish sleep. But you weren’t sure if you had actually been asleep or if this was the feverish haze you had slipped into.

You barely had time to process any of it before the men pushed you toward the couch, and you sank into it, weak and exhausted, realizing that you’d sat on this particular couch before. 

You looked around and noticed a shimmer on the floor, as if it had been recently mopped. A sigh left your lips as you realized where you were, and what that entailed.

The men in black stepped away and left, the door closing softly behind them, leaving you in the dimly lit apartment with only the sounds of the faint hum of the city outside to fill the silence.

Then, his presence hit you.

Illumi entered the room, his footsteps silent. You felt the pull of him—stronger now, more undeniable than ever—and your stomach churned with discomfort as he moved toward you, standing close but not touching you.

“Better?” His voice was low, steady, like a soothing balm against the rawness of your confusion.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat was dry, and every movement felt like it took all the strength you had left. Your body ached, your neck still stinging from the bite he had left, and you could feel the mark throbbing. You wanted to be angry, to demand him to take you back home, but your body refused to cooperate, instead relaxing in the immediate relief you felt being near him.

Illumi knelt in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as he inspected your condition. “You need rest,” he murmured happily, as if not even noticing the pain and discomfort you were in. “I’ll take care of you.”

His gaze never left you as he stood, moving across the room to fetch a glass of water. You were too dazed to protest, too weak to do anything but sit there, watching him with unfocused eyes. When he returned, he sat beside you, lifting your head slightly to offer you the glass.

"Drink," he commanded softly. You obeyed out of instinct, your lips numbly parting as the cool water slid down your parched throat.

"You'll need to take it slow," he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender, and it would’ve fooled you if he didn’t seem so damned smug. "But you’ll be taken care of."

You swallowed hard, the water offering momentary relief. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. 

"Illumi," you whispered, the words scraping painfully against your dry throat, "What do you think you’re doing?"

His  eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing your question. "What do you think I'm doing?" he asked, his voice deceptively light, as if the two of you were playing a game.

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain that you didn’t want any of this, but the words died on your tongue as you felt the room spinning in slow, dizzying circles. 

Before you could say aloud that you were feeling sick, Illumi was there lifting you with ease (your blood seeping into his shirt) and carrying you to a bedroom. Even delusional, you recognized your fucking sweatshirt as his pillow case.

He put you down on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin as he tucked you in. You wanted to stand up, slap him and go back home, to your own space, your real friends. At the same time, your entire body cried in agony when he stopped cupping your skin, wiping away some sweat from your forehead. 

You’d heard it described mating bites as a very intense experience, but none had mentioned how out of this world dizzying it all was.

Though you guessed most omega’s didn’t sprint a few miles after being bitten.

"You must be tired," Illumi murmured, his cool fingers brushing your hair back from your forehead. "Sleep."

That seemed like your only choice, you reckoned, though you were terrified of what you’d wake up to. Illumi had dragged you from a police station of all places, meaning he wasn’t even scared of law enforcement. There was also the massive issue of the bite on your shoulder, and how you’d probably either spend your life by his side, or in massive debt from having it removed. 

You closed your eyes, not having the strength to even curl up on your side. You felt Illumi’s presence by your side, his soft breathing, and the way the sheets rustled as he-

What was he doing?

Opening your eyes as far as you could manage, a heavy weight called exhaustion pulling them shut at the first few attempts. You felt the warmth of his body join you under the sheets, before he sighed softly and pulled them off of the both of you completely. The chill you felt gave you the little bit of energy you needed to hold your eyes open for a little bit. 

Illumi manhandled your legs, parting them and settling himself between them, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Illumi…?” You said, the words sounding sleep drunk to your own ears. “Wh-tre you doing..?”

Illumi just looked down at you as if he was surprised you were interrupting him."Hm? Oh. There’s a reason mating bites are usually made during sex. The shock your body is going through right now, sex will help with that. I should’ve mentioned that.” He tapped the side of his head as if to say ‘whoops’. “I thought one of those whores that you kept around would’ve mentioned that.”

Despite the fact that you should’ve focused on the first half of that sentence, all you could say was: “Don’t- don’t say that. I love-”

“Shh…” Illumi placed a finger on your lips. “You don’t need friends like that anymore. They’ll just tell you the wrong things.”

Dear god, this man was insane.

How’d you missed it, or ignored it, until now was probably reason to see a therapist.

You felt his weight settle between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your core. A whimper escaped your lips. Despite everything, you suddenly felt wide awake, the realization of what he was planning shocking your body out of its stupor.

“ Wait! Illumi-” 

“You’re lucky I have such control over myself,” Illumi interrupted, his voice deceptively calm, though his body betrayed him. A faint tremor ran through him, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, and his eyes, though steady, burned with barely restrained fury. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, but he remained focused, his breath measured, as though each word required effort to contain the storm within.

“When you ran off, I wanted nothing more than to stop you,” he continued, each syllable laced with tension. “To lock the doors and make sure you were fucked, to keep you from making yourself sick. Nice of me, isn’t it?” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, his jaw tightening. “I stopped myself because I knew that if I acted on that urge, I’d probably hurt you. And your little stunt made me very... irritated.”

His shoulders rose and fell with controlled breaths, but his body still trembled slightly, shivering with anticipation as if holding back required every ounce of his willpower. “I’ve given you the most important gift of your life, and you acted like I was wrong to do so.”

While talking, he popped loose each and every button of his shirt.

You raised a hand, trying to cover your own face. He was scaring you, and base instincts were telling you that if you couldn’t see it, it wasn’t there.

He barely had to exert any effort to pry your hands back down, his hair making everything but him fall away in the background, falling around your face like a curtain. “I knew you just needed to run for a bit and lose some energy. and then when you were finally tuckered out, I’d bring you home.”

“You didn’t do-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, a sudden weight leaning against your clothed cunt making you momentarily freeze. When you regained yourself, you tried to spit it out with the same conviction, but it lacked bite when you felt so vulnerable. “You just sent someone.”

“Someone I control.” He hummed, leaning back to manhandle your limp body, shimmying your underwear down your legs, tossing it through the room. “And my deepest apologies for sending someone else, I just wasn’t sure whether or not you’d want to be fucked on the floor of a police station. I assumed this would be preferable.”

“But-” You started, when you were interrupted by Illumi shushing you, his so-called self-control fringing at the ends. He took a deep inhale and leveled you with two simple words.

“Shut up.”

And with that, he got back to his task.

Illumi had stripped off his shirt in an unhurried, efficient way. But he didn’t bother removing his pants fully, only shoving them down just enough to free himself, as though he had no patience for anything more.

His pupils were blown wide when his gaze fell on you again, dark pupils swallowing every trace of restraint. The fingers of his left hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself to where your body lay open, frozen—because despite the panicked thoughts coursing through your head, your body had already betrayed you.

The wetness pooling between your thighs was undeniable.

Illumi sighed, a pleased, contented sound as he pushed in, sinking himself inside inch by inch.

Your body clenched around the unfamiliar stretch, instinctively adjusting as he bottomed out. The sharp pressure of him inside you forced a whimper from your throat, but Illumi only exhaled again—settling in, indulging in the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you.

Then, he moved.

The steady, unrelenting rhythm of his hips rocked your body beneath him, dragging you up and down against the mattress with each thrust. The bed creaked violently in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall in a lewd, rhythmic percussion that filled the room.

But you remained still, unmoving, limbs slack where they had fallen. 

Your mind had returned to being present, aware of everything, but your body felt like lead. If anything, you’d probably have preferred to be hazy and subdued right now, as that would make the feeling of your virginity being taken in such a manner a little more emotionally manageable. 

All the years wondering what it felt like, imitating the feeling of a cock inside you with your fingers or some toy you’d discretely bought off the internet, and now you knew. Now you knew exactly how torturous each drag of his hips felt, how painful the pressure sometimes could be, and you wanted to say that it was bad, that you didn’t want it this way and that you wanted him off of you.

But you didn’t.

You blamed the bite, the hormones coursing through your veins, but you couldn’t do anything but inwardly exclaim that it felt so, so, so good.

Illumi’s fingers tightened around your hips, digging into the softness of your flesh hard enough to bruise, his grip a silent demand that you match his rhythm. When your body refused to act on its own, he forced it to, pulling you down to meet every thrust, dragging you deeper into the movement.

Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against your throat, his breath hot against your damaged skin. The bandage there was hastily applied, rough and uneven from Mariah’s quick work at the station. He nipped at the gauze first, his teeth grazing dangerously close to the wound beneath it. Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, lapping at the dried blood crusted along the edges of the fabric.

Savoring it.

It didn’t take long for his pace to grow sharper, more urgent, his measured control unraveling strand by strand. His movements turned erratic, hungry, his fingers gripping your waist hard enough to make your bones ache beneath the pressure.

Then, with a guttural groan, his body tensed above you, shuddering as he spilled inside.

The warmth of it filled you, seeped into you, and though you wanted to recoil at the realization that he’d cum inside of you, to push him off, some quiet, instinct-bound part of you didn’t.

Some part of you, buried deep beneath layers of confusion, felt sated by it.

Illumi’s weight collapsed against you immediately after, heavy and suffocating, his breath slow and steady as it fanned against your skin. 

“That’s better.” he murmured.

For a second you wondered if that had been all, the rise of your own pleasure not having come to any conclusion, but to equal part excitement and fear, you realized Illumi was nowhere near done. He showed no signs of stopping, even as his softening cock slipped out of you with a wet sound.

With irritation lacing his movements, he took your shirt off, snaking an arm behind your back to undo the clasps of your bra. Once both articles were thrown across the room, he took in the sight more than appreciatively.

A little more lazily than his initial fervor, he lowered his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud before sucking hard, pulling more of your breast into his mouth.

He made eye contact at one point, and you could do nothing but cover your eyes again, feeling much too embarrassed and agonized to witness something so lewd.

He let your minor resistance happen this time. 

Illumi's other hand slid down your stomach, his fingers delving between your slick folds once more. He could feel how wet you still were, your body betraying your arousal. Two fingers pushed inside you without preamble, pumping in and out.

"You’re not on birth control, are you?" Illumi whispered around your nipple, his hot breath washing over your sensitive skin, and to your surprise, his voice sounded more like you were used to. Casual, cold and more than a little amused. He bit down harder, sending jolts of pained pleasure straight to your core. His fingers pumped faster, curling to hit that special spot inside you with each thrust. “I couldn’t find anything like that at your apartment.”

Your stomach twisted. He looked? Of course he had.

Illumi released your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your breast. He latched onto your other nipple, giving it the same treatment, his teeth and tongue teasing the hardened peak. His fingers never stopped their relentless assault on your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit at the same time, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of an unwanted peak.

“I’ve…” This didn’t feel like the moment to reiterate how being intimate hadn’t really been something you dabbled in, and how could you? Everyone had flirted and hooked up using a language you couldn’t understand. It was also hard to think when all you could focus on was the feeling building up between your legs. “That’s-”

“I know, I know,” Illumi murmured, his lips ghosting up the column of your throat. “You mentioned it the last time I tried to fuck you.”

“T-then why ask?” Your voice wavered, hands still covering your face, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of what was happening was too much. “You’re a horrible person.”

“Am I?”  He said, sounding genuinely curious, curling his fingers inside you, making your lower body slightly raise off the bed, chasing the feeling. “I thought you liked me.” 

Illumi could feel your walls fluttering around his invading fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. But just as you were about to tumble over, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, denying your much-needed release.

A choked sound escaped your throat, somewhere between frustration and desperation, tears prickling at the edges of your vision. Illumi straightened, resting both hands on your thighs, watching your reaction with the same impassive curiosity as always.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words, the weight of your own helplessness pressing down like a vice.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as your body quivered beneath him, torn between resentment and need. The sudden emptiness left an ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, a cruel echo of what you should’ve been feeling right now.

Illumi tilted his head, observing you like a puzzle he was piecing together. “Interesting,” he mused, his thumbs pressing idly into the soft flesh of your thighs. “You want to be angry, but your scent is conveying disappointment.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets. “That was—”

“Cruel?” he supplied, his tone devoid of remorse. “Yes, well, I’ve heard I’m a horrible man.” 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust your voice to betray the mix of frustration and something dangerously close to longing. 

He only stared back.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he trailed his fingers along your inner thigh, feather-light, ghosting over sensitive skin without offering relief. “Should I let you finish?” he asked, as if he were discussing something as mundane as whether or not to close a window. “Is that something you want?”

Your body still trembled from the cruel edge he had left you on, a sharp, unsatisfied ache pulsing between your legs. Your hands fisted the sheets, trying to steady yourself, to think past the fog of frustration and confusion.

Why?

Why was he doing this?

Mariah’s words resurfaced, and a sudden horrible confusion washed over you. All this, the bite, the sex, the longing, where had it come from? Why was he going so far? He’d bought you a house, committed a felony worth at least ten years in jail, and for what?

“There you go again.” He ran a thumb over the curve of your thigh, watching the way your skin reacted to his touch, the way your breath hitched despite yourself. “What are you thinking about?”

You flinched at the casual dismissal of your internal dilemma. “Why me?” The words slipped out before you could stop. The words hurt to say. “You could have had anyone—an omega, someone who—who would make sense.”

It felt like a betrayal to yourself to admit it but…

This didn’t make sense.

None of it did.

You weren’t compatible with him, a complete biological waste of space, despite all the longing you did to believe otherwise. You couldn’t be what he wanted, couldn’t feel the bond in the normal way, couldn’t take the knot you’d felt insistently press against your body when he fucked you. You weren’t….

Enough.

Not to warrant any of this.

Illumi’s expression didn’t change. “Sense?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was foreign to him.

Your throat tightened, and you could feel thousands of other voices joining you as you said something you’d promised yourself you’d never say. “ People don’t bond with betas.”

A long silence stretched between you. His fingers kept tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your skin, not in comfort, but in possession. Then, finally, he spoke. “And yet you dated me, thinking this?” He smiled, a little teasingly. “Wishful thinking?” 

Your lower lip wobbled as you answered him. “I don’t know.” 

“Shouldn’t you be ecstatic, then? I’m making your dreams come true.” 

“I just don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.” A tremor ran through you as Illumi’s fingers tightened against your hips, holding you in place beneath him. His touch wasn’t harsh, but it carried a quiet authority—an unspoken reminder of the claim he had already laid upon you. A claim you hadn’t asked for.

You never asked for the house, the extravagant dinners, the glittering parties, or the designer clothes. You never wanted the sleek cars or the empty luxury that came with them.

All you ever wanted was someone who saw you, who stayed because they chose to, not because they were caught up by some weird biological need to be with you, because that would never fucking happen.

Fucking monkey paws.

“You’re very tense,” he murmured, avoiding answering any of your questions.“Are you afraid of me?”

You stiffened. 

There was no answer on your tongue, and even if there was, he wouldn’t have waited to hear it.

He already knew.

Instead, he moved, shifting his weight so that his body pressed flush against yours, his warmth seeping into every inch of you. His scent—sharp and full and probably filled with answers—coiled around your senses, and you hated the way your breath hitched in response.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he continued. “Most people are.” His fingers trailed higher, brushing the underside of your ribs, slow, unhurried. “But you’re not, are you?”

Your pulse pounded against your skin.

He exhaled softly against your ear, and whatever words you had been about to say died in your throat. His touch was methodical, exploring, testing, as if he was still learning the reactions of your body, cataloging every flinch, every sharp intake of breath.

And he was.

His fingers dragged lower, his palm flattening against your stomach. “Though I guess you wouldn’t know,” he mused, as if fascinated by the way you trembled beneath him. “I would have to tell you.”

Your nails dug into the sheets. “Stop talking like that.”

His lips brushed against the hollow of your throat. “Like what?”

“Like—” You bit your lip, frustration and heat warring inside you. “Like I don’t have a choice. In any of this. I can still… I can still leave. Maybe not now, but tomorrow. I- I can get surgeries, or- or something like that.”

Illumi stilled.

"No." His voice was calm, final. "It’s just the stress talking, so I’ll forgive you. But understand this—" his fingers brushed the fresh bite on your neck, deliberate, possessive and you’d wish he stopped fucking touching you.. "I didn’t do this lightly. You might think it was impulsive because of how sudden it seemed, but it was always going to happen. Sooner or later." He studied your reaction. "I would have waited until you finally got over your ridiculous fear of sex, but you forced my hand—overreacting the way you did to my gift."

He tilted his head slightly, voice dipping into something almost curious. "I still don’t understand how you convinced yourself that we needed space of all things."

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He lowered both hands and moved up a bit. His fingers curled around your hips, guiding them with ease—positioning them. He lined up his cock again, the thick and long appendage once again hard and begging for attention, and your breath hitched at the pressure, the slow, deliberate stretch that forced your body to accommodate him.

Your fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white as you tried to steady yourself, to breathe through the overwhelming intrusion of him.

And then, finally, he moved.

A slow, calculated withdrawal before pushing back in, dragging a broken gasp from your lips. His rhythm was steady—deliberate—each roll of his hips measured and precise, as though he was testing how much you could take, how far before his knot would brush against your body, your body unable to take it. It wasn’t as hurried as the first time, where he’d barely taken a moment to breath in between thrusts.

“This,” He muttered as he bottomed out once again and leaned down to place his weight on top of your body, the push into the mattress heavy and suffocating. “Is all the space we need between us.” 

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

Lucky Find

writing this took a lot longer than expected lol

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of drugging, mentions of death, blood, smut, dubcon, oral

The first thing you were really aware of was the noise – the sounds of car motors as they accelerated, the screech of rubber on hard cement, followed by a lot of voices, all shouting alongside the sounds of….

Gunshots?

Through the thick haze your mind was currently trapped in, not only could you identify the sounds as being gunfire, but you were aware enough to know that such sounds couldn’t mean anything good. Your automatic response was to try and get away from those noises, but when you attempted to push up from where you were laying on your side, you discovered that your arms were stuck behind your back. No, not just stuck….. You had been tied up?

Trying to shift your legs revealed them to be bound as well, and when you tried opening your mouth to call for help, you found that a wide strip of tape kept you from speaking. You couldn’t see anything, either. Were you also blind-folded?

…. No, it was just dark. Practically pitch-black, and you couldn’t make out anything. The most you could tell was that the space you had been put inside was cramped based off of how your body had been folded up and how your head kept knocking against one of the hard walls.

The surface that the side of your face was laying on was carpeted, the fibers scratching at your exposed skin.

You had heard a familiar sound of tires screeching as a car once again came to a halt.

…. Were you in someone’s trunk?

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Request: treasure13 reaction to gf having to kiss someone for a acting role. Sorry if english isn’t so good.

Hi and thank you for requesting! Your English is perfect, don’t worry.

I did this at 10pm so it’s probably not that good (I’m so sorry!!) ALSO I excluded the underage members, so the ones born from ‘01-‘05, - excluding Mashiho since his international age is 18.

I’m assuming the ones born from ‘01-‘05 would have girlfriends/boyfriends around their age so they’re minors and I just don’t write things like that. Sorry :(

Enjoy 😊

Treasure13 Reaction To Girlfriend Kissing Someone For An Acting Role

Hyunsuk

Would not be so happy about it and would be very obvious in showing his dislike towards it. His jealous side would come out, and he would be watching you very intently while you kiss the guy/girl, would be a pouty puppy afterwards. Understands that it’s part of your job so he wouldn’t ask you to turn down the role, but would avoid the topic of it. “Okay but you and I and the rest of the world knows I have better lips, I mean looooook at these.” Points to his lips and proceeds to say “I eat lip balms, he/she doesn’t, I guess I’m the real winner here”.

Jihoon

When you first told him that you had to kiss someone for a role, he was like ‘wtf’. Jihoon would be a best friend boyfriend (you get me?) so he would tease you at first but then not be so happy about it afterwards. He seems like the type to bottle things up, so he wouldn’t say anything about it but he would be a bit down for a few days, but then you’ll remind him that it was just a role and that your HIS girlfriend and then we’ll have the normal Jihoon back, and then he’ll annoy you like crazy for the next couple of days, mocking the way you did the kiss scene, would pretend he’s you and make out with whatever, a balloon, a plate, a remote, you name it.

Yoshinori

He’d get mad, at your company for giving you this role, but he would be happy that you have a role and that you’re following your dreams. But he would not be looking forward to the kiss scene at all. At. All. Expect a possessive Yoshi for a couple of days, his arm always around your waist, more affection, PDA, yeah, expect it. When asked about the scene “yeah, it was cute” but what would been going through his mind is ‘would’ve been even cuter if it was me she was kissing’

Junkyu

“Eh? Na?” Y’all remember that bit from YGTB. Yeah that’ll be Junkyu when you tell him, “Eh? Kiss scene? You? Another man/woman?” Probably would be in shock for a while, but then get super happy for you that you landed at role!!! Whenever the kiss scene comes up he’ll probably just cover his eyes and yours for the lols. Would ask if he’s a better kisser, if you say yes he’ll get cocky, if you say no he will be cut, “you’re joking right?” “Y/N?” “Oh my gawd”

Yoonbin

“Oh, okay 😗🙂” is his reaction, would nod as well. He wouldn’t complain about it at all. He’s just so laidback. But he would get jealous, lowkey though. Expect a cuddly posessice Yoonbin for the next couple of days, don’t even expect it actually, he’ll be so lowkey about it, you wouldn’t notice. Would be the type to say “okay, remember that I’m a better kisser” with a smirk on his face, just before your about to do it, via text or if he’s there watching.

Mashiho

“Kiss scene?” “Yeah I’m having a kiss scene” “okay 🤓” that’s how it will go, but expect more questions from him and he’ll do a background check on the person your kissing.

I just wanted to say that they all would be extremely supportive boyfriends!!! None of them would ask you to refuse the role or whatever, Stan talent, Stan manners, Stan respectful boys, Stan TREASURE13 ✌️

❌Gifs are not mine! Credit goes to their rightful owners!❌