Title: Ferine.
Title: Ferine.
Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).
Word Count: 4.1k.
TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.
Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.
Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.
His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.
“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”
A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”
It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.
He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”
“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”
That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”
“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”
“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”
You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.
You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.
Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.
~
“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”
You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”
“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”
His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”
Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”
Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”
Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”
A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”
“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”
“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”
“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”
Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”
“He’s never tried to hurt you?”
You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”
That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.
Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.
~
It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.
One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.
You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.
Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.
“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”
He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”
A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”
But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”
Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”
Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.
Fuck. Fuck.
You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.
Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.
Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.
“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.
His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”
Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.
“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”
You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”
But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.
Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.
His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.
You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.
Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.
He was just a terrible terrible man.
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A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]
Title: A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]
Synopsis: You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes…
Word Count: 1875
Notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, bondage, NSFW
![A Simple Cup Of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche X Reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/286ac599a5da73cc86eea8bdf967df3b/3eb40ce88abc0af1-3e/s500x750/1c07fdd8bbfbbec9919ed7da76108a13c227fd8e.jpg)
Poised.
You must be poised. Every movement, every gesture, must embody a quiet grace. Your face must be pleasant, without seeming garishly joyous. Your voice must be soft, melodic, clear; yet loud enough to be heard without being required to repeat yourself.
You must know how to keep a conversation going smoothly, like water in a stream, yet understand when to keep silent. You must know all of these things and so much more, and act on them at all times in the proper degree; all in order to avoid embarrass yourself and more importantly, embarrassing your husband.
In other words, you must be perfect.
And you try–you have to try, because what other choice does Scaramouche leave you?–but it’s difficult. You were never born for this stifled life he’s pushed you into, for a life spent mostly within the walls of his home or at most, behind the high, impenetrable walls of the courtyard.
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Inexorable ♕
My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh
Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader
tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um… implied murder?
He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.
Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.
Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.
Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.
Keep reading
𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 (𝟏𝟖+)
𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈
[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader x Millions Knives [ SYNOPSIS ] You get high with your sweet roommate and his weird brother. [ WORD COUNT ] 3k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, no plot/just smut, dubcon (everyone's high), marijuana, lowkey plantcest, threesome (mmf), marking, of course Vash has a biting kink, handjob, oral sex, nipple play, sensory deprivation, finger sucking.
“I wish you would have said he was coming over,” you growled, mourning the loss of a lazy, hazy Sunday morning.
You were laying down on the couch, your feet resting in Vash’s lap. You wore one of his old shirts over a pair of comfy underwear while he was dressed in a pair of cotton running shorts and a loose fitting tank top.
Vash intently watched the baseball game you put on for background noise. It was cute, considering he didn’t know anything about sports. When your team hit a home run Vash looked at you, his puppy dog eyes sparkling with wonder, and said with full confidence, “The orange team scored a goal.”
He pouted. “I live here too, y’know? I’m allowed to have company.”
“All I ask for is fair warning. Your brother…” You groaned. “I don’t know. He weirds me out.”
Vash sighed. “I know, I know. But I told him to play nice.”
You sat up and glared. “Oh, whatever. Why did he even leave Alaska in the first place?”
“I think he’s lonely.”
“Did he not move up there to be alone? He hates everyone. Why the fuck would he be lonely?”
“Well he likes me,” Vash laughed.
You rolled your eyes and laid back down, your head hitting the arm rest. The vibe was sure to change with Nai’s arrival. He had a habit of sucking the air out of the room with his presence. It was like being locked up with a starved coyote.
And yet Vash brought out a devoted tenderness, one that radiated adoration. His brother was the only one who could coax a smile out of him. His grin was precious and fleeting like a nightblooming cereus flowering under a desert moon.
“That doesn't make him any easier to deal with though,” you whined.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he said, patting your leg. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Vash’s touch left your skin feeling voltaic. You hated that such a brief and simple gesture could render you reeling in milliseconds. Fortunately there was a knock on the door, breaking you free from your Vash-induced trance. Unfortunately the person beyond the door was a beacon of hostility. You grumbled and repositioned yourself on the other end of the couch. Vash got up and let his brother in.
“Hi!” he replied cheerfully, opening his arms for a hug.
Nai breezed past him, dropping his stuff down near the front door. He looked worn out, hostility tempered by a long flight. His platinum blonde hair was fluffy and askew, each strand riddled with sleep. His big blue eyes were half-lidded, obscuring the usual intensity of his gaze. His sweatpants were rumpled, hanging low on his hips and revealing a tuft of his pale happy trail. His shirt was slightly too short and it hugged his body, accentuating his hard earned muscles. An unbuttoned oversized flannel topped it off, the sleeves rolled up revealing his veiny forearms.
“How was your flight?” you asked even though you didn’t care.
Nai took Vash’s seat on the couch and sunk into it. He was clearly annoyed by your presence.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” His tone was dripping with impatience.
You couldn’t believe he was being so dismissive considering he was in your apartment.
“So I’m guessing it was bad,” you replied.
“I was stuck next to a screaming infant.”
“Oh fuck, that’s awful.”
“I know what you need to do,” Vash interjected with a playful grin.
“And what would that be exactly?” his brother asked.
You and Vash spoke at the same time.
“Get high!”
“Find somewhere else to stay!”
Vash let out a little gasp and Nai weakly glared at you. “I’m kidding! It’s a joke. Like ha ha. It’s funny… Whatever. Yeah, smoke weed.”
Vash ran to his room and gathered his rolling papers and a mason jar full of fruity smelling marijuana. He sat on the floor in front of the coffee table and began to roll a joint. His dexterity and speed were awe inspiring. Watching him roll made you think of all the other incredible feats his fingers were capable of.
“I can’t even remember the last time I got high,” Nai mumbled.
“Is weed like extinct up there or something?” you asked knowing your wording would annoy him.
“Extinct? How could it be extinct if yo—I’m not going to even bother.”
“Smart man,” you laughed.
You were shocked to see a hint of a half-smile on his face. Maybe Nai had heeded Vash’s request to play nice.
“Wasn’t your last time with me?” Vash asked before licking the edge of the paper and sealing the joint.
“Probably. You’re the only stoner I know… thankfully.”
You cocked your head to the side. “What do you mean by thankfully?”
“People that smoke weed are… hm. How do I put this? Obnoxious.”
Vash looked disappointed as he lit the joint. He took a hit and blew the smoke up at the ceiling.
Nai continued, “And I hate the smell.”
“Why even smoke then?!”
Nai turned to you. “How can I say no to that face?”
The two of you directed your attention towards Vash. He looked up, big, blue eyes already red rimmed, and broke out into a goofy grin. His dimples were on full display, looking cute as hell. Nai had a point. How the fuck could you say no to such a precious creature?
“You can’t,” you confessed as Vash handed you the joint. You took a hit. “It’s a crime, like, a felony,” you continued, holding the smoke in your lungs.
You exhaled and passed the joint to Nai. He looked at the glowing, red cherry with mild disgust. He held it to his lips and took a long drag. He looked so confident, so cool.
However the illusion was fleeting. The second he tried to exhale he burst out into a cacophony of coughs with a melodramatic “WHY!?” in the middle. Vash got off the floor and took a seat in between you and Nai. He tended to his brother, rubbing his back as he tried to catch his breath.
“He gonna be okay?” you asked, plucking the joint from Nai’s fingers.
You took a hit and exhaled with little fanfare.
“I’d—” Nai continued to hack. “—shit—appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of speaking.”
Vash put his arm around Nai, letting him bury his blushed face in his neck. You stifled a laugh and passed the joint to Vash. He took a lengthy drag and exhaled the smoke away from his sensitive brother.
“How are you feeling?” Vash asked softly.
Nai coughed pathetically. “Terrible.”
“That means you should smoke more,” you said. “You’re in like limbo right now. You’re existing in between worlds. Sobriety and fuckin’ uh… being high.”
“I–”
You completely disregarded Nai’s attempt to speak.
“You should shotgun him.”
Vash appeared to be deep in thought. “That’s a great idea,” he finally said.
“Yeah and it’s totally, um, altruistic. I gain nothing.”
You knew you were overselling it, but you couldn’t muster any discretion regarding your deranged desire.
“Is it going to hurt?” Nai asked trepidatiously.
You laughed. “Nope. It’ll actually make the smoke less like… harsh, y’know?”
“What do I have to do?”
Vash went to speak, but you were feeling gutsy and interrupted him.
“Your brother,” you said, pointing at Vash as if Nai wouldn’t know who his brother was, “is gonna take a hit. And then he’s gonna kiss you and exhale the smoke in your mouth… And it’s not gonna be weird at all.”
Again, you found yourself overselling the act, but it couldn’t be helped. It was bubbling up inside you. There was no escape. You were trapped, practically drowning in your perverted need to see them kiss.
“It’ll be a little weird,” Vash admitted. “But only a little.”
You wanted to strangle Vash. He was right of course, but you didn’t want the bleak truth to deter Nai.
“It’s gonna be great,” you reassured. “And your brother is like the perfect person to do it with.”
Vash batted his eyelashes and relit the joint. He was so cute you wanted to hit him.
“Alright. I’ll do it.”
You planted your head in Vash’s lap for a better view. He took a hit off the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs before passing it off to you. He gently held onto Nai’s jaw, running his thumb across his lip. He placed his other hand on the back of Nai’s head and stroked his undercut.
Nai’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide and nervous. You felt like you were going to fall to pieces once Vash leaned in and pressed his lips against Nai’s. You were utterly bewitched as he exhaled the smoke into his mouth. Nai looked like he was in a daze as Vash pulled away.
“Ca—can I try?” you asked.
“Sure,” Vash said enthusiastically.
“Not you,” you said, taking a hit off the joint.
You dropped it in the ashtray and clumsily lifted yourself up to kiss Nai. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted faintly of spearmint gum. After exhaling you slipped your tongue into his mouth, the smoke trailing out his nose. The odd positioning of your body betrayed you. Your arms gave out from under you, breaking the kiss. Your face was nestled in his crotch. You could feel his girthy cock against your nose.
Vash cleared his throat. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Nai muttered, stroking the back of your head like it was a kitten. “Can we put something else on? I can’t handle sports right now. The competitive nature of it all is taking years off of my life.”
“What’s the score?” you asked.
Vash said solemnly, “The orange guys are losing.”
“Ugh. Yeah… you can put something else on.”
“Any requests?” Vash asked, scanning the floor for the remote.
“A Fistful of Dollars. Or Once Upon a Time in the West… wait, no. Not that one. I hate that part where the guy has his neck in a noose, and sitting on his little brother’s shoulders is the only thing stopping him from getting hung.”
“Boriiiiiiing,” you heckled. You lifted yourself out of Nai’s lap. “I’ll fall a—fuckin’—sleep.”
You found yourself lost in Vash’s eyes. You felt bad for being so dismissive of him when he offered himself up to you.
“Well what do you have in mi—”
“It doesn’t matter. Can I kiss you?”
“Oh, so now you wanna kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know… You kinda hurt my feelings.”
“Vash, please.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, just kiss them already,” Nai groaned, reaching for the extinguished joint. “Where’s the lighter?”
Vash practically threw the lighter at his brother and pulled you into a sloppy kiss. He wasted no time shoving his tongue into your mouth and rolling it up against yours. His hands wandered down your back, holding you close to his body. Drool began to drip from the corners of your lips as he whimpered in your mouth. You braced yourself, hands pressing into his chest, feeling the softness of his relaxed muscles.
“Ouch, ow, ow,” Nai droned as he burned his thumb with the lighter’s flame.
Vash turned his head and wiped his mouth. “What? What happened?”
“Burnt my finger,” Nai replied, taking a hit off the joint. As Vash went to speak, Nai pushed the joint through his parted lips. “I’m fine.”
“Baby,” you teased.
“I’m hardly a baby for being averse to pain.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’ll always be my baby” Vash said while exhaling.
“Can I be your baby?” you asked, grabbing the joint from him. You took a hit and let the smoke trail out of your mouth. “Please?”
“No,” Vash said before kissing you once more.
Nai groaned and plucked the joint from your fingers. He finished it off. He uncomfortably crossed and uncrossed his legs. You briefly opened your eyes and shifted your gaze to his lap. His cock was stiff against his sweatpants.
You reached over, placing your hand on his cock and stroked his tip. He coughed, choking on nothing but air. He grabbed a hold of your wrist and you waited for him to shove you away. But he didn’t. He guided it under his clothes. Your fingers danced along his shaft, feeling the veins snaking around his cock.
Vash bit down on your lower lip before kissing your jaw. He moved onto your neck, grazing it with his teeth. He sucked on your neck, interspersing his kisses with bites. You could feel the bruise blooming on your skin. You stroked the back of his head, his soft, flaxen hair slipping between your fingers.
Nai rutted against your hand. His cock leaked precum, leaving your palm sticky. His breathing was sharp and shallow.
“You like that, huh?” you cooed.
Nai nodded. The power you felt was insurmountable. You never thought you’d end up in such a situation with him. You always knew you’d hook up with Vash eventually because you resided under the same roof, but fucking around with his brother never crossed your mind.
Vash tugged at the neckline of your shirt and peppered your collarbones with kisses.
“Take it off,” he said, breath hot against your skin.
You let go of Nai’s cock and pulled your shirt off. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit your chest. Nai whimpered, longing for the return of your touch. He took your hand and placed it back on his cock. You wrapped your hand around it, letting him fuck your fist.
Vash flicked his tongue against your nipple, drawing your attention back towards him. Nai followed his lead, latching onto the other one. Your cunt throbbed as they lapped at your breasts.
“Sh—shit,” Nai choked out as he came in your hand.
You continued to jerk him off, coating the shaft of his cock with his cum. You savored each of his breathy moans. His brows were knitted together, a sign of the bliss overwhelming his body. You were a little jealous, praying one of them would tend to your weeping cunt.
“I have a fun idea,” Vash said abruptly.
You let go of Nai’s cock and held your hand up to his face. “Lick it up… Uh, so what’s the fun idea?”
Nai reluctantly dragged his tongue along your hand, slipping it in between your fingers..
“Okay,” Vash said sitting up. “One of us will go down on you and you have to guess who it is.”
“What happens if I guess wrong?”
Vash shrugged. “You’ll… I’ll… Nothing I guess. I didn’t think that far ahead.”
“If you’re wrong, we get to fuck your face,” Nai said, shoving your hand away.
That didn’t seem like much of a consequence so you readily agreed. Nai scrambled to his duffle bag and pulled out the complimentary sleep mask he got on the plane. You put it on and tried to ignore its recycled air smell.
“Alright, ready?” they asked in unison.
“Mhm.”
You felt a pair of hands grip your hips and pull down your underwear. Your toes curled in anticipation as they traveled down your thighs. They hung around one of your ankles; the man between your legs was too impatient to remove them completely. He kissed the inside of your thighs and slipped his fingers inside your slick cunt. He spread apart your folds. His tongue slid in between them, teasing your hole.
He dragged his tongue along your clit before sucking on it. You couldn’t figure out who was going down on you and you didn’t really care. He lapped up the arousal that glazed your cunt. You rolled your hips against his face, the tip of his nose grazing your clit.
You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. The words got caught in your throat. All you could do is whimper. You heard a familiar laugh and could feel the sound of his amusement against your body.
“Don’t laugh,” you whined.
He continued to laugh before biting into your thigh.
“It’s Vash.”
“How did you know?!” he asked, ripping off the sleep mask.
“You fucking bit me!”
“And? Maybe he would have bit you too.”
“Nope,” Nai said. “You’re just that predictable.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, you’re like especially bitey,” you replied.
“No I’m not.”
“You bit me all the time as a kid.”
“And you’ve been biting me all day.”
Vash groaned and buried his face in your cunt. He paid special attention to your aching clit. His soft tongue was relentless. Your skin was tingling, every inch of your body singing. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. You felt like you were going to burst with pleasure.
Nai sat next to you on the couch and forced his fingers in your mouth. His face was adorned with a sick grin, his eyes dark with lust. You glanced down at Vash, his eyes mirroring his brother’s. All the attention sent you spiraling, falling deeper and deeper into lusty avidity. Nai’s fingers in your mouth did little to quiet you. Your moans were simply too powerful.
“Aww. You’re getting close, aren’t you?” Nai said, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.
A strand of spit clung from your mouth to his fingers.
“Uh-huh,” you mewled as Vash sucked on your clit.
Nai couldn’t have been more right. Your orgasm rushed through your body in no time, leaving rapture in its wake. It was transcendent. You felt like you were hovering above the couch. Vash biting the inside of your thigh was what brought you back to earth.
“I know…” You struggled to speak. “I know I guessed right, but I still want you guys to fuck my face.”
Vash immediately pulled down his shorts, revealing his throbbing cock.
“Hold on,” you sighed. Vash frowned and tucked it back into his shorts. “I wanna be on a bed.”
In one swift motion, Vash hoisted you over his shoulder. You hung over him like a limp noodle with no will of your own. Nai trailed behind and pinched the tender flesh of your ass. All you could think about was how lovely it would be to gag on their cocks.
Liv……this senario with Levi.
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdbjkgnB/
vi i have been hanging onto this ask for SO long hoping that one day i would be strong enough to write this into a full fic but i need the world to see into your big sexy brain bc this is DELICIOUS
glass houses levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) word count: 1.2k tags: en ess eff double yew, age gap, voyeurism, stripping, mentions of masturbation
18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT
Older neighbour!Levi who has all of his things unpacked within the first few hours of moving in, cardboard boxes broken down and tucked neatly away as quickly as they appear. You don't even really notice it happen; one day the apartment across the courtyard between your buildings was empty, and the next he's there.
So can you really be blamed for the fact that you aren't expecting a spectator when you start to peel your clothes off in front of your open window after a long, gruelling day at work? Your bones are weary, your shower is calling to you, and your neighbour is watching you undress.
The thin silky robe you pull on after you duck down out of sight feels insufficient to cover your body after you've been spotted--the humiliation leaving you feeling acutely bare as you peek your head up over the windowsill enough to see if he's still looking as raptly as he had been a moment prior.
He is.
At least he seems to have a sense of humour about it, if the wry little smile he shoots you with his hand placed over his eyes in a faux-display of coyness is anything to go by.
He doesn't have much by way of decor or furniture--a minimalist if you've ever seen one--but everything he does have that you can see from the vantage point of your own apartment is tasteful and expensive. It's one of the first things you notice when you risk another glance in the direction of his apartment the next morning, the second is a fleeting glimpse of him with a mug in his hand--and the sighting has you skittering quickly away, your heart pounding in your chest as rapidly as it had been when you weren't wearing any clothes, in spite of the fact that now you're fully dressed.
You're not sure what makes you do it again that second night. Maybe it's the cheap wine you've been drinking, maybe you're lonely, maybe you're craving that same adrenaline rush that you'd felt the night before when his eyes were the only thing on your skin.
You take your time undressing in front of your window this time, putting on a bit of a show. You know he's there even without looking. You'd caught a glimpse of him, on that same spot on his couch, with another glass of red wine in his hand--but more than that you can feel his eyes on you again.
It feels even better than it did the first time.
It becomes a routine after that. Your new neighbour settling in with his glass of wine every night to watch you painstakingly strip yourself bare for him. It feels like an eternity passes as you're slowly pulling off every article of your clothing until there's absolutely nothing left, and somehow every night that eternity seems to pass a little faster--leaving you with the feeling that you wish it had lasted just a little bit longer. That his stare had lingered on you just a little while more.
He never touches himself. No matter how tantalizingly you let your own touch linger on your body, how gently you graze the soft dips and swells of your own form. It drives you crazy, leaves you panting and moaning as you fuck your own fingers in the the privacy of your bathroom a short time later--but somewhere distantly you recognize that maybe that's the point.
The day you (inevitably, finally) meet him face to face in the little courtyard nestled between your homes you're taken aback by how handsome of a man he is up close.
He's older than you--that's certain now that you see him in all his glory--but he's aging gracefully. Time has exceedingly been kind to the angular, symmetrical lines of his face.
You don't know what to do. Or say. Part of you wants to turn heel and run for it, but instead you just laugh--breathy and light in the afternoon air.
"Hi," you say through your giggles, a hand reaching up to cover your flushing, burning cheek.
"Hello," he greets you with a polite dip of his head and a little smile of his own.
You tell him your name. Because what else are you supposed to say to the man who's been watching you get naked for the past 9 days? Who's watched you work your own nipples into sensitive little peaks just for the thrill? Who's seen you trail your fingers down down down between your legs under the guise of pulling off your panties?
"I'm Levi," he says, and hearing the way he says it nearly makes you tremble. Watching his lips form the shape of his own name makes you ache in the deepest part of your core.
"It's nice you meet you," you say softly.
Properly, that is.
He smirks slightly, then he hums.
The air between you feels too thin, too charged for a first meeting, too familiar for two strangers to be sharing between them.
"Have you lived here long?" Levi asks, and you have the fleeting thought that if he doesn't stop talking soon you're going to get to used to it, too attached to the very sound of it.
"Two years," you reply. "I moved here when I graduated college and started working."
He makes a little sound of recognition befitting of the small talk the two of you are sharing, but his gaze is piercing. He's appraising you. Sizing you up. Undressing you with his eyes in the same way he's watched you do with your own two hands.
"Well," you clear your throat, taking a step back towards your building, "I guess I should-"
His hand moves quickly, extending towards you. You pause, staring down at it, and the little card tucked between two fingers as he holds it out in your direction.
You pluck it slowly from his grasp, and turn it over in your hand.
Levi Ackerman, CEO ACKERMAN CORP.
You swallow as you read the credentials on the business card. The name, the title. The email address, office number, and fax details. Finally, the neatly scribbled series of digits on the lower righthand corner of the simple but tastefully designed card.
"My cell number." Levi anticipates the question before you can voice it, and your eyes flicker up toward him, greeted with a gaze of molten steel that threatens to drown you under it's weight. "If you ever need anything, or would like to grab a drink."
"I'm not much of a red wine fan," you say, setting out with the intention of levity but the words are too breathless to be teasing.
He smirks, clicking his tongue behind his straight white teeth. "I'll get you anything you'd like."
Your heartbeat thrums under your skin.
"Alright, Mr. Ackerman."
"Levi," he corrects you pointedly.
"Levi," you repeat, and you like the way his name tastes on your tongue. You wonder if he tastes just as sweet.
You turn towards your building, pausing once you take a single step away.
You turn back, glancing at him over your shoulder. He's already started in the direction of his own building.
"Levi?" you call towards him and he pauses, turning back to face you once more.
His brow quirks curiously.
You smile.
"Welcome to the neighbourhood."
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.”
Private Military Contractor - Yandere Noncon
Yandere Male x Fem Reader Heavily inspired by this incredible fic.
He took you. Plucked you straight off the street on the way back from class. He must have known your routine down to a tee, because he did it all with a casual, brutal efficiency. Parking his rented van on the quietest road on your route, stacking a ladder and some paint cans outside so you'd think he was just a regular workman. The door open and waiting just for you, though you didn't know it yet.
You remember greeting him ‐ a quick good morning to be polite - without stopping or even really looking at him. You walked a little bit past the van without realising he was following you. Oblivious right up until the moment he grabbed you, one paw against your mouth to swallow your scream.
He was quick. So ruthlessly quick. Yanking you inside the van and closing the door before you even fully registered what was happening.
He wants you around for one thing and one thing only. He made that abundantly clear on the first day, when you were scarcely through the front door and he was already tearing off your skirt. He would have fucked you in the van the second he took you if he thought he could get away with it.
He isn't gentle. He bends you over the couch with your wrists held together in the small of your back. If you squirm too much, he twists your arm so hard you scream that he's going to break it.
He fucks you dry. Shoving himself inside of you despite how tight you are, how unready and unwilling. He groans at the first thrust, so obscenely satisfied. Like he's finally tasting a prize long differed.
He doesn't last long during the first round. Spilling himself into you after less than three minutes.
He's big - too fucking big. The cum that drips out of your cunt is tinged pink with blood. If he notices it, he doesn't care. He just stands there for a minute, stroking himself hard again and then it's time for round two. Your tears haven't even had time to dry.
He fucks like a soldier in a foreign war zone. Taking, claiming, stealing. It doesn't matter that you're not his to have; he has his guns and his training and to him that's all the reason he needs.
He fucks like he hasn't had a woman in years. With all the pent up energy of long, lonely nights spent in the ugliest parts of the world. He fucks you like a man who's finally gotten his hands on the fantasy he's nursed through all the worst moments of his life.
He fucks like he's terrified of losing you now that he finally, finally has you.
You can't stand after he's done with you. Your cunt burning so bad you think you're on fire from the inside out. He doesn't care that you hang limp from his grip. He just picks you up and tosses you over one broad shoulder and takes you to his bedroom.
You come out of your shock only when you feel the handcuffs closing around your wrist. He's literally chained you to his bed.
You start screaming again then. Frightened and begging and finally realising that this is really happening. It's not a bad dream or a story on the news, it's actually fucking happening to you.
He ignores you, pulling off his heavy combat boots and locking his pistol in the draw across the room. Maybe he's waiting for you to tire out, for your throat to start hurting and for you to quiet down. You don't.
He sighs like you're nothing more than an inconvenience and then slaps you so hard your ears ring and white dots spark across your vision.
His use of violence is so causal, so easy. It's shock that keeps you quiet more than the pain.
Before evening on the first day, he fucks you four more times. He doesn't listen when you beg him to be gentle, beg him to go slow. He ignores you when you plead with him to fuck your mouth instead, as much as he wants, just so long as he gives your pussy a break.
Men like him exist on the knife edge between life and death. Is it any surprise that it leaves its mark? That he wants to take whatever pleasure he can because god alone knows how much time he has left?
He doesn't kiss you until the very end, when he's deep between your thighs and you've dug your nails so deep into his back that you're going to leave scars. He kisses you when you're too hurt and sore and scared to turn away. He kisses you and it feels like he's finally staking his claim. Like part of him didn't believe you were real until he'd fucked you again and again and there was no one to stop him.
The next morning, he shoves a bitter tasting pill under your tongue and keeps his hand over your mouth until he's sure it's dissolved.
"No kids," he says simply and it makes you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.
Yeah, you agree silently, no fucking kids. Especially not if you're the father. Especially not in a world where men like you exist.
He has an appetite that's borderline impossible to satisfy. Once he starts kissing you, he doesn't stop. Teeth nipping at your lips until you give in and even then it's not enough. He wraps one massive hand around your throat and squeezes.
"Kiss me back," he breathes, his lips just an inch from yours.
You kiss him and he takes it like you're everything he's ever dreamed about, the prize he's somehow earned.
After that, he spends a lot more time exploring your body. It's like he needed to get some of that desperation out of his system before he could think straight.
He's less feverish when he touches you, but no less impatient. He pries your thighs apart with one brutal yank and drops his face to your pussy. You try and jerk away from him, try and close your legs despite the massive forearms keeping them spread. You don't want him there. It's too intimate, it's too vulnerable. Hasn't he taken enough?
He licks you like he has no shame. Not even a little shy about having his tongue deep in your cunt. He tries different tricks - slow and sensual, rough, tight little flicks. He doesn't seem to care how you respond to any of it. It's more so an experiment to see which way he enjoys eating you out.
You cum on his tongue, your eyes screwed shut in guilt. You hope he won't notice, hope he'll just get bored and leave you alone.
He growls in a pleased sort of way, looking up at you with his mouth and chin slick. Oh, he definitely noticed.
You can't meet his eyes after that.
He's not a doomsday prepper. Or at least not exactly. But everything he has is off the grid. A house with its own solar panels and borehole, no technology except for his old fashioned satellite phone.
He doesn't talk much. Not even when he's fucking you. You might get the occasional good girl or a snarl for you to take it, take it just like that.
But he doesn't talk. Doesn't comfort you, doesn't insult you, doesn't even explain himself. (Though you suppose the way he holds you at night - tight, like you're going to be ripped away from him if he doesn't sink his claws in - is explanation enough).
He has money. Blood money you suppose. He doesn't go to work or leave the house much but still manages to buy you all sorts of expensive things. Silk negligees, satin panties, scented candles that melt into body oil. You aren't sure why he bothers. He's usually too impatient to appreciate any of it - most of the panties end up a torn, wet mess by the time he's done with you.
You look through his closet one day. There's a box full of military patches - Blackwater, Raytheon, MPR, a dozen more you don't recognise. And you know for a fact they aren't just some stupid collectibles, aren't there just so he can play out some militaristic power fantasy. He really worked for these companies. The patches feel real - their quality designed for hard weather and harder work. You understand him a little better after seeing them.
You don't know him. Don't recognise him in the slightest. He's a stranger to you - to the point you don't even know his name. At first you assume he took you because you were the only one stupid enough to get caught. But a few days with him and you realise that's not true at all. He knows you.
He feeds you your favourite cereal every morning, even though you can tell by his frown that he doesn't approve of your dietary choices. He has a closet packed full of your clothes. You thought he somehow raided your house but it's all new. He went out and bought exact copies of all your regular outfits, down to the tiny Victoria's Secret thongs that you like.
How? How could he gather so much information about your life while you didn't even realise you were being watched?
He takes you down to his basement one day, when you've been particularly insistent about asking him who he is. There are rows and rows of guns. Semi and fully automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns. Shit you aren't even sure is fully legal.
You aren't sure why he's showing you this. Is he trying to scare you? Is he trying to goad you into escaping just so he'll have an excuse to punish you?
You look into his eyes - monster, monster in the shape of a man - and finally realise what he's trying to say.
No one is coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. But if by some slim chance they try and take you away, they'd better hope to be fucking bulletproof.
You stop asking him about himself after that.
He decides he wants anal one day in the shower. He's pressed up against your back and running his cock up and down between your ass. The tip keeps getting caught on your puckered entrance and maybe that's what puts the idea into his head.
You're too slow to realise what he's planning and he has one thick hand gripping the back of your neck before you can even think of running.
It's slow, painful going. He wants to shove himself in like he always does but the nature of it stops him. The tip is the worst part. You bite your lip so hard you can taste blood, your hands and tits both pressed up against the glass.
He presses his lips against your temple, watching your face screw up as he gets deeper.
"It's okay to cry."
There's a sick pleasure to his voice. He flicks your clit and your entire body clenches around him. He hums at that, amused and pleased.
And the worst part? He somehow makes you come. When he's finally loosened you up enough to start thrusting, he hits something deep inside you. He notices it - he notices everything about you. He laughs a little and slips his fingers into your pussy. That's all it takes to send you crashing over the edge, your whole body pulsing and aching all at once.
"That's what I like about you," he snarks into your ear when he's done, "I can make you come no matter how much you don't want it."
He turns you around and looks down at you. The expression on his face makes you want to vomit. He looks at you with a kind of loving softness. A tenderness that ignores all the awful, awful things he's done to you.
If you didn't realise it already, you knew it for a fact right then and there.
He's never going to let you go.
He takes your chin between his fingers and pulls you onto your tip toes to kiss him.
"Why?" you ask for the millionth time since he took you. And for once, he answers.
"Because I could. Because I can."
Digging Deeper
College AU Nobunaga!
Warnings: mentions of violence, unhealthy relationships, smut, noncon, oral (male receiving), abusive relationships
Word Count: 8.8k
“You’ve got guts, ignoring Nobunaga like that.”
When those words were spoken, your focus was on making sure you had everything you needed for your class that would start in only a few minutes, double-checking to make sure you had completed the assignments that had been required. Since the name you heard wasn’t one that you immediately recognized, you ignored the voice. Clearly, whoever was speaking wasn’t talking to you.
That was what you thought until you heard that same voice saying your name.
You looked over to find a guy you remembered as being named Konstantin standing next to you, watching at you expectantly as you looked up from where you sat. The two of you weren’t friends, so you weren’t sure why he would go out of his way to talk to you
“I said, you’ve got guts ignoring Nobunaga like that,” he repeated, “but you’ll regret making an enemy out of him. Making an enemy out of that guy also means making an enemy out of his whole group.”
You stared at him blankly for a few moments.
“Uh, what are you talking about?” you finally asked.
“That stunt you pulled the other day,” he said.
“Stunt? What stunt?”
“C'mon. You really think this clueless act is gonna save you when he catches you alone?”
At hearing that, you started to get worried.
“When who catches me?” you asked.
“You know. Nobunaga. Nobunaga Hazama. One of the top athletes on campus, and the guy that you totally blew off the other day.”
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Debt
💌Yandere!Hawks | Keigo Takami x F!Reader💌
4.2k words
A commission for @yanyansnack
Summary:
You’re just trying to play some Animal Crossing. Unfortunately, your captor has issues with that. It’s totally not like he caused the problem in the first place.
TWs for: Noncon/Dubcon | Rape
Tags:
Quarantine vibes, anal, assplay- the ass gets fingered, tom nook comes FIRST, loss of anal virginity, orgasm denial, power struggles, thank you for commissioning me! ❤️
(A/N): later than expected but thank you for being patient with me bro
———
You can see him over the top of your Switch, looking apprehensively at your curled-up form. Cornered against the sofa armrest, you decide to ignore him and hope he goes away.
“I’m beginning to regret buying you that thing, you know.” Keigo proclaims, arms folded. Without his hero getup he looks unfamiliar, bearing far too much casualness than you were ever comfortable with. You’re so used to him coming home and skipping the middleman by changing into pyjamas straight away. But today is one of his first days off in quite a while, allowing him the chance to wear something normal. You wish he was at work. It’s nicer having the apartment to yourself.
In response, you give a brief hum and continue to gather wood. After all, there are more important things to address: you owe Tom Nook so much money.
“Don’t you want to do something with me today, baby? You’ve been good. We can go outside, if you’d like..?”
“It’s okay.”
He frowns.
You haven’t really been behaving on purpose, you’ve just been preoccupied. Countless hours of Animal Crossing have resulted in you staying quiet when he attempts to cuddle you, awkwardly wrapping his arms around your body whilst trying his best to not obstruct the screen. He’d make occasional comments on what you were doing but had never watched you play long enough to understand the game itself.
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Sweet Valentine [wri0thesley OC Lucas x reader]
Title: Sweet Valentine [@wri0thesley OC Lucas x Reader]
Synopsis: It's Valentine's Day and Lucas has some sweet surprises planned, but things don't go as well as you'd hoped.
Word count: 3164
notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of cannibalism, abusive relationship, mentions of violence, non-graphic descriptions of noncon and dubcon sex, reader is implied to be afab
![Sweet Valentine [wri0thesley OC Lucas X Reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/29675d30dc0af1c90ec145bdfeaacfd9/8bee24a8a97e0839-d9/s500x750/c9d178b462fc3ac3190ea90616ddde51a48da5d2.jpg)
“You… want somethin’ special for Valentine’s Day, sweetheart?”
Lucas’ voice is low and tender, and when you look up at him, you see a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It’s a familiar sight. He always gets like this, when it comes to romance. Or what he thinks is romance, anyway.
You think it’s all that vulnerability that comes along with romance; the possibility of rejection, as if you were stupid enough to outright reject anything he wanted to give you. Not unless you wanted to meet the sharp end of a glare
(Or an axe.)
But it’s there anyway, that vulnerability. In the way he sometimes glances away or the way his cheeks gain a deeper tint or the lilt in his voice. He gets awkward and when you’re feeling dark and low, you sometimes wonder what he’d do if you didn’t thank him for his gifts, if you didn’t lean into his arms when he opened them, if you wiped away his kisses, if you were as ungrateful and awful as you were currently too afraid to be.
The answer always comes swiftly: He’d kill you, moron.
Maybe not right away. But you’d chip at his goodwill, such as it was, bit by bit until nothing was left but raw steel. And where would that raw steel go? Right into your skull, stupid.
You’re a lot of things. Scared. A liar. Helpless. But you’re not stupid.
So you return his blush with a practiced meek gaze. The kind where you glance up at him and then look quickly down, and cross one arm (but never both, that’s too petulant) over your chest.
Shy, that’s what you are; or rather, what you’ve become in order to survive here.
If he thinks you’re shy and quiet and meek, it seems easier for him to brush aside the way you tremble; the way you flinch; the way you sometimes find yourself begging him to wait, just wait oh please, you’re not quite ready to go all the way yet.
And if you have to debase yourself by taking his length into your trembling hands, by letting him touch you until you trembled and came on his fingers, it’s what you’ll do to put off the inevitable for another day.
“Nothing special,” you say, voice crackling with the dryness of the morning air. He doesn’t respond. He’s disappointed, you think. Nothing special isn’t good enough for Valentine’s Day. So you add, quietly but quickly: “But maybe… If it’s not too much trouble… some chocolate?”
You glance up at him and he’s got an almost goofy smile on his face now. It makes you relieved--it makes you sick.
“Or--or we could watch a romantic comedy?” You suggest. You bite your lip then, a holdover gesture from your old life. “Oh, but you don’t really have any, so I guess we could just--”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” He pulls you close without giving you a choice and you lean your head against his shoulder, just like you ought to do. “I’ll find you somethin’ in town this weekend. Gotta go get some supplies anyway.”
You smile and press your face towards his chest, so that he feels the curve of your lips against his shirt. “Thank you, Lucas. Really… really any movie you like is fine, but if you can find one, that would be okay.”
He sighs and presses one large hand against the back of your head, trailing it down past your neck--he could snap it so easily--until he’s rubbing your back.
“You’re the sweetest, you know that, angel?”
You don’t answer, because you don’t need to, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
You were good. You behaved well. You did what he wanted. Did it matter that you didn’t want chocolates or to watch a movie with him for Valentine’s Day or any day at all? Did it matter that at home, your real home, you were loud and brash and your mother would have pissed herself laughing if anyone called you shy?
No. Of course not.
If only the truth wouldn’t get you killed.
You don’t want chocolates or a VHS copy of some outdated romantic comedy.
The only thing you really want for Valentine’s Day is to go home.
--
The chocolate isn’t great, but it’s not awful, either. There was even a cherry cordial--your favorite--and Lucas’ eyes had lit up when you told him so.
It was a nice surprise.
After all, the cynical part of you imagined Lucas showing up with a dusty box of chocolates that tasted like stale sweetness; the kind you find overpriced at drugstores, boxes that forgetful husbands pick up on the way home from work on the day-of.
But when he came home from town, he’d sheepishly handed over a bouquet of colorfully dyed flowers. A mixture of carnations that were an impossibly vivid pink and daisies with bright blue petals. It was just the kind of bouquet you used to pick out for your mom when you were a kid, because you were drawn to the pops of unnaturally colorful simple flowers more than you were ordinary red roses.
“Know you like, uh…” He’d held out the bouquet and waited for you to take it from him before continuing. “Know you like this kind of pink, so…”
You held the bouquet to your chest and felt something that might have been pleasure. It was nice to have something familiar. Something you might pick up at a supermarket on the way home from work. Real flowers were beautiful, of course, and you’d grown to love the sight of them surrounding the cabin.
But these couldn’t be found in the wilderness in which you were now settled. They were a sign that people still existed out there, people that weren’t you and Lucas and the ghosts of people who came before you.
And that made them more special.
--
“Honey?”
“Angel?.”
“Darlin’.”
It’s the darlin’ that yanks you out of your disassociation. How long had it been going on? You glance down at your fingers and realize you’re holding a half-eaten chocolate bon-bon. Your elbow feels stiff, you must have been holding it up for a while.
You shakily set it back down on the box and force yourself to look over at Lucas, who is cuddled up next to you, holding you in a firm but warm grip, with his arm slung around your shoulder keeping you close.
He looks irritated. Like you said something wrong again. Only you weren’t saying anything, but that might be the problem; ignoring him was just as bad (sometimes worse) as doing the wrong thing.
“You don’t like the movie?” His voice is gruffer than it should be today, of all days.
The movie?
Oh shit.
You blink and blink and slowly details around you come back into focus. The dim lighting in the cabin, to set the mood. The flickering light of the TV and the soft whir of the VCR that could only be heard faintly under the movie itself.
And the movie…
The movie was almost over. The VHS he’d found was of a vaguely familiar movie you remember seeing on TV a few times. It wasn’t a classic but it wasn’t a stink-bomb, either.
“Angel…”
He turns toward you and after a moment, takes your chin into his hands. You quickly glance down--meek, shy, feeble thing that you are--so he doesn’t see the fear that must be blinking through the back of your eyeballs by now.
“You don’t like the movie, do you? Did I pick the wrong one?” There’s none of the usual sweet compromise in his voice, though, that makes you think saying “yes” might be an option. Instead, you get the sense that he’s laying traps for you to step on. Traps meant for someone ungrateful who completely zones out during what was supposed to be a romantic evening snuggling on the couch.
Dumbass, you think. I’m such a dumbass.
“Do you…” You speak suddenly and swallow hard. Talking is awkward with his fingers holding your chin, but he doesn’t let go. “Do you want a chocolate?” You offer up the box that’s half-empty by now. The cherry cordials were gone, and maybe you should have offered him one since they were your favorite. But there’s nothing to be done about it, so you hold up the last caramel-filled piece towards him.
Maybe he’ll appreciate the gesture.
He finally lets go of your chin and huffs out a snort through his nose. That’s good, usually. A sign he’s calming down. But he doesn’t smile at you, and you can feel the heaviness in the air, a sort of sick pressure that you need to relieve before it gets worse.
“I’m not much for sweets.” He says this like you ought to know. And you do, actually, it’s just… you don’t know what else to do.
Your lips quirk downward. You lift the piece until it’s close to his mouth.
“I know, I just--wanted to share. Please? One bite?” It’s almost a reversal, really; the way he sometimes has to nudge you to eat, when your stomach is all twisted in knots from anxiety or when you can’t shove away the thought that what you’re eating is almost certainly not an animal. Sometimes he feeds you just because he’s in a particular mood, a mood where you need to be more fragile and helpless than you are, which isn’t saying much.
Lucas’ eyes widen then and he finally smiles softly at you. His voice is low and gruff but you think, not quite as irritated as before.
“All right, angel. A bite.”
He opens his mouth and you slide the chocolate forward until it’s under his teeth. He takes a bite and you pull away, caramel dripping from the half-eaten chocolate that you set back in the box.
Lucas chews with his mouth closed (he has impeccable manners when he’s not murdering people, thank God for that) but then there’s the thought of the chocolate and caramel being chewed by the same teeth that just ate a “steak” for dinner--what if there’s a stray piece of meat left in his molars and they mix?
It’s enough to make the sticky sweet flavor of the cherry cordials rise in your throat, acidic and sour from the chocolate digesting in your stomach.
“Sorry,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him like an apologetic pet as he finishes chewing. “I didn’t mean to get distracted earlier.”
Lucas hums and pulls you tighter against him, harder than normal. He presses a kiss against the side of your head. A hint of caramel wafts in the air.
“Mind you don’t drift often again, honey.”
-
Lucas is still upset with you. Although you can’t quite call this “still” upset, because this is different from earlier. He’s not still annoyed that you were distracted during the movie or, at least, that’s not the real source of his irritation.
But what--what did you do? You thanked him for the flowers and chocolates. You kissed him (on the lips!) after he gave them to you. You snuggled on the couch and yes you fucked up during the movie, but you made up for it, you thought.
You set the table for dinner without being asked, you ate without hesitation and complimented his cooking… you were quiet, you helped him clean up the eggs, you made a joke about Dolly the chicken needing a Valentine’s Day card from him and he chuckled at it.
You didn’t argue when he insisted he scrub you up during the bath, even when his hand dipped between your legs and lingered on your chest. You quietly let him brush your hair and pick out your pajamas (a pink nightie, tonight) and did everything you thought he wanted.
So what in the hell did you do wrong today that has him practically glowering at you as you both sit on the bed? You’ve re-read the same page in your book a hundred times while you tried to figure it out. You can’t go to bed like this, wondering if he’s angry, wondering if you’ll wake up in the morning to find him hovering over you with a glare and a weapon. Or maybe you won’t even wake up at all.
“Angel?” There’s a gruff edge to the word tonight that tightens your chest.
“Yes?” Your voice is squeakier than you intended. You tuck a bookmark into your pages and set the book down on your nightstand, and look up at Lucas with practiced meekness that is made all the more real through the gnawing fear in your belly.
Lucas hesitates before he speaks. Emotions shift on his face. Irritation, disappointment, even something you think is sadness. They only make the feeling in your chest worse. What did you do? Why is he acting this way?
“I… wasn’t expectin’ nothing fancy, you know. But I thought you’d at least make somethin’ for me today.”
Make something for him?
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
In all your worries about behaving perfectly, you didn’t even think about getting Lucas something for Valentine’s Day. Making him a card or throwing together a quick embroidery hoop or--something. That’s what a good spouse would do, right? It’s what he would expect from you, on today of all days. Sure, he wasn’t big on presents, and he’d told you a few months ago not to worry about Christmas (you’d embroidered a scene outside the window of his bedroom, the trees and snow and a little silver rabbit) but this was different.
It was a couple’s day, and you were part of that couple.
And you’d fucked up.
He’s not done, either.
“I went outta my way to get you everything you wanted. Drove all the way into town… An’ you didn’t even pay attention during the movie.” If you weren’t increasingly terrified, you might be able to snort at how petulant he sounded, complaining that you didn’t watch the movie well enough. But there’s nothing funny about the way his voice is starting to raise or the way you can practically feel his muscles getting tenser by the moment.
“Did you even appreciate any of it?” It’s more to himself than to you, and that scares you more than anything else has in recent memory.
Your mouth comes up with a plan the exact moment that your brain does. You’re not sure if your brain would have let you go through with it, if it had more than a split second to think.
“I did get you something!”
Lucas shifts on the bed and looks at you questioningly. He doesn’t look convinced. Not yet. There’s a swift moment in which you have to convince him and you jump into it, feet first.
“I… I just didn’t know how to wrap it, that’s all.” Your throat bobs when you swallow and you look up at him with a soft expression that’s part nerves, part hope.
“I don’t know what y’mean, darlin’.”
His eyebrows furrow and you take a deep breath before you reach over and take his hand. You give it a squeeze and shift on the bed yourself, this time leaning backwards on the pillows.
“My gift is…” Oh, you don’t want to; but you have nothing else you can give him now. You swallow again and fiddle with the end of your nightgown. It’s a flimsy thing, isn’t it?
“I’m ready to… that is--I’m ready to…”
You can’t finish the words but you don’t need to, because both of Lucas’ eyebrows raise before his lips curl into a delighted smile as he realizes what you mean.
He looks giddy. He looks drunk, despite not having a drink tonight. He looks like he’s going to devour you, and you can only be mildly grateful that it’s not in the way you normally fear.
“Oh, angel.”
In moments, he’s shifted above you, his body looming over your own, filling up all of your space with his size and warmth.
“This is the best gift you could give me.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, then again; a kiss to your cheeks, to your eyes that close so he can kiss the lids. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Oh, honey, you must have been thinkin’ about this all day. No wonder you were so distracted.”
There’s nowhere to go, if you wanted to go. Nowhere to run, if you were capable of running. He’s here and you’re here and this is going to happen now.
No more putting it off, no more gentle pleas, no more convincing him that you can do that and not this, not yet.
All because you forgot to make a damn Valentine’s Card.
His hands hold the edge of your nightie and begin to lift it up, exposing the soft cotton underwear underneath.
“I love you so much. You know that, sweetheart?”
He doesn’t take the nightgown off; instead he bunches it up against your neck, exposing your chest.
“I love you too,” you murmur, because you’ve had enough of your own stupidity today not to answer his declarations.
Your eyes flick up to the ceiling as he begins pulling down your underwear.
It’s going to happen now. He’ll fuck you. And once that happens, well. It’ll keep happening. Every night? Every other night? You don’t know, but he’ll expect it. Things are changing and you can’t stop them. All you can do is try to scramble for what little pleasantries this isolated, captive life can give you.
Like not-bad chocolates and bunnies outside the window.
Lucas’ hands grip the meat of your thighs and pull them apart with little resistance on your end. You don’t want to make it worse, do you? And it was your idea, you can’t even pretend to be anything but meekly nervous, can you?
He murmurs something in appreciation at the sight of your naked sex and your fingers clutch the sheets underneath you in anticipation.
You don’t want to look down. It’s like being at the doctor’s--looking away when they give you the shot. You hear the sound of his trousers being pushed down. But he doesn’t push into you just yet.
Instead, he leans down, pressing a hot, wet kiss to your mouth that opens without argument.
There’s a faint taste of peppermint toothpaste and a hint of lingering caramel--he didn’t brush his molars well enough, maybe--in his mouth.
“Love you,” he whispers against your lips. Maybe he sees the nervousness in your gaze and for once, is fine with it. It’s normal to be anxious about your first time, after all. “It's gonna feel good, I promise… I know what I’m doin’.”
Damn, you think vacantly, stomach lurching against your thoughts when you feel the unmistakable press of something hot and hard and wet against your naked thigh. I wish I saved the second cherry cordial for tomorrow.
Lover
Simon Riley x Wife!Reader
I cannot stop thinking about Ghost and being a cute domestic wife for him
Tw: Intense gender roles, kinda stalker Simon, smut if you squint
(Note: I am not a tradwife nor do I condone forcing gender roles and societal pressures onto anyone, I just wanna be a cutesy wife for Simon Riley)
Simon prefers you call him Simon over Ghost. He thinks that since he's literally married to you, there's no reason for you to call him by his call sign. Calling him Simon is much more intimate for him and he likes separating you from everything he endures as Ghost. He just wants to be your Simon.
He knows he's gone for long periods of time. Time you spend not talking to him or doing couple things. He makes up for it, though, by doing anything you want when he's at home. If you're tired of planning, he's got you. Simon has a whole list of random things to suggest when you just want to be taken care of without worry.
He LOVES spoiling you. In his line of work, he gets down and dirty. He loves knowing you don't have to do anything of the sort (unless you want to). He pays for your nails to keep them pretty, unlike his dirty, battered ones. He will get you monthly subscriptions to whatever you want, beauty boxes, gaming passes, entertainment, etc. All luxuries he can't experience while at work. Simon knowing you're the opposite of him, clean, spoiled, safe, is enough to keep him working forever. Giving you everything he can't have. His love isn't all monetary, but a lot of it is when he's away.
Simon loves watching you. He gets major anxiety about you when he's away. To help with this, he installed security cameras in and around the house. When he gets the luxury of a WiFi signal, he'll check in on you. If you happen to see a little green light flash on while eating, relaxing, cooking, or any other mundane task, you'll offer him a smile and a wave. Sometimes you'll blow him a kiss (or give him a private show).
We all know Simon is physically fit, but that doesn't mean he has any type of expectation for you. He loves whatever you have to offer him, as long as you're in good mental and physical health (remember, being physically healthy comes in different shapes and sizes!) Simon is completely enamored with you. He believes he was blessed to be the only man on earth to be married to a real goddess. He would build a statue of you by hand (if he wasn't so bad at any type of art). If you want to go to the gym, he'll buy you the best membership he can. If you don't, he'll buy you something else that occupies your time.
Simon loves feeding into your hobbies, whatever they may be. Coming home and seeing something new you created or hearing about something you've learned makes his day 10x brighter.
You love cooking for him. It took a lot to break down his walls and food is one of them. He appreciates the time and effort it takes to plan and execute a meal as well as the skill needed to cook as well as you do. The best brands and foods for his wife only! Nothing makes him feel more full of you and your love than when he's eating something you've made for him, other than when he praises you and you get a little twinkle in your eyes and a smile on your face.
You also happen to love keeping the house nice for him. You clean fairly often, though it's not hard to keep up after one person (and any pets you may have). You like knowing he's trusted you with one of his largest assets, his home. It gives you a sense of power knowing you're the only person who controls what kind of house he comes home to. Messy, clean, minimal, tacky, bright, dark, etc. Simon appreciates anything and everything you do for the house. Knowing you've gotten everything taken care of and decorated in a way you both like is like heaven to him and lifts a huge weight off his shoulders. He loves smelling a clean house after smelling nothing but dirt, blood, gun powder, and stinky men for days. (He couldn't care less if the house was a cardboard box, as long as you were there and you still loved him.)
If you want to work, go to school, learn a trade, or be a stay at home, he supports you. You don't even have to explain yourself to him, Simon trusts you so much that even if you were to say "I don't know" he would hear trumpets because an angel just spoke to him.
Nsfw: Despite what people may think, Simon typically isn't a dom. He spend a majority of his time directing people and being an authoritative figure at work. That isn't even mentioning how tolling it can be knowing you took a life and the physical exhaustion his work takes. He likes being taken care of, however you see fit. Sometimes he'll be a dom, but only if he's been away from work and needs to let off some steam.
The sweetest ever. Cuddles, words of affirmation, snacks, whatever you need. He feels as though his sole purpose since he met you is to make you feel like nothing less than a deity. Sometimes he'll get insecure over his ability to take care of you or not being around, but one kiss from you, perfect you, and the perfect life you maintain for you both and it fades away.
Overall, Simon Riley is the hottest, most doting husband to exist, ever.
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