24 And Missing College.

It was rare you got to spend time with your family. Your elder brother Edwyn was the heir to your father’s title and, as such, the pair of them spent a great deal of time overseeing the land and renters. Leo, as a second son, was antsy and often busied himself on adventures that you could only dream of. Your sister Marian had been married some six months ago and you missed her dearly. When you had heard than she and her lord husband would also be in Ashford, you had been more than content to brave the long ride down just to see her.

And then there was the matter of your betrothal to Lord Frey’s son, Owen.

You hummed to yourself as you navigated the dark corridors, slippers padding along the stone floor. The only sign of life you could hear was from yourself. There was a good chance that you had gotten yourself turned around so you stopped and began to retrace your steps.

The pair of you had met at your sister’s wedding and both Lord Frey and your own father had been delighted at the way you seemed to draw together. Owen Frey was handsome enough, and not unkind, and he knew all the right things to say. When your father had told you of the potential for an arrangement, you had agreed without really thinking about it.

Owen Frey seemed a sensible enough man, and you certainly tried to be a sensible woman. Lord Frey was said to be an honorable and loyal man, and he and his wife genuinely seemed to care for one another. You hoped that with them as an example, Owen would also come to care for you as a husband should.

You paused, huffing a breath as you scanned your environment. It all looked the same. You were just about to turn on your heel again when you heard something ahead. Some kind of scuffling, and a laugh.

Pressing your lips together, you debated turning around. But by now you were likely already late for dinner and your father would not be pleased. Not when the Ashfords were such accommodating hosts – and not when the Targaryens were also staying.

With a nervous breath, you made your way forward and peeked around the corner. Immediately you sucked in a breath, clapping your hand over your mouth as you registered what was before you.

At first you saw only two lovers entwined. Hands beneath shifts and unbuttoned trousers and choked gasps. Then you recognised the clothes on the woman – a household servant of the Ashfords. You cringed at the way she scratched down the male’s back, moaning into his neck as his hands did something down the front of her dress.

You were not ignorant to the ways of man and woman. Well, not entirely, anyway. But you knew enough to know that it was incredibly bold of the pair to be so intimate so out in the open. You stifled a laugh and turned to dip away – and then you heard it.

“Oh, Owen, please!”

You stalled, mouth popping open with a silent ‘oh’. Shaking, you peered round the wall once more, just to confirm. Neither of the pair had spotted you. This time you saw what you had been previously blind to. The sword at the man’s hip, the Frey sigil on the pommel. The hair, an unassuming shade of brown, that only now you recognised. The man’s hand moved to grip the girl’s hip and you saw the rings adorning his fingers.

You stayed for only a moment longer, a headache forming between your brows. You did not confront them. Instead, you raced away, as quietly as you could, turning blindly down corridors until you bumped into a maid who was, by chance, looking for you.

You trailed after her until she reached the dining room, slipping by her as she held the door open for you. Your father stood to greet you and you heard yourself explaining that you had been lost. So silly of you! Your father laughed boisterously and made some joke about you being distracted due to your engagement.

“For a moment, daughter, we thought you had snuck away with Owen,” he chuckled, “Lord Frey told us the boy is ill.”

Baelor Targaryen offered you a polite smile as he responded to your father. Distracted once more, your father sat down and began conversing with the heir. Feeling that all attention was once again off of you, you made your way to the table and found yourself a seat.

You sat down at your brother’s side without looking up. It was only after your brother had pushed a steaming plate in front of you that you glanced about. You found yourself squeezing at your utensils, something hot and uncomfortable brewing in your stomach as you picked at your beef.

After a particularly vicious stab, you set your cutlery down. Tucking your hands beneath the table, you squeezed at your thighs until you were sure you drew blood. Your eyes stayed dry. You searched yourself for despair, for sadness, and instead found red hot fucking fury.

A shiver wracked through you and finally you looked up. Aerion Targaryen met your gaze. He did not blink as he stabbed a hunk of beef and brought it to his mouth. He chewed it nicely but his eyes were anything but.

You knew about Brightflame. About his propensity for anger and cruelty. You had made a game of avoiding him all week, despite the fact your family took meals with his almost daily. And now, with him sitting across from you, this was the closest you had ever been.

It must be exhausting, you thought, to be so angry all the time. You could feel your own righteous rage swirling in your chest, taking violent swipes at your heart every time you attempted to push what you had seen from your mind.

Aerion stopped chewing and stared openly. You blinked as you realised your lips had curled in something like a snarl. Your anger burned hotter than you knew what to do with. You slouched back in your chair, ignoring the way your brother coughed at your ill manners, and stared right back.

It was stupid. You knew that but you did not look away. Let him be cruel, you thought, let him spit and curse at you for your disrespect. You discovered that you anger enough to return the fire. It needed to go somewhere, did it not?

Your brother stilled, hand finding yours beneath the table and squeezing in warning. And still, you did not move. To your surprise, it was Aerion that moved.

He cleared his throat and set his fork down. He leaned forward and you readied yourself for the fall out of your disrespect.

“Woman,” he said slowly, “what is your name?”

Your brother nudged you to answer. Distantly, you wondered if Owen remembered your name. If you thought about you at all as he fumbled with the maid girl in the corridor, where anyone could come across them. Did he feel guilt as he humiliated you? As he made you look like a foolish, sheltered girl?

“You do not recall my name,” you said slowly, “despite the fact that our families have dined together all week?”

Your brother choked on his wine. Aerion’s eyes widened, something chaotic and wild fluttering in his pupils. It looked like fire.

“I do not,” he answered just as slowly, chin dipping as he waited for your response.

You should tread carefully. You should apologise. You should lower your gaze and speak only when spoken to. You should pretend you never saw Owen and the girl and marry him anyway, settle for a life long of betrayal and disappointment.

“Then I do not wish to tell you,” you hissed, slamming your palms to the table as you shot up out of your chair. All eyes landed on you. “Father, I am unwell. I wish to retire.”

Aerion’s eyes made your skin burn. They drilled into the side of your face as you stoutly ignored him, dipping your head as your father stammered out an excuse and the host bid you well.

You walked quickly from the table, wrenching open the door before the guard could do it for you. Once alone in the corridor, the cool air brushing at your heated cheeks, a hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. To Aerion and Leon, it probably looked as though you were running. But it was not fear that had driven you from that hall.

Alone in your room, you waited for the tears to come. When the hours dripped on, and the tears still did not come, you resorted to pinching your thighs until bruises welled beneath your nails. Your eyes remained dry.

The anger would not leave. Seething, you threw yourself across the bed, tempted to tear at the sheets like some wild animal. You did not feel like the lady you had been raised to be. But where had that gotten you? Reeling and thoroughly humiliated, you felt lost.

What Owen had done was not out of the ordinary. You were sure that even your father had fathered a bastard or two in the village. But it was not what you wanted for yourself, and as a fourth daughter, you had more choice than most.

Owen had seemed like the safe choice. The sensible choice. You were vexed at your own naivety, annoyed at your own surprise and subsequent disgust. You had been willing to settle for the first man that seemed reasonable and now you were stuck. Did a right choice even exist?

There would be no wedding. You were sure that you could get your father to agree once you told him of what you had witnessed. Your father would not take kindly to his daughter being embarrassed in such a way. The Freys were going to benefit from the wedding more than your family so it would be no great loss.

You sighed. So much had changed in so little time. The tourney was over tomorrow and you would be making your way back home by mid-afternoon. Once on the road, away from the Freys, you could tell your father what you had seen. He would send word of the cancelled arrangement to the Freys, all without you having to set eyes on Owen ever again.

As the sky began to darken further, a maid came in to light your candles and the fire in the grate. Idly you wondered if she was the one you had seen with Owen earlier. Once she had left, you sat up and went to the window, peering out with boredom.

Anger still kindled in your stomach. You rested a hand over your lowed belly, half expecting to feel heat.

The castle was quiet. The gardens below were quiet, too. Your father would kill you for walking around in the dark without a guard but the room was beginning to feel stifling.

When you were young, you had been an unruly child. Eager to escape your finishing lessons and play with your brothers or roam the grounds alone. Your father had assumed you had grown out of it and maybe you had.

Now, though, all you wanted was to leave the suffocating grip of the castle. Owen was under the same roof as you, somewhere, sleeping soundly or perhaps not alone. If he was going to flout the rules so blatantly, then so would you.

Like earlier, you got turned around several times before you eventually found your way outside. The ground was slightly damp from the earlier rain. You would have to clean your slippers before dawn.

You wound your way around bushes and flower beds until you found your way to a hidden alcove. The moon was bright enough to guide your path and you kept carefully out of sight of the castle. The wall was slanted enough for you to rest against it, almost sitting.

The air was soothing against your harried flesh. You closed your eyes and imagined it cooling further, eager to shake the weight of emotion from your chest.

The garden was enclosed in high walls. Beyond them you could hear raucous laughter and singing. The final night of the tourney was just as loud as the first. What would it be like to be among the smallfolk? To laugh, to dance and to drink as they did? As men did?

What would it be like to fuck as they did?

The word was so crass that you open your eyes and looked around, half expecting your father to appear and scold you for the mere thought. Satisfied that you were indeed alone, you settled back and closed your eyes once more.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed when you heard it. Your name, cutting through the careful silence you had cultivated, drawing a shocked yelp from your lips.

Aerion Brightflame stood five feet in front of you, hand on the pommel of his sword. The gesture was not threatening – or maybe it was. It was difficult to tell when everything about him was threatening.

Aerion silver hair was tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. His clothes appeared hastily thrown on, as though he had gotten ready for bed and then changed his mind. Perhaps the night air cooled his temper, too.

He repeated your name again, and you realised that someone else must have told him it. He looked smug and you wanted to smack him clean across the face for thinking he had won whatever stupid game it was that he thought you were playing.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking about alone?” he asked, stepping closer.

You squinted at him and did not reply. Was this the same man you had been avoiding all week? Whatever fear you had previously felt had been eaten away by fire and now fatigue as you slumped back against the wall.

Aerion’s lip curled at your silence; displeasure dotted in the creases of his face. You tilted your head a little. He was not unpleasant to look at, even when he scowled. He was handsome, you admitted, as all Targaryens tended to be.

“Answer me, woman,” he finally snarled, “or I’ll drag you before your father.”

Aerion had stepped closer. If you reached out a hand, you would be able to lay it on his chest.

What would it be like to fuck as they did?

It was a terrible idea. Downright stupid. When was the last time you had been stupid? Been anything other than the lady you were supposed to be?

You reached out and laid your hand on the dragon’s chest.

Aerion stilled. You met his eyes steadily, attempting to gauge interest. He did not stop you when you stepped closer, tilting your head until your eyes landed on his lips. They looked red and bitten already.

Aerion did not stop you when your hand slid up his chest and into the short hair at the base of the back of his neck. His lips parted and his breath puffed out when you tugged a little, curious. Owen had tugged that woman’s hair. It seemed like something that was done.

“Woman,” Aerion finally said, “are you stupid?”

“No,” you murmured, “but I think I’d like to be. Just for tonight.”

You were not sure who moved first; only that, one second you were thinking how similar a shade Aerion’s hair was to the moon, and the next you were pressed up tight in the alcove.

Aerion used his body to pin you there. At first, the kiss was clumsy and unpracticed. It was your first, after all. But you had always been a quick learner.

Aerion’s mouth was firm and unforgiving. Your lips parted under his like they had done so a thousand times, tongue reaching out to brush silkily along Aerion’s and earning a surprised groan. His hand came up to squeeze your face, holding you still as he had you how he liked.

It felt good. The kissing and the rebellion of it all. Throughout it all, your hands remained in his hair, tugging hard whenever he did something you particularly liked. He nipped at your lips, pulling sweet gasps and moans from them as he went. That push and pull of his tongue in your mouth, smoothing softly over yours – was that what fucking was like?

Aerion pulled away and you almost hissed. His hair looked messier than previously, the front of his clothes ruffled from where you had been pressed together. His lips were red and wet from the kiss and you watched as his tongue darted out and smoothed over them.

The anger had given away to something impossibly hotter. Something molten and desperate was welling in your core. It was nothing you had ever felt or even considered feeling when it came to Owen. You tilted your head back against the stone wall and waited for the prince to make a move.

“Foolish girl,” he finally said, dragging his eyes from where your breasts heaved against the ribbon of your dress. “Is that what you wanted? To act like a whore for the night? Are you satisfied, then?”

You laughed quietly, the sound ringing through the garden. “I think whores do a great deal more than kiss, my Prince.”

Before you could think too much, you reached down to rest your hand over the hard outline of Aerion’s manhood. He made a choked sound and jolted forward, no doubt surprised at your boldness. Instead of laughing at the shock on his face, you pressed your nose to his chest, seeking out the sliver of bared skin you had seen then.

And then you bit down. Hard.

Aerion groaned long and loud, hand coming up to grip the back of your head as he allowed you to sink your teeth into his flesh. It felt powerful. You did not relent until blood welled beneath your teeth, copper leaking onto your tongue as you laved it over his wounded flesh.

You kept your hand firmly on his cock, rubbing the heel of your palm over where you assumed the head was. Aerion’s grip grew tight before he let you go, chest heaving, staring down at you with blow pupils.

He said your name again, quietly this time, and with no mocking. His hands had fallen to grip your wrists but he let go of one, reaching up the place his palm over the spot you had bitten.

“And yet,” you sighed, “I still do not feel like a whore.”

You kept your mind switched off as your hands dropped and began tugging at the strings on his trousers. Your own core throbbed with every little move. It was different from the lazy self-exploration of yourself you had previously indulged in. Was this feeling normal or was it to do with the dragon before you?

“Fuck,” Aerion swore as you popped his cock from his trousers, the heated flesh pulsing in the cooler air.

It looked big – but that did not matter. You had no intention of taking it inside of yourself. Instead, you smoothed your palm over the head, collecting the wetness that had gathered there. You squeezed experimentally and smiled at the sound it produced from Aerion.

Aerion cursed again and then his hands were on you. You yelped as he held you firmly against the stone wall, damp rock pressing into your back, and began to ruck up your dress until it was fluffed around your waist. He kicked your legs apart and shoved his hand down the front of your garments until his fingers met the soft curls at the apex of your thighs.

This was not the plan. Not that there had been one in the first place – but this definitely was not it.

Aerion’s fingers met the soft, pillowy flesh on your cunt with little ceremony. His eyes were glued to your face, chest rising and falling swiftly as he parted you with his fingers and ran his index over the tight flesh of your hole.

“Even whores do not get this wet,” he growled, cupping your tender flesh. “Put your hand back on my cock. Now.”

You resented the bite in his voice but your mind was surprising gentle exploration of his fingers. Instead of sliding inside, they ventured up, up, until they met the soft ball of flesh that would surely make you lose your fucking mind.

Aerion buried his face in your neck, tongue licking over the exposed flesh as your hand found his cock and began to move. When he stopped, you stopped. You would not let him come away from having had more than you. You were determined to satisfy your earlier curiosity.

His fingers rubbed tight circles over your swollen flesh, faster and then slower. He rutted into your palm with hard thrusts, breath hissing in your ear as he approached his peak.

He was not the only one. You could feel your own fast approaching. For the first time, clarity began to clear your mind. You understood why Owen, why that girl, had gotten so caught up. Initially you had wanted to do this to experience what you felt you were missing out on, to be reckless as they had been. Now you felt the urge for control. The urge to prove that you were better than them.

Still you allowed Aerion’s fingers to rub you. There was no doubt that he knew what he was doing. His hips bumped yours as he fucked your hand, orgasm tearing through him in a way that made you dizzy and thirsty for your own.

You yelped when Aerion’s head bent down, nuzzling into the pillowy tops of your breasts before he bit down. Hard enough that you were sure he immediately drew blood. You whimpered and yanked at his hair, teetering on the edge of your own orgasm.

If I go over the edge, you thought, I do not know if I can come back.

With surprising strength, you shoved Aerion away. Your dress came tumbling back down and the whisper of fabric over your skin was enough to almost have you orgasming anyway. Unprepared, Aerion staggered before righting his stance.

His still hard cock was still peeking out of his breeches and you tore your eyes away before you abandoned all common sense. You could feel his seed on your hand, warm and sticky. There was blood smeared all over his mouth and when he snarled at you, you could see it in his teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he barked. “You are not done here – we are not done here.”

You breathed heavily and swayed a little on your feet. You could see your own arousal on Aerion’s fingers, glittering in the moonlight. It looked rather pretty.

Aerion took a step forward and it shook you out of your reverie. Before he could say anything else (or use his fingers and command you to stay) you tore past him and ran inside. In some miracle, perhaps as reward for your restraint, you found your way back to your room in a matter of minutes. If Aerion called your name, you did not hear it.

The next morning was nothing memorable. You were beyond tired and still mildly irritated, but glad to be rid of the place. You had stayed up late cleaning your shoes and the conspicuous wet spot the prince had left on your dress. If the maids noticed anything as they packed your trunks, they did not say.

Your father was in a good mood. It was a good thing to spent time with the heir to the kingdom; it reflected well on the house. You smiled blandly as he and your brother Leon recounted their days, commenting on who had done well and the favourites.

The Targaryens had supposed to have been leaving early, but as you and your family made their way down, you discovered that they had not. You kept your gaze averted and curtsied when necessary, thanking Lord Ashford for his hospitality and Balor and his family for their company.

When you reached Aerion, you curtsied as before. Aerion surprised you by lifting your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your inner wrist. You felt his tongue on your skin and bit your lip, praying that your father would not notice.

Aerion pulled back and smiled. Your mouth dropped open. Your blood was still smeared across his lips and teeth.

Within days of arriving home, your father had contacted Lord Frey and told him the engagement was off. He was horrified by what you had reported. His poor darling girl, witness to such depravity!

As he had ranted and raved, you had subtly tugged at the high collar of your dress. You had taken to wearing such high collars and avoiding help from the maids since arriving home. The mark that Aerion had left on you was shocking. Blue and purple tinged with red. It was still sore and throbbed when touched firmly, which you did often.

You had managed to muster tears in your eyes and a tremble in your voice as you recounted the events of that evening. Perhaps you exaggerated a little. It did not matter; your father was thoroughly on your side.

Some days later, after some back and forth with Lord Frey, your father told you that Owen had left The Twins and was no doubted headed here, to your home. Your father had almost had an aneurysm at the sheer assumption of hospitality.

“Do not worry, father,” you had patted his hand, “perhaps he will come to apologise. I will hear him out, but I have no intentions of marrying him.”

“You are kind, daughter,” he nodded, “and wise. You deserve more than foolish young boys.”

Wise. You had nearly laughed. A week ago, you had been the stupidest person in the entire seven kingdoms. Stupider now, perhaps, since you did not regret it.

A week and a half after the tournament, you were sitting in the library when you heard the sound of a party arriving. You set your book down and straightened your spine before marching from the library and heading for the hall.

You paused outside, sharing a look with your ladies’ maid when you heard your father’s laughter from within. That was certainly not the reception you had envisioned for Owen Frey. Confused, you opened the door and stepped within, ready for an explanation.

Your father was stood there, arm in arm, with Maekar Targaryen. And to the left of him, tall and polished, was his son, Aerion.

You froze. For a moment you debated edging your way back out of the room but then your father caught sight of you.

“Ah!” he threw up his arms and came to grab your arm, pulling you further into the dragon’s nest. “My Princes, you remember my youngest daughter?”

“Certainly,” Aerion interjected before his father could speak. He dipped his head, mocking. “My Lady.”

You assumed you responded appropriately. You could not be sure. Maekar nodded stiffly, something like curiosity in his eyes as he looked you up and down. How much had Aerion told his father? Was he, in turn, going to tell your father?

“Why are you here?” you asked bluntly.

Your father said your name, surprised. “You did not know? I invited them here whilst we were all at the tourney.”

“Yes,” Aerion smiled, “I am here to hunt.”

The ground felt like it was dropping out from beneath you. Even the air felt thin. Whilst you swayed on your feet, vehemently regretting that night, your father chattered on to Maekar.

He had no fucking idea what he had agreed to. And, truthfully, neither did you.

Unwilling to leave your father and the princes alone, you found yourself getting ready for a hunt. You yanked on your riding dress and, once your front was covered, turned to allow your maid to lace up the back.

You did not know what Aerion had told Maekar, nor what his plans were with you father. You were worried that, at the first chance he had, Aerion would tell him of your indulgent and careless behaviour. Why else would he come all this way?

It seemed insane that he would do all this just to torment you. Or perhaps it would, if he were anyone else. Out of all the boys to fool around with. . .

You descend from your room and head for the stables. Yanking on your riding gloves, you find the stall of your horse, Silver. She was a precious thing and fickle with anyone other than you. You smoothed your hand over her mane and waited for the stable boy to arrive.

Aerion arrived first.

You scowled at the flash of silver hair you saw from the corner of your eye and did not bother greeting him. It was not him you feared; it was what he might tell you father. You should probably consider attempting to butter him up. Your lips thinned at the idea and you continued to ignore him.

Heat was radiating from his body as he stepped up bedside you, bumping your arm with his. Without asking, he reached out to pet Silver. You hoped she would bite him. Instead, she huffed and leaned down to nose at his palm. You frowned.

Distracted, you did not notice Aerion’s other hand creeping up toward the collar of your dress. You squeaked when you felt his fingers on the hem, yanking it down until the ugly spot he had left on your upper breast came into view.

The flesh was still unhealed. Whenever you looked closely in the mirror, you could still see the outline of Aerion’s teeth.

“Good,” he hummed, “yours has not healed either.”

He did not let go of your clothing, instead leaning closer as though he might bite again. Outraged, you slapped the prince across his face. Aerion let go at once, hand coming to rest on the quickly darkening flesh of his cheek.

Your chest was heaving, eyes wide and blinking furiously. You wanted to shout, to slap him again, to demand the real reason as to why he had come. You had finally been getting back to normalcy when he and his father had shown up.

You snarled still as Aerion reached out again, raising your hand as though you might strike him once more. This time he did not try to tear at your clothes. He tugged them back into the rightful position, brushing the wrinkles from your bosom as though his fingers were not leaving trails of fire behind as they went.

“I knew you had fire in you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers over your bared collarbones.

Before you could respond, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. You whirled around, horrified to see Maekar waiting by the stable doors. Aerion did not seem alarmed. He met his fathers gaze and inclined his head before going to his own horse.

Maekar did not say anything. His gaze bounced from his son and then back to you, as though he was putting something together. He did not speak and seemed surprised. Had he seen you slap his son? It was nothing he had not deserve.

Markar must have agreed because he offered you a soft nod and then turned his attention to Aerion. You went back to Silver and pretended that neither of them were there. The two of them were having some kind of hushed conversation and you could not make out what they were saying.

Eventually your father and the stable boy arrived, and the hunt began.

Your father and Maekar rode ahead, crossbows hanging by their sides. It was the most serious you had seen your father. Neither of the men spoke, which you preferred.

Aerion rode at your side, which you did not prefer. He had his own crossbow but seemed to have little interest in it. His gaze was firmly fixed on the side of your head. Occasionally he would come close and kick softly at your calves, or reach out to pull your hair when he knew neither of your fathers were looking.

One particularly hard pull had you swearing and slapping at his hands. Aerion laughed quietly so as not to draw the attention of your fathers. Yours was particularly oblivious. Maekar, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes sliding from Aerion to you. He seemed bewildered. Perhaps you were not the only one who did not know what Aerion was up to.

After several hours with no sign of game, you began to wish you had remained home. Let Aerion say what he would. It was not worth you distress.

Suddenly everyone seemed to still. You shivered at the sudden change. Even Aerion was silent. You peered out into the dense forest, trying to see whatever it was that had captured everyone’s attention. The only sign that anything was there was a slight rustling in the bush, and then a dull ‘thunk’ as Aerion fired from his crossbow quicker than you thought possible. Then a thud, as whatever it was hit the ground.

Aerion dismounted and disappeared into the brush, returning with an impressively large stag. Your brows raised at the clean shot. It was something even your brothers would have struggled with. Aerion held it up by the antlers and stared in your direction. You smoothed your expression and looked away as though you were bored. You did not want to encourage further ridiculousness.

You stayed on Silver as the men tied the poor creature between their horses and began to head home. Bloodlust satiated, Aerion mostly left you alone, and for that you were thankful.

At dinner, Aerion had the honor of the first serving. It had been divided into manageable chunks, cooked and seasoned in the preferred way of your guests. The scent of venison was thick on the air and you were hungry after the ride.

Your eldest brother Edwyn joined you at dinner. His lady wife was unwell and remained abed. If he was surprised by the royal visitors, he did not show it. He settled into pleasant conversation with your father and Maekar. To his credit, he attempted to include Aerion but the prince seemed determined to make him uncomfortable.

Rather than take the first cut for himself, Aerion slid it your way. All the men at the table went silent. Aware of the gaze of your father and brother, you smiled sweetly and acted surprised.

“For the lady,” Aerion said, smirking at your obvious discomfort.

The meat was rare and bloody. Not your favourite but you would manage. Aerion tucked in to his own with little fanfare, blatantly ignoring his fathers’ eyes. Greasy blood dripped over his lips and he chased the flavour with his tongue, never breaking eye contact with you.

 Conversation resumed and you ate your own food whilst wishing for the ground to open up beneath you. Did Aerion even have to say anything? One look at him and your father would surely learn of your behaviour that night. Aerion was hardly subtle.

For the first time since they had arrived, you wondered about Owen. He had been on his way here, had he not? You cringed inwardly at the thought of Owen and Aerion interacting. Not that Aerion would care about Owen, but during the Ashford tournament, Owen had been practically tripping over himself trying to impress the Targaryen guests. You dreaded to think of enduring that behaviour within your own home.

Aerion chose that moment to kick you under the table. Your knee bounced against the underside, drawing the attention of everyone once more. You laughed uneasily and apologised, waving away your father’s concerns.

You waited until all attention was back on the food, and then you kicked Aerion right back.

The next few days went by in a similar fashion. Maekar continued to hunt with your father, returning empty handed most days, and Aerion remained at the castle with you.

Everywhere you went, he was there. More often than not, the pair of you ended up alone. The servants were scared of him and you could not blame them. You overheard him barking at them on several occasions, and he had even thrown something at one of the maids who had come to wake him one morning.

Miraculously, none of these incidents seemed to make their way back to either of your fathers. If the staff trembled when they refilled Aerion’s cup, they did not notice. Neither did Aerion, for his attention was usually fixated on you.

You kept waiting for that temper to turn on you but it never did. So, you continued to bite back, though not literally, and convinced yourself you were doing it on behalf of all the servants.

After several days, you realised that the only thing that seemed to genuinely irritate him was you ignoring him. So, naturally, that was exactly what you did.

No longer did you glance up when he entered the room. At mealtimes, you arranged yourself carefully in your chair so that his legs could not reach you. You had your ladies’ maid, Silena, wind your hair into intricate braids so that there was nothing he could easily pull.

Aerion’s fury built. You pretended not to notice when he sniped at the servants and scowled at your father. Maekar, eager to soothe over any tensions caused by his wild son, was always quick to distract your father with conversation.

One day, Aerion went out hunting with Maekar and your father. Once again, he presented you with the first cut of meat that he had caught. You thanked him politely and nibbled at it as though dissatisfied. Aerion jerked about in his chair as though he might jump up and start shouting.

Would that be enough to get your father to send him away? Probably not. You were beginning to understand that Targaryen princes got away with everything.

Four days trickled past, and there was still no sign of Owen. Not that you thought of him often. A raven had arrived from Lord Frey, asking if his son had arrived. It was odd and you had felt sorry for the man, worried for his son. No doubt he would turn up soon, but not so soon that you had to bear with him and Aerion under the same roof.

On the fifth day, you were thoroughly exhausted. You had begun to avoid Aerion as much as possible – and it mostly wasn’t. The man seemed to have eyes on you at all time.

He had spent most of the day with you in the library. When he wasn’t thumbing through books, he was digging his dagger into the table that had been in your family for generations. His blatant disrespect was unsurprising and you had snuggled further in your chair and tried to pretend like you were actually reading the words on the pages.

After an hour or two of the stifling silence, Aerion had got to his feet and torn the book from your hands. He had torn into it, throwing pages over you like confetti. You had been furious and ready to deliver another swift smack to his cheek. A servant had entered that time, saving you from breaking your silence, and you had both gone down for lunch.

Your father was not the most observant man, but even he could see that you were beyond taxed by the end of the day.

Rather than indulging in evening drinking and games, he suggested that you retire early and have a bath drawn by the staff. You were more than happy to do just that.

You lounged on your bed with a book you did not read as the servants prepared your tub. The water was steaming hot and inviting. Once it was full, they scattered petals into the water and added drops of some scented oil that had you relaxing almost instantly.

Your ladies’ maid waited to help you undress but, as you had every day since returning, you waved her off.

“I’d like some time to myself, Silena,” you smiled softly, “I’ll call for you once I am finished.”

You waited until the door was shut, and then several minutes more for good measure, before undressing. You tried to avoid looking at the bruise on the swell of your breast. Your eyes were drawn there automatically.

Pressing a hand over it, you hissed at the memory of pain and ignored the sparks it sent between your legs. Piling your hair on your head, you arranged it until you were satisfied it would not get wet. Once you were completely bare, you stepped into the tub and settled down, letting your head fall back against the high edge.

The water was verging on boiling, as you liked it. It was milky from the oils and soap. You grabbed a washcloth from the edge of the tub and began to run it over your shoulders and behind your ears.

You let your mind go blank as you cleansed yourself several times over until all you could smell was lavender and something almost smoky. Once more you sat back, content to relax until the water turned cold.

The sound of the door opening had you sighing and dipping lower into the water to hide your bruise. “Silena, I have no need of you yet –“

“But I have need of you.”

You shot up straight, sloshing water over the edge of the bath. Aerion let the door fall shut, reaching behind himself to click the lock into place. His eyes were dark as the fixed on you in the tub and you shivered, cold despite the hot water.

“I’ll scream,” you warned him.

“I’ll tell your father what we did together,” he countered.

He toed off his shoes as though these were his rooms and began to make his way towards you. You had no weapon, nothing with which you might fight him off with, and he seemed to know it.

You dared not take your eyes off of him. When he settled on his knees next to the tub, you became painfully aware of your naked state. It was strange; he had had his fingers on you, almost inside of you, and yet he had not seen you. Not really.

Aerion seemed to be thinking the same thing. He seemed displeased at the milky state of the water. It concealed you from him. You drew your knees up to your chest and waited for him to speak.

Aerion dipped his fingers into the water and hissed. “Hot.”

“I like it that way,” you defended. Then you shut your lips tightly, wishing you had not spoken at all.

Aerion smiled and touched your bare knee beneath the water. You tried to jerk away but he gripped you tight, nails biting into your softened flesh. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I am not here to entertain you, prince.”

“I thought that, too, at the tournament,” he said, “but then you were so wonderfully entertaining in the garden that night. I want more. Have wanted more, since then, and yet you deny what was once so freely given. Why?”

Your mouth felt dry. “I am a lady.”

“And yet,” he repeated, “you betrayed your betrothed that night, with me, didn’t you?”

You stilled, barely registering his words before they hit you full force. “He betrayed me first!” you snarled, sending a wave of water over the edge of the tub.

Aerion squeezed your knee tighter, ignoring the water creeping its way up his sleeve. It soaked into the golden embroidery that was pattered there, darkening the fabric until it looked like it had been flecked with blood.

“Betrayed you?” Aerion repeated. “Vengeful little thing.”

“He is no longer my betrothed,” you added weakly. “I told my father about what he did.”

“But he was coming here to see you regardless,” Aerion said, mostly to himself.

“How do you know about that?” you asked, finally tearing his hand from your knee. Blood welled from the indents he had left in your flesh with his nails. You shivered at the sting as the warm water washed over them.

Aerion’s eyes dropped low, searching for that mark he had left on your skin over two weeks ago. Then they dipped lower still, fixing on the tips of your breasts that were barely visible beneath the water.

He let out a muted groan, dragging his eyes upward until they were once again on your face. “I believe I said that we were not finished.”

It took you a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Aerion, no.”

“You think you know what you want,” he murmured, “and maybe you did, all those weeks ago. But your mind has become clouded. Allow me to clear it for you.”

You gasped when Aerion leaned over the tub, hands grasping your shoulders as he pulled you forward and arranged you to his liking. He had you with your back to him, against the tub, allowing him to peer over your shoulders and down your body.

You tried to move forward but he would not allow it. You stopped moving when you felt his teeth at your neck. If he left a mark there, it would be visible to everyone, including your father.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Let me finish what we started.”

Beneath the water, Aerion cupped your breasts with a firmness that had you whimpering. You could feel his warm breath puffing over the shell of your ear and you squirmed, searching yourself for your earlier reluctance. It was not there.

When Aerion rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, you nearly dissolved into the bath water. He kneaded them gentle, rolling the tips between his fingers in a way that had you gripping at his arms and shoving your face against his shoulder.

One hand abandoned your breast, instead snaking down and over the swell of your stomach, searching for the wetness between your legs. You let your thighs fall open without a second thought, eager for that feeling from those weeks ago.

Aerion sucked in a breath. “Sweet girl.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek at the same time as his fingers made contact with your aching clit. This was dangerous, you tried to remind yourself, for this you might do anything.

Like before, Aerion’s fingers began to propel you toward orgasm quicker than you typically could alone. Your clit seemed more than eager for whatever he wanted to give and each touch felt devastatingly soft, as though he was punishing you for not allowing him to give you this back in the garden.

Distantly, you wondered if he was trying to prove something. You could not find it in you to care, so long as he kept doing whatever it was that he was doing.

You almost didn’t notice when his fingers began to slide lower until one was nudging at your entrance. It was not something you typically did alone. You were always too worried of spilling your own blood. You opened your mouth to protest but, before you could, Aerion had you spread apart on his fingers as he gently fucked you with his hand.

You choked on your breath. “Aerion, please – you can’t –“

“Shhh,” he whispered, surprisingly tender as he took you apart. “Do not worry. Just feel.”

All it took was one swipe of his thumb over your clit. You had to plaster your hands over your mouth to mask the sound that was spilling from your lips. Aerion did not stop and instead continued to stroke you through your orgasm, to the point of painful sensitivity. He did not stop until you physically pulled his hands from you, and even then he seemed reluctant.

You sagged against the tub, entirely breathless and shaken. Aerion grabbed your face with one hand, turning you this way and that, as though he were admiring his own work. You waited for some snarky comment.

Aerion hummed to himself, letting his hand drop until it was hovering over the bite mark. His bite mark. He did not touch it, instead he pulled back and got to his feet, stepping somewhat unsteadily away from the tub.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” he said. “Never ignore me again.”

With that, he unlocked the door and slipped out as though he was never there. The only sign that he had been was a churning in your stomach and an ache between your thighs.

Once you were sure he was gone, you dunked your head under the water and did not come up until your lungs were screaming for air.

Despite his words, you did not see Aerion the next day. Nor the one after that. You father, brother and Maekar also seemed to have disappeared. Uneasy, you assumed they had some official business that needed seeing to. Maybe the princes had even left.

No, you knew they hadn’t. It felt silly to say but you could feel Aerion, still lurking in your home, despite staying out of sight. Fire seemed to burn hotter with him in the building.

At night you found yourself sweaty and cross, abandoning your blankets and tossing and turning until you were able to pass out. You never slept for long.

On the second day, after hiding in the library and dining alone, you felt unusually anxious. All your clothes felt tight and ill fitting. Had Aerion told your father about the bath? It was all you could think about all day. You picked at your food and didn’t read a thing until it was time for bed, at which time you went up alone and dismissed Selina in favour of dressing yourself.

You tugged on a sleep gown, relishing the soft loose fabric in comparison to your day clothes. The fire in the grate was out and you felt too warm to fetch Silena so you left it alone, allowing the candles lit to guide the way to your bed. You shoved all the sheets down until they were not touching you. Then you positioned yourself like an X, trying to cool down and banish the day’s anxieties from your brain. You had to stay in control. It would not do to let your guard down when Aerion was around.

Sleep would not come. Even when you trained yourself to stay perfectly still, taking even and deep breathes, it seemed to taunt you from the darkest corners of your room. Eventually the candles went out, leaving you in almost complete darkness.

The moon still shone in through your window. It allowed you to see vague shapes and the outline of your own body. You squeezed your eyes shut and begged the seven for sleep.

Just when you were ready to jump up and begin lighting candles, there was a noise. For a moment you did not recognise it for what it was. Your heart shot into your throat as you realised it was the sound of your door opening and shutting, then the lock falling into place.

You remained still, tense and silent as you peered into the darkness, heart hammering in your chest. It was not until the moonlight glinted off of something silver that you relaxed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you breathed, sitting up as Aerion approached your bed. “You can’t be in here.”

“Scared?” he asked, settling himself on the edge of your bed.

“This is highly improper,” you warned, eyes bulging from your head as Aerion began to shed his clothes as though the room were his own.

He did not respond. He continued shucking his clothes until only his braies remained, the outline of his cock already half hard between his legs. You swallowed and commanded yourself not to stare. Eventually he shed those too.

“You can’t be in here,” you repeated weakly.

Aerion’s hand found your ankle in the darkness. You yelped as he yanked you, your back hitting the mattress as he dragged you further down the bed. You were near winded as he climbed on top of you, knees on either side of your hips as he rested his weight softly on your stomach.

It wasn’t until he began to snatch at your wrists that you remembered yourself and began to struggle. With a yell, you set your teeth to the first line of flesh you saw.

Your teeth sank into his bicep much like they had sank into his chest all those weeks ago. Blood trickled into your mouth and you bit harder.

Aerion’s hand came to cradle the back of your hand. “That’s it, just like that.”

Immediately you let go, hissing up at him with bloodied teeth. “There is nothing sweet about this. Now get off.”

Aerion leaned down and licked the blood from your mouth, moaning every time you nipped at him with already bloodied teeth. It was insanity, madness, and it was making you unbearably fucking wet.

“My turn,” Aerion said, and then his teeth were burying into your neck so deeply that you faintly wondered if you would scar.

Your hips bucked upward, driving his cock into your stomach as he sucked at your neck, teeth pinching and tongue soothing as he went. You were done. There was no way you could cover whatever mark he had left this time. Had this been his plan all along?

When Aerion pulled away, there was blood smeared across his face just like before. More of it, even. He ran his fingers over the mark you had left and hissed, fisting his cock with his other hand.

“Enough with waiting,” he muttered, “I have been a patient man.”

You did not protest as Aerion shoved your night dress up until it was bunched under your armpits. You nearly moaned when he parted your thighs, baring you to him fully for the first time.

He pressed his fingers to your entrance and groaned. “So fucking hot. Are you sure you are not blood of the dragon?”

He ran his fingers through your arousal and brought them to his lips, letting your slick mingle with the blood before licking his fingers clean. Your cunt throbbed with each pass of his tongue over his fingers and it took you a moment to realise you were whimpering aloud.

“No matter,” he said, “you’ll have a dragon inside you, one way or another.”

Placing one hand on your stomach, Aerion used his other to notch his cock at your entrance. The heat coming off him was intense. Sweat beaded on your hairline as you tried to focus on the consequence, on why you should not be doing this, but your mind refused to focus on anything but the thick feel of Aerion sliding into you.

There was a flash of pain as he nudged up against something inside you. He gave you no time to adjust, instead thrusting forward and taking your maidenhead with little compassion. You winced at the bite of pain.

Aerion kept your thighs pinned wide to accommodate him. His eyes darted from your face to the obscene sight between your legs. His hips began to shift as he thrust in earnest. All thoughts of pain fell away as you became accustomed to the thickness of him.

Aerion Brightflame was fucking you and you were letting him.

Everyt ime your eyes fell shut he would stop until you were focused back on him. The wet sound of your union had your ears burning as you mewled beneath him, greedily chasing every little feeling he was introducing you to.

You could feel yourself twitching around his length as his nails dug into the meat of your thighs. The scent of sweat and sex was a heady thing, heavy on your tongue as Aerion fucked you steadily with deep thrusts of his cock.

Your jaw dropped open when his hand dipped between your legs, collecting blood there and bringing it to his chest, smearing it there as he gazed darkly down at you.

You watched as he smeared the blood in a line over his lips, and then as he reached down and made the same motion over yours. You could taste the copper and sweat and felt almost dizzy with the arousal that hit you.

Aerion was not finished. His hand went down again, this time with his thumb finding your clit. He wasted no time. He began rubbing in the way he had learned that you liked, driving you toward orgasm faster than you could keep up with.

Your thighs clenched around his hips, trying to slow him down, but he was relentless. Between the quick passes of his thumb and the way he was fucking you, you were helpless. Your orgasm splintered through you like physical thing, wiping your mind blank until all that tied you to earth was the cock breaking you open and the hands gripping your face.

“Yes, yes,” Aerion chanted, hips driving into yours with vigor. “Come around me, wife.”

His words made no sense and yet – your orgasm washed over you, stronger than ever, until you were left writhing beneath him on the bed. You recognised your own voice, begging for a break as Aerion wrang every drop of relief from you.

It was only then that his hips began to lose rhythm. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongue chasing the combination of blood, sweat and arousal that coated both your lips. You felt him moan into your mouth, felt his hips stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

You were still aware enough to know that it was a bad thing. Visions of yourself, unwed and with child, threatened to break the bliss. You tried to push Aerion off but he was having none of it.

“Be still,” he grumbled, arranging you in his arms until he had you pinned to his chest, cock still inside you. He pinched your ass when you would not stop moving.

“Aerion,” you cried, pushing at his chest. “You – you have ruined me! I could be with child –“

“Good,” he yawned, fingers pinching, “it will reflect well on me when you are with child in less than a year after the wedding.”

You paused, remembering his earlier words. “Wedding? I am not getting married, Aerion.” “Oh, but you are,” he grinned, all sharp and poision, fitting his teeth to the mark he had already made on your neck. “You are to be a dragon’s bride. My bride.” “My father would not allow it,” you said weakly, disbelieving.

“He already has,” Aerion bit down, “he will tell you of your good fortune tomorrow morning.”

“My father would not make me –“

“Make you?” Aerion repeated, pulling back slightly so that he could see your face. The movement reminded you that his cock was still very much inside you. “Who is he to refuse a dragon?”

“Besides,” he continued, “you are well suited to me, wife.”

“Wife,” you said numbly, shivering when Aerion tilted his hips and rubbed his cock against a particularly inviting place inside you.

“What do you think I came all this way for?” he smiled wolfishly. “Look how you blossom beneath me. My wife. Call me husband. I demand it.”

a/n - when the cookie is so good he stalks you across Westeros and his father is so tired of him that he goes along with it

I worked so hard on this 😭 please let me know if you enjoyed it! Every like, reblog and comment is deeply appreciated

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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?” Illumi 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 an 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 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, 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, 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 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.

No!?!?

Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.

It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?

Was football really doing all of this?

“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.

“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.

“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.

“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”

“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”

“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.

“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”

“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.

*****

It’s hard to be around you.

Literally hard.

Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.

"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.

Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.

“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.

The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.

Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?

He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.

“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.

He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.

He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.

Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.

"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"

Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?

It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.

Someone jiggling the handle.

“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.

“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”

“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.

“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”

“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”

“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”

“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”

“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”

“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.

“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”

“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”

“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.

Little Toru indeed.

He’s a giant now.

“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”

“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”

“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.

That’s when you pause.

Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-

“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.

“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”

“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”

He smirks.

“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”

“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”

“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.

“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.

Oh fuck.

You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”

“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.

"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.

“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.

He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”

“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."

"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"

He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”

“Yes, you psycho.”

“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”

‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”

"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you

“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”

“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”

“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.

“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"

"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”

“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.

“You’re a little fratboy.”

“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”

“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."

“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.

"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.

This is Satoru.

Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.

Right?

He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.

You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.

“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”

“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”

“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.

“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”

“What!?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”

“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”

“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”

“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”

“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”

It’s happening.

Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.

“Toru, I…”

“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”

Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”

“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.

“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.

“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”

“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”

“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”

Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”

“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”

“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”

You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.

“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”

“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”

“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”

“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.

Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?

“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”

“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.

“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”

“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”

“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.

“Yeah, sounds like him.”

It’s not even!?

Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.

“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!

“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”

“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”

“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.

“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”

“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.

“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.

The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.

“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.

Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.

“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”

“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out 

“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”

Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.

Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.

"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.

You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”

“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little  moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.

The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.

“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”

Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.

And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.

His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”

One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.

“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.

He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.

You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”

“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.

“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.

Oh fuck.

It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.

Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.

Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.

You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.

But it was just that, an act.

One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”

“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”

“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”

“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”

“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”

Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.

"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"

Fuck.

Hiromi!?

You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.

You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.

He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.

"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.

He wants to kill this man.

He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.

Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"

Oh, god.

Your fucking parents.

Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.

It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.

"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”

He sighs then.

“I just really wanted to see you again.”

Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.

hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it

there were little signs of dunk in the heavier things. the solid coffee table, the worn leather basket tucked beside the sofa with old blankets folded inside, the darker woods, the sturdier shapes. everything practical. everything like it had been picked to last.

and then there was aerion in the details. the lighting. the careful placement of books and candles on the shelves. the way the room looked put together without seeming cluttered, like every object had been told exactly where it belonged and obeyed.

not much, but it was there.

the kitchen opened just off the living room, all clean counters and warm overhead light. on one side sat a rather expensive-looking espresso machine beside an electric kettle, both so shiny and out of place they may as well have belonged to aerion by name alone.

dunk sat at the opposite end of the sofa, posture straight, shoulders a little tense, his eyes fixed on aerion as he went on about the rules of the house. he looked too awkward to interrupt, like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find where to fit it.

"right. you do your own laundry," aerion says, standing in the middle of the room with a mug in hand like he's presiding over some sort of council meeting. rowan and raymun had disappeared down the hall with your bags, leaving you alone for this part of it. "dunk and i have designated days. mine is friday. dunk's is saturday."

you blink at him.

right. designated days.

"we do a grocery shop once a month," he continues, taking a small sip from his mug. his sharp jaw flexes as he swallows. "together. we buy the usual things for the house and split the bill evenly. if you'd like anything specific beyond that, you're welcome to buy your own snacks separately."

you nod slowly, hands folded in your lap.

"you'll pay your portion of the rent to me on the fifth day of every month," he says. "if you're going to be late, that is fine, but i expect you to tell me early."

his eyes sharpen slightly when he says it, like that part matters more than the money itself.

"he'll mope if you don't," dunk murmurs, leaning just a little in your direction. "he's a bit bossy, that one."

you try to hide your smile. really, you do.

aerion ignores him with the ease of someone long used to it.

"dunk works night shifts most of the time," he says, starting toward the massive windows at the far end of the room. "occasionally he'll have a day shift, but not often."

from where you sit, you can see more of the apartment now. the living room opened right into the kitchen, separated only by a long island counter with two barstools tucked neatly beneath it. the counters were dark stone, clean enough to gleam beneath the warm pendant lights overhead. a dish towel was folded over the sink, too neat to be dunk's work, but there was a pair of heavy boots by the door and a dark jacket thrown over one of the dining chairs that gave him away elsewhere.

beyond aerion, the windows stretched wide and tall, showing off the city below in scattered gold and white. cars crawled slowly down the street far beneath you, their headlights glinting through the glass. one whole wall beside him had been turned into shelving. books, mostly, but not only books. records stacked on the lower shelves, a speaker tucked into one corner, framed prints, one candle, two healthy-looking plants, and a bowl by the entrance where keys and loose coins had been tossed. everything looked curated, but not untouched. lived in, just carefully.

the place looked too put together to belong to two men and too lived in to belong to only one.

everywhere you looked, the apartment split itself between them.

aerion in the details. dunk in the weight of it.

"i work entirely online," aerion continues. "meetings during the day, calls, reports, the usual. occasionally i go out if i have to, but most times i'm here. so keep the volume to a minimum during working hours."

past the kitchen was the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms. one door stood half open, showing the edge of a bed and a dark navy comforter. another was shut completely. yours sat at the end, still open from where rowan and raymun had carried your bags inside, the dim shape of black trash bags just barely visible from where you sat.

you shift a little, toes curling into the soft rug beneath your feet.

"do you have these written down somewhere," you ask lightly, trying not to smile, "or should i just hope i remember all of them."

aerion glances at you over the rim of his mug.

"don't tempt me," he says. "i absolutely will."

that makes your mouth twitch.

"and one last thing," he says, straightening from the window at last and looking between you and dunk.

you already know you're not going to like whatever comes next.

"never bring someone home. and if you have to. tell us."

there's a beat of silence.

"we are all human, we all have needs," he says flatly, as if this is a perfectly reasonable thing to announce in the living room. "but i do not need to hear anyone fucking at odd hours of the day or in the wee hours of night. for fuck's sake. give us a warning or somthin'. "

you nearly choke trying to hold back your laugh.

beside you, dunk shifts, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"that's mostly for raymun when he visits," he mutters.

"it is for everyone," aerion says at once.

you clear your throat, trying very hard to look normal. "anything else?"

aerion glances at you.

"yes, actually."

beside you, dunk lets out a quiet sigh, like he'd expected that answer.

"no dishes left in the sink overnight," aerion says. "wipe down the counters if you make a mess. lock the door if you're the last one in. and for the love of the gods, if you finish the coffee, say something."

that one catches you off guard.

your eyes flick toward the expensive espresso machine sitting on the kitchen counter, all polished steel and quiet intimidation, then back to him.

"noted." you say.

"good."

"he says that," dunk murmurs, low enough that it almost gets lost in the room, "but he's worse about the coffee than anyone."

aerion turns his head. "because i am the only one here who knows how to make it properly."

rowan and raymun come back a moment later, brushing past the hallway with the last of your things finally put away. from what little you'd seen, your room had a wooden desk beneath the window and a low set of drawers against one wall. sparse, but not bare.

"alright, love. all set," rowan says, plopping down beside you on the couch.

the cushions dip under her weight, and you don't miss the way aerion's jaw tightens at the sudden movement, like even that small disruption unsettles something in him.

"hey, half man," raymun says warmly, going straight for dunk, who barely has time to brace before raymun's pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"the issue now is your bed," rowan says, already reaching for your hand. her fingers slip through yours, warm and familiar. "i brought a bedroll from my camping things. it's not much, but it'll be softer than the floor until we figure the rest out."

something in your stomach drops.

a bedroll.

gods.

"you didn't have to do that," you say quietly, though the words come out thin, shame already settling heavy in your chest.

"absolutely not," aerion says.

he sets his mug down against the wooden coffee table with a quiet clink before lowering himself into the leather chair by the window, all sharp angles and controlled annoyance. it was one of those expensive-looking chairs that seemed more like a statement than furniture, dark leather curved over polished wood.

rowan turns so fast she nearly twists herself around on the couch. "excuse me?"

raymun glances toward dunk, already half amused, half bracing.

"let him be," dunk says quietly.

"it's temporary," rowan says, looking back at aerion, already irritated.

aerion doesn't answer her. he just reaches for his phone and starts scrolling, thumb moving with quick little flicks across the screen like the conversation is already over and he's the only one who knows it.

rowan rolls her eyes so hard it almost makes you smile.

"we can probably head up to Maiden Home tomorrow," she says, turning back to you and squeezing your hand. "see if there's a sale or something."

but you're already too far into your own head to really hear the rest.

a bed. a frame. a mattress. rent. groceries.

money.

the word sits ugly in your chest.

between tuition, your scholarship, and the pathetic little paychecks from the restaurant, there wasn't much room for anything extra. not after rent. not after food. not after life kept finding new ways to take and take and take. the thought of making them spend more on you made something heavy settle behind your ribs.

you don't realize how quiet you've gone until aerion speaks again.

"that won't be necessary."

you look up.

he's holding his phone out now, expression unreadable, the bright screen showing a completed order confirmation.

bed frame. mattress. delivery date.

already done.

"there," he says, far too calm about it. "my uncle owns Balerion House. i used the family discount."

there's something almost smug in the way he says it, like he's pleased to have solved the problem before anyone else could drag it out.

but then he looks at you properly.

at the way your shoulders have curled inward and the crease settled between your brows. the way your hand has gone still in rowan's.

and something in him shifts.

not much.

just enough to soften his edge.

"you can pay me back later," he says, a little less sharp now. "or not all at once. whatever works."

and duncan smiles at that, toothy grin and a knowing look. he coughs slightly as aeron shoots him a harsh glare and raymun chuckles in the back.

"i..." you start, already lost of words.

"you don't have to say thank you," dunk says at last.

he's got an arm still slung around raymun, the two of them stuck together like they always are, easy and family in a way that makes the room feel lest tight.

"just be good to the place," he continues, voice low and steady and he looks at you proper. "treat it like its yers."

something in your chest tights at his words.

yours

and dunks expression softens, just a little.

"we're peaceful' ere." he says quietly. "notin' to fret over."

you not, swallowing hard.

"okay."

rowan and raymun leave not long after, both of them hugging you tight at the door.

"call me if you need anything," rowan says, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze. "i mean it."

raymun stands just behind her, smiling easy.

"half man over there is good at building things," he says, jerking his chin toward dunk, who's gone slack and comfortable against the sofa now that the worst of it seems over.

"and aerion," he goes on, lowering his voice like he doesn't want him hearing this part, "aerion gets things done. don't ask me why, don't ask me how, but if he wants something sorted, it gets sorted."

your eyes flick toward aerion.

rowan leans in then, voice dropping to a whisper.

"he's a targaryen."

you look at her with wide eyes.

as if the pale blond hair and violet eyes had not already told you enough. but you don't say anything. just a soft whisper of goodbye.

the door shuts behind them a second later.

and just like that, the apartment goes quiet again.

not empty. not really. dunk is still there, stretched back into the couch, one arm thrown over the back of it, legs spread out like he belongs wherever he puts himself. aerion is by the chair again, phone still in hand, that expensive face of his lit by the screen for half a second before it goes dark.

still, it feels different.

rowan and raymun had filled up the place. all warmth and noise and easy touches and little jokes. now it's just the three of you.

you stand there by the door for a second too long, hand still lingering by the knob before you let it fall back to your side.

"well," you murmur, mostly to yourself.

aerion glances up first.

"the bed should be here by thursday," he says, like that's the most important thing to say right now. "delivery window says between ten and two."

you blink at him.

"okay."

he gives one short nod, already looking back at his phone. "i'll be here."

of course he will.

the silence stretches again, not awkward exactly. just new. unfamiliar. like the apartment itself is waiting to see what sort of shape you'll take inside it.

dunk is the one who breaks it.

"you hungry?" he asks.

you look over at him. "what?"

"hungry," he says again, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "raymun and rowan were in and out so much i don't reckon any of us really ate."

your stomach twists at that. from nerves maybe. or embarrassment. or because he's right.

you shrug one shoulder. "i'm okay."

dunk just looks at you.

not hard. not suspicious. just steady.

then he nods once, like he's heard the lie and decided not to press it yet.

"right," he says. "well. i'm makin' tea anyway."

he pushes himself up from the couch, big and slow and easy, and heads for the kitchen. you watch him go, the soft drag of his socks over the floor, the way he moves around the space without thinking about it. like the counters know his hands already. like the cupboards open for him on their own.

aerion sets his phone down on the arm of the chair.

"the mugs are in the cabinet above the kettle," he says, though dunk is already reaching for them. "and don't use the gold-rimmed ones. those were a gift."

dunk doesn't even turn around. "wasn't goin' to."

"good."

you look between them, and for a second, despite everything, despite the way your whole life is stuffed into black bags at the end of their hallway, something small in you loosens.

just a little.

you slip your shoes off by the door and step further into the apartment, the dark green rug soft under your feet. the room smells faintly like coffee still, and something warm from earlier, butter maybe, or toast. the city lights beyond the windows blink against the glass, gold and white and far below.

you don't really know where to stand.

so you stay half between the living room and kitchen, arms folding loosely across your stomach.

aerion notices, of course he does.

"if you're going to hover," he says, not looking at you, "at least sit down. you're making the whole place anxious."

your mouth parts a little.

then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes you. short and quiet, but real.

aerion's eyes flick up then.

dunk glances back over his shoulder.

"see," dunk says, low and pleased with himself for some reason. "she can laugh."

you roll your eyes a little, but sit anyway. this time on one of the stools by the island.

the kitchen lights are warmer up close. they cast everything in this soft gold glow, glinting off the counters, the sink, the polished steel of that stupidly expensive espresso machine. the kettle sits by it, matte black, sleek enough to look decorative.

dunk fills it with water.

aerion watches him for all of five seconds before standing.

"move."

dunk looks over. "i know how to boil water."

"that isn't what worries me."

"what worries ye then?"

aerion doesn't answer that. he just brushes past him, reaching for a small tin near the back of the counter. "if we're making tea, at least make proper tea."

dunk steps aside with a muttered, "bossy."

you hear it.

so does aerion.

"and yet," he says coolly, opening the tin, "here you all are, benefiting from it."

you press your lips together, trying not to smile again.

the kettle clicks on. aerion moves around the kitchen like he's done this exact thing a hundred times, every gesture precise, every reach certain. dunk leans against the opposite side of the counter now, arms folded over his chest, watching with the sort of patient annoyance that says this is not new.

you wonder, not for the first time, what living with them has been like. what sort of shape their days take. how long they've been stepping around each other like this, sharp edges and soft ones, fitting anyway.

"you'll want the hot water running a minute before you shower," dunk says suddenly, looking at you. "takes time to warm up."

you nod. "okay."

"and the lock on your window sticks."

"a little," aerion corrects.

dunk looks at him. "it sticks."

aerion lifts one shoulder. "only if you force it the wrong way."

"which means it sticks."

you look down at your hands, folded too neatly in your lap.

the kettle starts to hum softly before it clicks off.

dunk reaches for the bread then, pulling a few slices from the bag and slipping them into the toaster like this had been the plan all along.

"you don't have to do all this," you say quietly.

dunk glances at you.

"didn't say we had to."

the toast pops up a moment later. he butters it while it's still hot, slow and easy, the butter melting right into the surface. he sets two pieces on a plate and slides it across the island toward you.

"eat."

your eyes drop to the plate.

then to your hands.

then back to the toast.

"i'm fine," you say, but weaker this time, and even you can hear how useless it sounds.

aerion doesn't look up from where he's pouring the water.

"clearly."

you glance at him.

he says it so flatly it almost circles back around into concern, though you know better than to call it that.

you take the plate anyway.

the heat of it settles into your palms.

"how do you take your tea?" aerion asks.

you look up, caught off guard.

"oh. anything is fine."

aerion pauses.

then slowly looks at you over the rim of the teapot like you've said something deeply irritating.

"no, it isn't."

your brows pull together. "it's tea."

"yes," he says. "and you take it some particular way."

you stare at him for a second.

dunk says nothing, but there's something almost amused in the way he watches the two of you.

"milk?" aerion asks. "sugar? honey? do you take it plain and awful?"

that pulls another small laugh from you before you can stop it.

"milk," you say. "and one sugar."

aerion gives one short nod, like finally, something sensible.

he fixes it without another word and slides the mug toward you across the counter.

"there."

you wrap your fingers around it carefully, the warmth almost too much all at once.

"thank you," you murmur.

this time neither of them tells you not to.

for a little while, the kitchen goes quiet again.

not bad quiet.

just the soft kind.

the kind made up of mugs against counters, the faint hum of the city outside, the occasional shift of dunk's weight where he leans, the way aerion taps one finger once against the handle of the kettle before going still again.

you take a bite of the toast.

warm. buttery. simple.

and for some reason, that nearly undoes you more than anything else.

because it had been so easy.

because no one made a thing of it.

because dunk had just slid the plate toward you like of course you were meant to eat too, and aerion had stood there arguing with you until you admitted how you liked your tea like your preferences mattered enough to pin down.

you stare down into the mug for a second too long.

"what," aerion says.

you blink up at him. "what?"

"you've got that look on your face again."

"what look." you say half a beat.

"the one where you're thinking too hard." aerion responds.

dunk huffs softly under his breath.

you shake your head and take another sip before answering.

"nothing."

aerion narrows his eyes a touch, like he doesn't believe you for a second.

"dangerous" he says, but his lips are stretched in a smug smirk.

dunk, mercifully, lets you hide in the silence for a little longer.

-

when the night settles and you find yourself standing in the middle of your new room, your new life, there comes a knock at the door.

"come in," you say softly.

the door creaks open and dunk peers inside, a pillow tucked beneath one arm.

"i figured, y'know," he says, jerking his head toward the bedroll laid out on the floor. "it might be a bit more comfortable."

his lips press into a shy little smile, his jaw flexing as he stands there in the doorway.

you look up at him then, really look.

his size catches you off guard all over again. the broad, solid shape of his chest, the thick strength of his arms, his height making the whole doorway seem smaller around him. for a second, you get a little lost in it.

you cough softly, shaking yourself from whatever that was.

"oh," you say, reaching out for the pillow.

your fingers brush his hand for only a second, soft against rough, and still you feel it.

"thank you," you say, quieter now. shyer.

dunk lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing there like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

for a few seconds, the room falls into that strange little silence again. not bad. just awkward. new.

then dunk shifts back a step and turns toward the door.

"goodnight," he says, glancing at you over his shoulder with a small smile.

you hold the pillow a little closer to your chest.

So here you were, sitting in your room, listening to music and drawing, wishing you could just go hang out with the boys, you hadn't really realized just how much of a staple in your life they had become until now. Night's seemed boring without them…without him. Sighing you sat your sketchbook down on your nightstand after you realized that in your zoned out state you had successfully sketched what was probably the twentieth picture of him that resided in the book. Stretching, you got up and changed the music, putting on your newest Billy Idol album. You had joked to David before that he reminded you of the singer, a comment that although he didn't reply to, he seemed complimented by. You had actually come across David listening to a Billy Idol cassette tape one day in the cave and it only solidified that thought even more for you lol. You began dancing around as White Wedding started to play, losing yourself in the music for a moment, before you heard a gentle knock on your window. Your body froze instantly, shifting your gaze to the closed curtains. You slightly wondered if it had been the wind, but only slightly, you knew that was definitely a knock.

"I know you're in there Sweetheart, no use hiding" You immediately felt a shiver run down your spine at the voice, a deeper tone with a slight growl mixed with it told you he was currently vamped out.

'Don't invite him in' Dwayne's words rang in your head, earning another low growl from outside.

"You don't take orders from him, understand?" Oh shit, he was reading your thoughts. You had made him promise when you first learned what they were that he wouldn't do that anymore. A promise he seemed like he had no problem breaking tonight.

"But.. David…Dwayne said it would be dangerous to-"

"Funny" you heard him let out a dry chuckle.

"I thought I just said you don't take orders from him" You gulped at his tone, a sarcastic David was a dangerous David at times, and you had a feeling this was one of those times.

"Let me in Doll, I'll explain it all better than he could" You hesitated still, true, Dwayne hadn't explained very much, and you were still curious. And if you were being honest, when vamped out David probably had the most control over himself out of all of them, besides maybe Dwayne…Maybe it would be safe if you let him in. Slowly making your way over towards the window you heard what seemed like a pleased…purr? You pulled back the curtains, meeting the golden gaze of the vampire on the outside of your window. His figure looming on your small balcony. You unlocked and opened your window, leaning out to speak to him. When suddenly your lips were captured in a searing kiss, his gloved hands holding your face, softly yet firm as he pulled you closer, fangs brushing your lips as he opened your mouth with his, tongue dominating the kiss. You weren't sure what was making you dizzier, the kiss that was quite literally stealing your breath away, or his scent. David always smelled like a mixture of cigarettes, the cologne he always stole that had a very earthy smell to it, and a scent that you could only describe as simply him. But tonight his scent seemed to be cranked up to a hundred, clouding your brain of anything but him. When he finally seemed to remember you needed to breathe he pulled away, forehead resting against yours as he watched you try to catch your breath, pupils blown and heart racing as you met his gaze.

"David," you spoke quietly.

"You're gonna be a good girl and let me come inside, right?" He asked, watching the shiver that went down your spine at the nickname, a mental note he tucked away for later.

"Right?" He asked again, watching as you slowly nodded.

"Words Sweetheart" he gave you that little smile as he ran his thumb over your lip.

"You can come inside" you spoke once you found your voice.

"That's a good girl" he spoke, before the next thing you knew you were back inside your bedroom and being thrown onto your bed.

"Clothes off Sweetheart, I'm going to fuck you first, then I'll explain everything" he commanded, staring you down as he slowly took his coat off and laid it over your desk.

"W-What?" You stuttered, looking at him with wide eyes, did he actually just say that so casually? He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, waiting.

"I thought you were going to be a good girl tonight y/n" he spoke while slowly pulling your chair out and sitting down.

"I-I.." you weren't sure what to say at the moment, voice gone as you got lost in that golden gaze.

"I don't mind punishing you" he warned, and the look in his eye told you that part of him wanted to, wanted you to misbehave so he could. Deciding to play it safe, for now, you quickly took off your top and bottoms, leaving you in your simple lace panties, bra having been discarded earlier in the night. You watched his gaze darken as he took you in, golden eyes turning a bit orange.

"Come here" he spoke simply, but his tone told you that there was no arguing. Slowly you stood from your bed, taking careful steps over to him, stopping once you stood directly in front, your legs lightly grazing his knees. You slowly met his gaze again, those hard features and burning eyes, you knew anyone in your situation would have ran, but you knew David, and maybe some deep twisted part of you wanted this more than you even recognized. Wanted to be completely dominated by this man, this creature. Maybe you should have also not thought those things so loudly, if the absolutely predatory grin was anything to go by.

"Completely dominated huh?" He asked while leaning back in the chair, he watched as you gulped, listened as your heart picked up speed, smelled as a fresh wave of arousal hit you. It wouldn't take much to have you exactly where he wanted you, completely willing, completely his.

"On your knees Sweetheart" he told you with a low growl, and he watched as you instantly fell onto your floor, hands hovering just above his knees before lowering themselves to the ground. Good girl, you already knew to wait for his orders. He watched you watch him, watched as you tried not to show how much you were trying to gain some form of friction against where you needed it most. He could feel himself stir even more at the sight, could feel the inner beast trying to claw its way out, yelling at him to simply take you, stop these foolish games and claim what was his. He hated that feeling, hated losing control. Deciding to relieve both himself and you he tapped his belt buckle, eyes still never leaving you as you looked up to meet his gaze before setting to work undoing his belt and then pants, looking up to silently ask if you should stop or keep going.

"Well? You've been a good girl so far, are you afraid to unwrap your treat?" He smirked, watching the blush crawl up your neck and cheeks as your eyes went back to his pants. He lifted himself slowly so you could take them and his underwear off, pulling the material down to his ankles, stopping only because his boots got in the way. You went to remove them but he stopped you with a hand on your head.

"Those can wait" he told you, sliding his hand from your hair to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your lip before slowly parting them, watching as you wrapped your lips around his thumb, eyes sliding closed as you sucked the digit. David watched you intensely, feeling himself jump at the sight, and knowing that he wanted, no, needed your lips around him, now. Gently pulling his thumb away with the thinning self control he had left he opened your mouth, watching as your eyes met his.

"I have something better for you to use that pretty mouth on" he told you, watching as your eyes moved to finally take him in. He was average length, but pretty thick, a size that had you both clenching around nothing and also afraid of him not fitting. Again, reading your mind, you heard David chuckle.

"That's why we have to get both of us nice and wet, I think you know how to do that, don't you?" He asked, letting go of your mouth and leaning back in the chair, legs opening just a bit more.

"Yes sir" you nodded, sitting up a bit, hands finally touching his thighs, you could hear the low rumble leave him as he stared at you, you had taken a chance by calling him sir, but you had a very strong feeling he had that sort of kink, after all, David always loved being in charge.

"Look at that, I don't even have to teach you manners, you are already trained for me" he smirked, gathering your hair in his gloved hand as you slowly wrapped a hand around his length, feeling it twitch, before lowering your lips to close around the head.

"Already my good girl" he sighed, watching as you ran your tongue along the slit before lowering your head, hollowing your cheeks, and taking more of him in while running your tongue along the vein on the underside. What your mouth couldn't take, you hand took care of as you began bobbing your head, twisting your fist as you stroked in time with your bobs. You hadn't expected David to be a moaner or a talker, so when you only received grunts and huffs you knew not to be disappointed. You let those guide you, noting when he would tighten his grip on your hair, or when he would ever so slightly lift his hips, when he would hold his breath, or when his grunts sounded a bit more strained.

"Teeth" he grunted out at one point, tightening his grip on your hair again. You weren't sure what he meant, so you went off of what you guessed and prayed that it was right, you were doing good so far, you didn't want to fuck up now. Letting your teeth graze against his length you felt him stiffen, and instantly you feared you messed up, but that was when you heard it, the first moan, even if it was extremely quiet. With more confidence you let a little more of your teeth scrape along him as you worked, hearing his breath quicken once more. You chanced a glance upwards and noticed a sight you didn't expect, David with his eyes closed, head slightly tilted backwards, and mouth slightly open. Feeling brave after your achievement you decided to try something else. Sneaking your other hand up, you gently wrapped your hand around his balls, just as you took as much of him as you could and swallowed. Feeling him stiffen instantly, and hearing a clearly strained.

"Fuck" before his eyes met yours, orange gaze blazing before you were suddenly tossed on the bed, watching as he tore the rest of his clothes off.

"Did I say you could do that?" He asked, caging your body with his. You slowly shook your head but David caught your jaw in his now gloveless hand.

"Did I?"

"N-No sir" you replied, honestly a little scared, as well as turned on. David looked almost unhinged at the moment, like he was a breath away from just bending you over, and maybe that's what you wanted.

"So why did you think it was ok?"

"I-I just"

"Just what? You had been doing so well"

"I just wanted to make you feel good" you told him, and watched as he stopped, and blinked down at you. Honestly he hadn't expected that reply. He figured you were tired of playing the good girl role and wanted to disobey, wanted him to put you in your place, wanted him to just take you already…He hadn't expected you to tell him you were just trying to make him feel good.

"Just trying to please your master?" He asked with a smirk, watching as you nodded, eyes wide with an innocence that he knew was false, but God did you know how to play on that. He knew how dirty your mind was, he had read it so many times, times where you would come to the cave, wet and smelling like pure heaven. He wanted, no, needed to know what had gotten you that way, so he'd delve into your mind, needing to know if he'd have an easy kill that night or would it be something else, and what he'd find would cause his own stirrings. Things that you had read about in your little erotic novels, but played out by the two of you. You riding him, which he'd have to be convinced about. Him bending you over his motorcycle, that he could and would definitely arrange. Then there were the ones that filled your mind after you learned that he was originally a gunslinger before he became a vampire. It seemed your naughty little mind lived on the saying "save a horse, ride a cowboy". That heavenly smell surrounded him once again as you looked up at him, muttering such words that had his thin self control on the verge of snapping.

"Always wanna please you sir" you whimpered, slightly wiggling under him, no doubt seeking friction for the overwhelming heat that was bothering you. He decided to take pity on you, at least that's what he'd tell you, when really the beast in him was clawing at his mind for a taste of you.

"Such a Sweetheart" he smiled, leaning down to kiss your neck, chuckling as you leaned your head to the side, already willing to give him access to your blood, but that wasn't the taste he sought, at least not at the moment. Pressing gentle kisses down your collarbone, stopping to give your breasts attention, he swirled his tongue around your nipple before closing his lips around it, fangs grazing your skin as his hand came up to pinch and play with your other one, before his mouth and hand switched. Only when he felt like he had made you a breathless mess did he continue his journey down, hands sliding along your sides as he kissed down your stomach, pressing kisses to your hip bones before hooking his claws into your lace panties. His eyes met yours, a sinister smirk on his lips as you watched him tear your panties in half, the sound of tearing fabric meeting your ears while your eyes never left his. You watched him toss the pieces to the sides of the bed before he pressed kisses to your thighs, so close to where you wanted his mouth but never giving you what you needed.

"Beg" he told you, watching as your eyes met his again, having closed them for a moment.

"Please David" you whimpered, yelping slightly when his hand landed a smack on your thigh.

"Care to try that again?"

"Please sir, please I've been good" you begged.

"Have you? I don't think you have"

"I-I was just trying to make you feel good" you explained again, watching as he stared at you.

"Please sir, I promise I'll be good" you told him, gripping at the sheets, trying to will him to do something, anything to calm the fire that was slowly burning through you. Meanwhile David was fighting with himself, he wanted to tease you, have you a real begging mess, but the other part was clawing at him to just give in and take. This time he decided to give into that beast within and in an instant his mouth was on you, tongue swiping along your slit and watching as you threw your head back, a loud moan of his name tearing from your lips. He decided this time he wouldn't reprime you for it, mainly because he was becoming too lost in your taste, his own grunts muffled as he buried his face deeper, nose brushing your clit while his tongue dipped inside. He felt your legs close around his head, his hands still resting on your thighs, and again he decided to let it slide, instead grabbing your hips and letting himself explore you, commiting to memory every swipe of his tongue that had you moaning his name, every suck that had you gasping, every twist and turn that had your heart beat picking up and the beast in him clawing at the fraying seams of his control. He wanted to slam his fingers in you, listen as you moan at the fact that something was finally filling you, but he knew that his claws and that sensitive of an area shouldn't mix, so he settled on completely devouring you, being careful of his fangs as he brought you closer to your edge. Your legs tightening around him, hips lifting to try and get closer, hands grabbing at his hair while your head was thrown back, eyes shut and mouth open, begging him to not stop, telling him how good he felt and how close you were. He could push you off the edge in just a matter of seconds…could…but wasn't going to. Easily unwrapping your legs from him, he lifted himself away from you, watching as you whined and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Chest rising and falling rapidly as you slowly came down from the high he had built you up to.

"Why?" You whimpered, and David simply smirked as he wiped your essence from his face.

"You still had to be punished Sweetheart" he told you, watching as you pouted, head turned to the side while you tried to catch your breath. He chuckled at your pouting, knew how frustrated you were, because honestly he was at that point as well. He knew that playtime was up. Grabbing your thighs again he pulled you down the bed, wrapping your legs around his hips. He watched you gasp at being manhandled but he knew you liked it, he could smell that you liked it.

"Now, are you gonna be my good girl again? Or do I have to punish you again?"

"I'll be good I promise" you panted, wanting that high again that only he could bring you to, he'd make sure you knew that, that only he could make you feel this way.

"Good girl" he growled, reaching down to drag himself through your wetness, watching as your hips lifted slightly, trying to coax him in.

"Such a greedy girl" he smirked, before slowly entering you, watching as you threw your head back at the feeling of finally having him inside you. It took him a bit with how tight you were, but once he was fully seated he had to take a moment. Because right then, for the first time he felt overwhelmed. Sure he had partners in the past, but nothing felt like this, as if he needed more proof that you were his mate. And he knew that you probably wanted him to be gentle, but he knew that wouldn't be something he could offer, not this night at least.

"I'm not gonna be gentle Sweetheart" he felt he should warn you, felt you deserved to know before he just took you.

"I didn't expect you to be" you smiled, and he knew you knew enough of what was going on with him to know he was losing the control he loved so much, so he never broke the gaze you two held as he gripped your hips and pulled back, only to slam forward, watching as you threw your head back. He listened to your cries for him, your heartbeat singing as it sped up again. He watched as your eyes rolled back, mouth opened as you didn't even try to hide the gasps, and moans. He found his own eyes closing as he sped up, thrusts now slamming into you as the bed shook, his grunts were drowned out by your cries and that was ok, he didn't need to be loud, it was your job to tell everyone who was making you feel this good. Sir had long been forgotten and he couldn't find it in himself to care, wanting you to cry out his name until your throat went raw.

"Fuck" he panted out through gritted teeth, the feeling was picking up, the knot tightening in his stomach as he felt you grow tighter around him. Shit you were gonna make it hard on him to even fuckin last, especially when you were begging for him, begging for him not to stop, begging for him to make you cum, even begging for him to make you his, as if you weren't already. Your orgasm hit you both by surprise, you suddenly became like a vice around him and he immediately stopped, watched as you shook, you entire body trembling as you flew over the edge, he slowed his thrusts, gently rocking you through it, and also keeping his own orgasm at bay

He watched you blink before your eyes met his, looking up to see if he would say something about you cumming without permission, which, any other time he may, but right now he just knew he needed you to cum again, because you were absolutely beautiful when lost in pleasure. You watched as he unhooked your legs from him, instead lifting them as he pulled out and crawled over you, pressing his forehead to yours as he wrapped your legs around him again, his one hand coming up to hold yours, while his other game up to hold your jaw.

"You got another one for me Sweetheart?" He asked, not breaking eye contact as the hand on your jaw left for only a moment as you felt him enter you again, making you gasp.

"Yes" you whimpered, already lifting your hips to meet his.

"My little mate, always so willing" he smiled, fangs grazing your lips before he captured them again, he soon started thrusting again, and you moaned in the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter and dominate before he pulled back, fangs lightly grazing your lip and drawing blood, to which he quickly licked it up. His hips thrusting forward harshly as he tasted it, the flavor exploding on his tongue and heightening his sense to focus on the precious liquid that flowed just below the skin. He knew it would be dangerous to feed on you while you two were in the middle of this, he could lose any control he had left if he did, and he wouldn't know what to do if he killed his mate. So instead he focused on the other liquid you were producing, the liquid that was currently coating his thighs as he thrusted into you. Your moans were echoing against the walls and in his brain as he allowed himself to slip away, focusing on the feeling of your body sucking him in, gripping him tight in your soaking heat, God you were so hot against him. He knew his temperature was running hotter than normal due to the rut but yours was like fire. He was also losing himself in your scent, not just the scent of your arousal, but the scent that was simply you, a scent that he would never admit, but one that he loved smelling around the cave or against his pillow when you would take a nap in his spare room. He lost himself in how soft your skin was under his hands, how you completely gave yourself to him, willingly submitted yourself to a beast like him even though you had been told it was dangerous. How you were crying out for him, begging him, praising him, God your praises.

"Yeah? Only I can make you feel this good?" He panted against your lips, eyes still closed as he continued to lose himself.

"Fuuuuck, only you David" you told him

"Only I know your body like this" he growled, picking up speed.

"Only you" you panted.

"You're mine" another growl

"Shit..Only yours"

"Completely mine" he grunted

"Fucking…Always"

"My mate" he groaned, and you allowed your eyes to open slightly, expecting to meet gold but instead noticed that his eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed as his mouth opened slightly, hot breaths fanning your face.

"Say it" he panted, eyes not opening as he picked up his speed again, angling himself until he was hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars

"Your mate" you moaned, eyes closing again as your head fell back as far as his hand would let it, his grip leaving your jaw to grab the back of your head, forehead never leaving yours.

"My mate" he panted, breaking off into a groan.

"Fuck" he moaned against your lips, his control a hair's breath away from being gone, the faster your heartbeat raced, the less he had.

"Cum for me" he groaned, knowing he wasn't going to last much longer. The hand that had been holding yours quickly found your clit, rubbing circles that had to shooting towards your peak.

"Fuck! David!"

"That's it baby, let go" he surged forward, panting against your mouth as moans began to leave him, the sign that he was about to finish as well you realized. Your hands shot into his hair, pulling the locks until his face left yours and buried into your neck. It was something you knew you both wanted, something you had fantasized about, and something you know the rut would most likely want him to do.

"Make me yours" you panted, officially snapping the thin string of self control he had. Instantly his fangs sunk into your skin, drawing a high pitched moan from you as your legs locked around him, your body squeezing him as your second orgasm washed over you, and he was right behind. As soon as your blood entered his mouth he was gone, he knew you smelled like heaven, but you tasted like it as well, and that paired with your even stronger orgasm had him slamming forward, hips stuttering before stilling as he filled you, a deep growl leaving him and vibrating your chest as he pour himself into you, claiming you, marking you, just like his fangs did. He gave a few slow thrusts before he stilled and pulled his mouth away, his fangs leaving your skin as he licked up the blood that trailed out and sealed the wound, the only evidence being two small marks. You both stayed like that for a moment, his face still buried in your neck while your hand was tangled in his hair, the other running along the scratch marks on his back that you didn't even know you had made, he knew though, he quite enjoyed the tiny bit of pain.

"That was really dangerous" he spoke after a moment, drawing your attention to his gaze, now far less orange and far more gold, the red hue having disappeared.

"I think the danger started when I invited you in" you laughed, watching as a smile graced his lips.

"You were told not to, and here I thought you knew how to follow orders" he tisked, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Kinda hard to know which rules to follow when my master says the opposite of others" you smirked, earning a growl that vibrated your chest.

"Always my orders"

"That's what I thought" you smiled, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss that he happily returned.

"You really like being called that" you joked, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Just means you know your role" he stated.

"Oh? So I'm nothing more than your pet?" You asked with a pout.

"You know you're not, you're my mate" he stated as if it were the simplest thing, which to him it may have been, but to you.

"What does that mean exactly?" You asked, watching as he just blinked at you.

"No like…is that what vampires call girlfriends or.." you trailed off when he started lightly running his finger over the bite marks he made.

"Why do you think I came here even though it was dangerous?" He asked.

"Honestly, I'm not actually sure" you told him truthfully.

"I actually figured you would just go pick up some random at the boardwalk" added while staring at the skin of his arm that you were currently drawing patterns on with your finger. You tried to hide the sad tone but you knew he could easily pick up on it, knew because he was soon turning your face towards him again.

"This doesn't work that way." He started, brushing your hair out of your face.

"None of us have ever been through this before, I'm the first. We just know about it from Max telling us" he explained.

"This rut, it's triggered by us finding our mate. In human terms I guess the closest thing would be a soulmate"

"So I'm…Your soulmate?" You asked, your smile growing.

"Far more than a pet now huh?" He smirked, leaning down to kiss you again. Chuckling when you pulled him closer to deepen the kiss.

"Would this be the right time to tell you that I've kinda had a crush on you for a while?" You laughed, watching as his smirk grew.

"Oh I already knew"

"Wait what?!"

"You think very loudly Sweetheart"

"Wait…How long have you been reading my thoughts?! I told you not to!"

"Long enough" he stated, while lowering his mouth to your ear.

"Now, let's see if you can last for longer than eight seconds Darlin'" he purred, a deep southern drawl ringing in your ears and you knew you were fucked…in more ways than one.

Of course I had to throw in some tidbits about my headcanon that David was originally a gunslinger from Texas lol.

Taglist

You share a look with your coworker, who looks just as off-put by the information, her fingers curling around her phone as her brow dips. Just as her lips part to speak, the first building falls. It’s only a few blocks away, and the ground beneath your feet trembles at its sudden collapse.

You hear the screams of those out on the street, internally debating whether or not to follow suit until a notification from Mark lights up your screen, the ridiculous nickname you’d set when you were twelve a small comfort to your racing heart.

MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay

You: i’m fine

You: i’m just scared mark 

You: why are there so many versions of you anyway…

MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you

MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw

The message does little to soothe, and you can’t help but stare at your screen with nothing but apprehension. Your coworker is quick to seize you by the arm when the sound of collapsing buildings and wailing cars draws closer, ushering you into the break room with the floor manager as though the small, unwindowed room would protect you from the raw strength of a Viltrumite.

“Holy shit, we’re gonna die…We’re actually going to die…” The floor manager, Kasandra, curls into herself with tears already welled in her eyes as she chokes back a sob. No one says anything, unable to face the grim reality at steak when debris begins to crumble around you. You all huddle into the furthest corner as your hope in Mark begins to wane.

Small pieces of rubble hit your head as you tuck your head tightly into Kasandra’s shaking shoulder, the lights overhead flickering violently when the ceiling begins to cave in on itself. There’s no use holding back the tears now and you can’t hide your anguished cries, unheard over the collapsing infrastructure.

This is it, you think, mentally saying your goodbyes to everyone you’ve grown to love. Amber. Eve. William. Mark—oh, Mark. The annoying boy next door who grew to be your first love. 

Sparks flare as the light above you finally collapses, but you don’t feel a throbbing pain in your head or death’s cold embrace, instead, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar pair of arms, still clinging to an almost catatonic Kasandra while your coworker grips the forearm wrapped around the three of you.

“I’ve got you,” a voice in your ear says, and you can feel the tears begin to well once more, though, this time out of relief. Mark is quick to shoot from the rubble, hold unwavering before he sets the three of you down and urges you to run to safety.

Your two coworkers are quick to flee, but you stupidly linger, worry etched onto your features at the sight of Mark’s beaten face and tattered suit. In the distance, you can see Eve facing valiantly against a variant, the odd cloth mask adorned on his face his most defining trait. She pants, her palms facing outward to just barely raise a shield against his erratic punches.

Mark pulls your attention back to him, face pinched as his thumb traces your lower lip in an attempt to ground both you and himself. His lips are soft against your forehead for a brief moment before he pulls back, staring at you through his cracked goggles with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“I love you,” you whisper, stroking his bruised cheek softly.

“I love you too. But, you need to go. Now. I’ll check on you soon, promise.”

So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you, doing your best to ignore the ruins and corpses that seem to block every turn.

You don’t get far.

A shadow overhead blocks the sun—its presence so oppressive and commandeering that it freezes you in place.

“Another survivor?” 

You can’t bring yourself to turn despite the way your heart lurches at the familiarity of the voice. Your breath hitches when the shadow lowers—whatever twisted version of Mark this is drawing ever closer like a lion to its prey.

“I thought those other two were the last of them, but what’s one more?” The voice is cold, almost clinical, very unlike the warmth that radiated off of your Mark. A glove is quick to find purchase on your throat, and you glance down to see the red rubber shining beneath the sun.

Blood coats the hand, tinting the glove an even darker shade of red than what you’d first surmised. You try not to think about the warmth of it as his grip grows tighter, making it harder to breathe, but not enough to kill, like he’s messing with you in some cruel, twisted way.

“You’re this dimension’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” His lips press against the shell of your ear, jerking your body to face the fight between Mark and the clothed one from before alongside Eve, who reaches out to you weakly before eventually crashing against the side of one of the buildings. Your Mark wheezes, clutching at his chest when the cloth-masked variant throws him into a nearby building by the hair. “Pathetic.”

The sound barrier tears as another Mark enters the fray, his mohawk wild and unkempt in the wind as he grins at the sight of battle, though there’s no amusement behind his smile. “Who the hell do you think you are running off like that?” For a moment, his wild eyes slip to where you and your captor reside, a flicker of…something flashing through his before it fizzles away. “Keeping hostages alive? Didn’t peg you for the cruel type.”

You barely register the click of the Invincible’s tongue over the roaring beat of your heart, his thumb remaining stationary over your pulse point; a warning. He could snap your neck at any given moment, and you don’t know what’s stopping him, but you’re grateful for whatever’s causing him to hesitate.

“Come on, just put her out of her misery already,” the mohawked Mark goads with a small shrug as he pulls his fist back to punch your Mark into the concrete when the cloth-masked variant throws him in his direction. Cracks split beneath your feet at the sheer force, the ground almost giving way, but all you can do is watch as your Mark slowly gets up from the crater his body had formed. 

He locks eyes with you, something snapping inside of him at the sight of the variant clad in a suit nearly identical to Omni-Man’s wrapping his hand around your throat.

“[Name]!” He calls out, bursting free from the grasp of the two other Marks with a renewed sense of vigor. 

Time seems to freeze the moment your name leaves his bloodied lips, the Mark holding you hostage too stunned to react when your Mark’s fist collides with his jaw hard enough to send him three blocks away. It isn’t long until you’re swept into Mark’s arms, the hold both protective and possessive as he glares at the other two, his chest heaving with each labored breath he struggles to take.

“No fuckin’ way.” The mohawked variant blinks slowly, his lips pulling into a mix of a grimace and a smirk. “That’s unfair on so many levels.” He turns to the Mark in a cloth mask who seems to share the same sentiment, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it is that this version of him gets the hot babe.

Omni-Man Mark merely scoffs when he floats back, his suit still pristine as though he’d never been thrown at all while he crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the way you tremble in this version of him’s hold. You aren’t the best friend he’d killed mercilessly back in his dimension. Here, you were a woman—his woman. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.

A best friend and a wife. Who would’ve thought?

While he’d never seen the other, male, version of you in a romantic light, his heart stirs at the thought of taking this version of you for himself. It’s not like it’ll take much to kill this Mark; he’s already as good as dead anyway—

“Is everything alright here?” Clad in white and silver, yet another version of Mark descends from the sky like some sort of disgraced angel. 

“Ugh, why are you here?” Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes obnoxiously, his gaze only briefly flickering to the new variant.

“Angstrom sent me to see if you all were sticking to the plan, which clearly you aren’t.”

“Aww, the lil’Viltrum baby can’t do anything without a mission? How sad!” He bats his lashes dramatically before sneering. “What are you gonna do next, bark? Who gives a shit about the plan? You’re acting as if you weren’t gonna kill him after anyway!” 

The Mark in the Viltrum uniform chooses not to dignify him with a response.

Unbothered by his counterpart’s nonchalance, the mohawked Mark sets his sights back on you, spreading his arms wide as if to welcome you in with a hug. “Hey, [Name], it’s just me. Just Mark. Your best friend, remember? We used to play CoD and shit when your parents were out.”

Viltrum Mark’s brows furrow at the familiar name, steady gaze finally paying you mind as you try to sink further into the Mark of this dimension’s arms. You’re a lot…softer than he recalls you being, your form far less filled out; almost feminine. But, that couldn’t be right, right? How cruel would it be for this version of him to have the perfect mate whilst he, while grateful for your prior companionship, was stuck with nothing more than a best friend? One that he’d ultimately killed for resisting.

Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.

Then he hears it—they all hear it.

The small terrified whimper you let out, the sound almost heavenly as you try to curl into Mark like your life depends on it. Which you suppose it does at this very moment.

A collective groan settles across all the present variations of Mark, all differing levels of arousal. They can practically taste the fear emanating off of you, stalking closer like a pack of deranged wolves.

Disgust pulls at Mark’s lips at the look in their eyes, his arms trembling around you as the last line of defense between you and these monstrous versions of him. “What the hell are you guys on about?” He seethes, only to be met by a suffocating silence.

Viltrum Mark appears in front of you before you and Mark can process his presence, tearing you out of your boyfriend’s arms despite your screaming protests. His grip is firm, but it’s the underlying softness in it that has you trembling with both fear and confusion. One of his hands finds your chin, stroking the contour of your jaw while his thumb gently presses down on your lower lip in a similar fashion that your Mark had done earlier.

“You’re [Name].” His face twists with perplexion as he speaks. “But, you’re so soft.” You feel his other hand fall from your arm, settling on your hip as if to prove a point. He squeezes and prods the fat, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, his fingers splaying against your stomach while his nose buries itself in your neck. “You’d be a great mother.”

No.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening—

You’re pulled into another set of arms. These ones leaner yet more possessive than the Viltrum Mark’s. But not yours.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you.” Mohawk Mark’s voice rasps mockingly above you, his arm curling around you and dangerously close to your breasts. You know he feels your heart stop, snorting cruelly as he pulls you flush against him. His gloved hand tilts your chin up to him cruelly, relishing in the way tears well in your eyes.

“P-Please…” You weakly claw at his wrist despite knowing how useless it is in comparison to his innate strength.

Holy fuck, he could get used to the sound of that.

Man, why couldn’t you be a girl in his world too? Oh, the things he would do to you. How he would ruin you. He wonders if you’re similar to his [Name], the [Name] who trusted him to do the right thing only to die trying to stop what’s already been done. Do you play the same sport as your male counterpart? Enjoy the same food? Ah, whatever, you’re still his, no matter his relation to you. Best friend or otherwise.

“Get away from her you fucking freak!” Your Mark’s garbled voice reaches your ears, his fist colliding with the side of the mohawked variant’s head, sending him careening into the white-clad Viltrumite. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to look over you before he shoots into the air with you in his hold, tucking your head into his shoulder as he whispers calming words into the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby,” he echoes his prior sentiment, flying as fast as he can with the cloth-mask and Omni-Man wannabe hot on his tail.

A familiar red glove catches Mark’s leg, snapping it easily. Mark screams, his teeth grinding as he pivots his other leg directly into the variant’s face, no doubt breaking his nose before he crashes into the cloth-masked Mark, who yells obscenities as the two of them crash into the city below.

Finally, silence settles between the two of you. Heavy with confusion. Heavy with fear.

“What the hell was that…” You cling to him, trembling like a newborn fawn in his hold.

“I—I don’t know.” He buries his nose in your neck as he lowers into a desolate field miles away from any civilization, breathing in your comforting scent beneath the smell of iron and ash that seem to cling to your skin while he settles against a tree. The field is peaceful; untouched by the destruction that plagues the rest of the world.

“...What about Eve and the others?” You hesitate, palms hovering over his broken leg to do your best to put the limb back together. The bone melds back together grotesquely, it's disgusting snap a sound you think you’ll never get used to.

“Eve slipped away before things got ugly. I’m not too sure about the others…” He lets out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the ground when his skin gets pulled tautly back into place. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I won’t let them get to you, not as long as I’m still breathing, alright?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, collapsing into his chest as you try not to think about everything you’ve lost in such a short amount of time. He kisses your forehead gently, leaning back against the tree for only a moment of respite.

“Aww, what a cute sight.” A patronizing voice overhead has both of you snapping your heads to the sound. Clad in yellow and black with a billowing cape behind him, this version of Mark sneers, his gaze looking between you and Mark. His brows raise beneath his mask, lips forming something akin to a sadistic grin. “Well, well, well. You’re looking a bit different here, aren’t you, [Name]?”

Shit.

-

Jimmy had insisted on another grand dinner for your last night.

One last hoorah as he so kindly put it.

He had walked you back to your room, hand on your lower back the entire time, joking around about wet socks and frizzy hair.

You’ve never felt this… calm.

Never this... comfortable.

It felt surprisingly welcomed, but the unease lingered ever so softly.

He insisted you join him for dinner again, that there will be more pork and new foods to try. You surprised him when you said you didn't need to be buttered up with new treats, that you would be happy to join him and his people again.

The room was alive once more, a stark difference to how quiet it had been that morning. The rain still poured heavily on the stone, thunder rumbling in the background.

You surprised yourself by not jumping at every harsh sound, feeling surrounded by enough people to feel safe.

The long wooden table nearly groaned under the weight of the feast that had been prepared. Steam curls from roasted vegetables and spiced pork, baskets of crusty bread. There were even two pies, crumbling and golden, filled with berries that had stained your fingers like blood.

You sit beside Jimmy, naturally, surrounded by laughter, colour, yells of delight. The Jimmy's in all of their chaotic glory, some now wearing fairy wings and cat ears for what they deemed a worthy celebration.

Moonshine sat untouched, despite the relentless teasing from the others. Jimmy Ink had tried passing you a glass with a wink, but you pushed it back towards her with a smirk. "Nice try." You scoffed. Your voice had sounded... light. Playful.

You barely recognised it.

You could barely recognise yourself.

"She's gettin' aware now," Fox cackles, lifting his cup and tilting it back, driblets of the liquor rolling down his chin. He laughs as he swallows. "Must've realised ye spilled your guts the other night."

You just roll your eyes and take another bite of your pork crackling, smirking into your hands. You had spilled too much. Told them more than you should have about Home and the council, the punishments and all.

The talk still echoes from your memory, as does the severe hangover that followed it the next day. Never again.

It's all blurred now under the warm weight of real food, stone walls and the confusing, persistent way one Sir Jimmy Crystal keeps looking at you.

He's seated beside you in his grand chair, tiara gleaming under the string of lanterns hanging above, his hair swept back. His tracksuit still slightly damp from your moment in the tower earlier.

The upside down cross around his neck swings gently as he leans forward to speak, elbows on the table, rings glinting with every gesture.

You feel his blue eyes on you even when you're not looking.

When you do glance his way, quickly, trying not to make it too obvious that you're aware of the way he's watching you. He stares like you're something rare, something valuable, something his. The look knots low in your belly. But it's not fear, it's something warmer. Heavier.

Hotter.

You'd felt this only once before, once with Caz back Home. It was brief, but it had passed through before you could even give the feeling a name. Attraction, sure, but this felt different.

You hate how much you don't hate it.

"Got some big news this morning," Jones says suddenly, flicking some berries at Snake who sits opposite them. The man in white attempts to catch the fruit in his mouth as they speak. "Jimilly and Roo? Got one cookin', Roo's up the duff."

You didn't know the people that they mentioned, but you figured they were apart of the crew of Jimmy's living in the cabins on the grounds.

"Cooking?" You repeat, wiping some remnants of pie from your lips with your fingers as you mutter 'up the duff' to yourself.

"Pregnant," Jimmy answers, smiling as he reaches over and swipes at some remaining jam from your chin with his thumb before you can comment. "Got another wean on the way."

You're eyes are opened in shock at his quick display, and he's already sucking the sauce from his thumb as he turns his attention back to the Jimmy's ahead.

A loud cheer breaks across the hall, someone bangs on the table with their cutlery. You freeze at the sight.

"Another baby!" Jimmima surprises you with a tone louder than her usual meek tune. Her cat ears sit lazily across her head as she beams. "This is so exciting, it's been years since we've had a baby."

You're too caught up on what Jimmy just did so casually, and you shake your head, bringing your attention back to the others as you see Jimmy smirk in the corner of your eye.

Excitement was an understatement.

Everyone was grinning from ear to ear, knocking their drinks together in cheers as the news settles in. You found yourself smiling too, but you couldn't fight the little bit of misery that settled in the back of your mind.

The sheer difference in this communities view on pregnancy compared to yours left a jealous taste in your mouth.

It was banned back Home. The very thing killed your own mother for Christ's sake, and you had been brought up to believe that carrying life was as bad as bringing an infected to the gates.

Another mouth to feed was a liability no one there could afford.

"We gotta' throw a party," Jones continues, throwing a final berry to their partner. "Get everyone in on it, just like we did for Shite's birthday, yeah? Sir?"

"'Course," Jimmy says smoothly, nodding with his smirk still present, elbows still on the table as his hands clasp together in a mock praise. "Proper one too, the whole works."

His eyes dart to you again, gauging your reaction. You just smile, muttering a congratulations to him. He leans over, his own tone low as the others still cheer and shout around you. "Don't congratulate me love, ye can congratulate the couple tomorrow night at the party."

Your smile quirks at one corner, eyes twinkling at his poor attempt. "Nice try." You say again, and he chuckles under his breath, a simple shrug.

"Worth a shot."

You're feeling even warmer all over now, not just from the food or the lit fire behind. Something softer. Something stranger.

You try to push it away, tell yourself it's nothing but that sick feeling you had earlier.

Just heat. Just safety. Just confusion.

You look at him. His eyes are soft tonight, but something sharp still lingers beneath. "It's just so strange to me, seeing people happy for it."

"Naw strange at all," Jimmy says, shrugging with only one shoulder as he sips from his glass. "It's hope, it's community."

"Hopes a dangerous thing to have nowadays." You murmured without meaning too, but Jimmy just chuckles again.

"Not here it's not, you'll realise that one day.”

His words are met with nods around the table. You feel them sink into your chest like claws.

You'll realise it one day.

“So,” Ink chimes in, bright again, “Roo's not even showin' yet, but there's already plans for another cabin build, I was thinkin' red this time."

"Let's just have a proper bash before we start planning an ugly cabin in bright 'fuck off' red," Snake retorts, and Ink scoffs at him. "Give that a rest Inky."

"Oh come of it, you're a real bawbag ye know that?" They bicker back and forth, bringing the room back to a chorus of laughter and warmth.

The conversation turns back to pregnancy, Shite and Jones bringing up how loud some of the couples could be during sex. The mere sound of it sent your mind all over. It was so normal, funny to them even.

"What about you Tracker," Jones tilts a cup in your direction. "I'm still sad that you've never even felt the sweet release of, well, release."

You didn't know what they were talking about, eyebrows furrowing as you now play with the scraps on your plate. "Release?" Some groan at your response, Fox smacking his hands on the table and immediately you drop your fork, feeling like you've done something wrong or upset them. Your hands are in your lap before you realise it, eyes darting to your pants. "Sorry."

"Hey, hey, none of that," Jimmy reaches over again, hand on your knee as he encourages you to look up. He's giving the others a dark glance before looking back to your worried expression. "They're not mad at you pet, they're just sad, sad you've never experienced what life really's got to... offer."

Jimmima speaks your name, and you look her over. "It's okay, I haven't experienced it yet either, it's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah but you've never done it full stop 'Mima," Jones points their finger at you. "Poor thing here has and the bloke did a shite job, what was his name again Tracker? So I know who to avoid if I want to cum."

You don't even remember telling them about your nights with Caz. Another reason to avoid moonshine from here on out.

But that word again. "You mean Caz? M'sorry but I feel really lost in this conversation, what the hell are we actually talking about?"

"M'talking about your poor vagina and never feeling the joys of ple-"

"Okay - okay settle down you lot," Jimmy snorts, cutting off a tipsy Jones with a wave of his hand. "You're overwhelmin' the poor thing." "Can't be overwhelmed if I don't know what the fuck we're talking about." You respond, low enough just for him to hear. He snorts again, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"They're saying that you're supposed to feel good during sex too love," His voice tickles your ear. "S'not all about the men."

Oh.

Oh.

He pulls away, leaving you with blank expression.

When you had slept with Caz, it felt like nothing. Slightly painful and you had just laid there every time, more eager for it to be over if anything.

That's what you assumed you were supposed to do. Hearing that it was supposed to be mutually pleasurable made you feel hurt, used and embarrassed all at once.

"Don't worry," Jimmy continues, holding your gaze as if sensing your thoughts. "You'll meet someone who knows what the fuck they're doin' eventually."

His words say someone, but his eyes say something else. They linger again on your face, darting from your eyes to your lips and back like it was a second nature. He smiles, knowing.

You glance away, your throat tight.

You’ve never been wanted like this.

Not just wanted, seen. And it's messing with you. The warmth in your stomach has nothing to do with food. You feel it when he looks at you. When his voice gets low. When he sits too close.

When he smiles like that.

You’re not used to attraction. Not like this. Not mutual attraction.

The dinner continues around you, but you're barely present now, caught in that strange, new tension. You laugh when the others laugh. You nod when they talk. But your chest is humming.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring when you go Home but tonight, for the first time in your whole life, you don't just feel expendable. You don't feel like a tool or a number. You feel like a person.

You feel human.

And someone, he, keeps looking at you like that means everything.

When the night ends and everyone begins to drift from the tables, Jimmy stands and offers you his hand. You hesitate, then take it as he walks you to your room. He offers you another bath to which you decline.

"Ye gonna run off before the sun rises again?" He asks half in jest, but you know he's not entirely kidding.

"I'll say goodbye this time." You quip back, and he huffs out a laugh, shrugging like it was a win he would accept.

He opens your door for you, pulling away the beads that dangle above as he mock bows. "Yer room."

Perhaps he had gotten into the moonshine quite hard too, but you knew he was just being comical for your own amusement. You mock bow back, walking in as he waits by the threshold.

The rain still brings down it's terror, but you're just smiling. "Are ye all going to bed now too?"

It still felt too early for the castles antics to stop.

"No love," He answers quickly, nodding towards down the hall. "Goin' to be in the quiet room with Jimmima, she's got some bead chains to make and wants company," The gesture sounded almost, sweet. Loving even. "Got a book, probably fall asleep in the hammock knowin' me."

"That's awfully sweet of you," You admit with a soft raise of your eyebrow. "They're all lucky to have you, I'm sorry about everything I said this morning."

Jimmy just shrugs again. "Don't be, s'all you're used too, besides - I'm lucky to 'ave them, even if they run amuck most of the time."

He was being oddly humble, like the praise wasn't needed, but you could see he appreciated the compliment.

Without a second thought, you're walking back to the threshold, leaning to press a kiss to Jimmy's cheek.

His expression matches the one you had given him when he wiped the berry jam from your chin, and so you smirk just like he had, walking back into your room. "Goodnight Jimmy."

It felt risky and exhilarating all at once.

He exhales with a beaming smile, eyes locked onto yours as he begins to shut your door. "Goodnight love."

-

You can’t sleep.

You’ve tried, gods, you’ve tried.

You turned your pillow over more times than you count. Pulled the blanket tight and to your chin over and over. Took deep breaths like it would trick your body into settling down.

But nothing works. Your mind stays spinning. Your blood hums like it’s been laced with something electric.

Laced with him.

Jimmy.

You keep seeing him when your eyes close.

Not just the way he looked tonight, tiara tilted and rings glittering, smile lazy and amused, but the way his eyes darkened when you leaned in, when you pressed a kiss to his cheek before he shut your bedroom door.

It hadn’t even been planned. You were full, on food, on warmth, on that strange ache in your chest and your stomach and when he looked at you with that smug softness, something cracked.

It was the cheek. Just the cheek.

But the way he looked at you afterwards?

Not playful. Not smug. Not even surprised.

Like deep down he’d known you’d do something like it. Like he’d been waiting. He had been encouraging you from day one to speak your mind.

Did that count if no words were involved?

And now your skin won’t stop burning.

You shift again in bed, sweat at the back of your neck, hands twitching uselessly in the dark of your room. You had already put out the fire, hoping it would help cool you down.

It didn't.

This heat wasn't caused by any fire.

The clean sheets below you feel too soft. Too forgiving. You still find yourself not used to such a comfort. Not used to wanting anything either.

And yet here you are, biting your lip, heart pounding loudly in your chest, thighs pressed together and aching.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Stop thinking about him.

Stop being stupid.

Pull your head in.

But you can’t.

Not after everything.

Not after how he’s been watching you like you’re something precious. Not after all the baths, the fresh food, the tower today, hell - even the way he tucked you into bed that first night and stole the knife from your bra like you had given him a love note.

Not after tonight.

You keep replaying that kiss. Just the cheek. Just a good night. But the way his eyes burned when you pulled back - like you’d given him everything. And maybe in a way, you had.

You’ve been wanted before. Not like this.

He makes you feel seen. Desired, but not used. Safe, but not tame or dimmed.

And for once, your fear doesn’t outweigh the need.

You’re leaving tomorrow - you know that for sure and won't be letting anymore setbacks hold you here.

You have to. That’s what you told them, told yourself.

But right now, in this moment, none of that matters.

Not the Council or the Overseers, nor the punishments. Not Home. They’ve taken everything from you.

For once, you want to do something for yourself.

You want him.

The decision hits you like a gust of wind. No hesitation. No shame.

You swing your legs out from under the blanket and stand to your feet, your heart hammering like drums in your ears. Your sports bra and sweatpants cling to your skin with heat, but you don't bother changing.

You had already heard the others go to bed already, one by one hearing them say their goodnights and heard their doors shut behind them.

The only one you hadn't heard was Jimmima, and you recalled Jimmy's words from before about the woman not liking being left alone.

You figured they would still be in the quiet room.

You’re going to him.

The hallway is quiet, shadows dancing as the candles flicker low. You know your way around now. You take the stairs slow, barefoot on cold steps, breathing through the nerves that buzz like insects under your skin.

You follow the path to the quiet room. The door was already open, and you walk in slowly. The two blondes in the room hadn't heard you. You were capable of tracking game in full gear, being quiet in just sweatpants and a sports bra was nothing.

More lanterns were strung about, reflecting off the colourful beads Jimmima had already hung up from curtain to curtain.

She's asleep, curled up on one of the plush couches, her wig askew, a half finished beaded chain draped over her baby blue covered belly. She's snoring slightly, and you smile at the sound.

Then you see him.

Jimmy's lying in a hammock, just like he had mentioned before. He was laying head facing away from the door, a sign he truly felt comfortable in his home.

One leg was bent, a book balanced on his stomach as one arm lay behind his head. His purple tracksuit top was laying over one of the couches, leaving him in his purple trousers and a white vest.

His chest rises and falls slowly, gold chains glinting with each breath.

You say his name softly, standing near the base of the hammock. He jumps, cursing as he drops the book on himself before he turns his head with wide eyes.

A small apology leaves your lips as he tilts his head lazily towards you, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Didnae hear ye even come in, maybe you are a mouse."

He had called you a mouse within minutes of meeting you just days prior. Jimmy picks up his book, closing it as he slides it somewhere on the hammock.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks softly, and you press a finger to your lips, glancing towards Jimmima.

"She's out cold."

"She sleeps like the dead," He murmurs. "Still..." He sits up carefully, swinging his legs down, bare feet touching the rug as he rests his elbows on his knees. "What brings our dear tracker to the sanctuary within our sanctuary?"

"I couldn't sleep." You take a step closer.

"That so? Ye wanna make some chains?" He jokes, waving one of his hands towards Jimmima's craft box that sits in the middle of the room.

"I'm alright, thank you." You mutter, taking another step, legs barely brushing against his.

He nods, watching you closely. "Ye want to tell me then what you're thinking so hard about?" His voice is low, warm. Dangerous in a way that doesn't scare you. "Seems it's causing quite the problem if it's got ye out of bed like this."

His eyes flick down your body, slow and unapologetic. When they return to your face, he’s leaning forward. Hair a mess, bare stomach, scars and all - he doesn't think he had seen anything more beautiful.

"Something happen?"

“No, I just…” You trail off, searching for the words. You’ve never done this before, not like this. Not by choice at least. Caz was always the one to seek you out. "Shit."

"Then what? Tell me." He presses.

Fuck it. You're leaving tomorrow anyway, you've suffered worse than a potential rejection. “I... I think I want something for myself. Just for once, if you'll allow it.”

That knocks the smug right off his face.

His eyes soften. That slow, careful kind of softness he rarely lets slip in front of the others.

Jimmy's head tilts. His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t push. Just watches. You can tell he knows, but like earlier today - wants you to voice how you're feeling.

He stands, looking towards you, slow and careful, like you’re something sacred.

When he moves again, he lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin, gliding gently over a small scar he hadn't noticed until now, his eyes holding yours like a promise.

"Ye want a kiss? That it?" His blue eyes flicker to your lips again, but you shake your head, causing Jimmy's eyes to furrow in confusion.

Had he managed to misread such a clear situation?

You hesitate again, letting the heat form before guide you. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

To say Jimmy was shocked was an understatement. He had stiffened, jaw clenching as if relaying the words over in his head.

"Well damn."

There’s silence then, thick with heat and unspoken things. Apart of you already felt foolish, that perhaps you really had read everything wrong.

You shift your weight, unsure again, breath catching in your throat as you reach up, wrapping your hand around his wrist.

"Because I would like to have sex with you," You continue, nodding as his palm still presses into your cheek. "Before I leave, I'd like to do what you said before, be with someone who knows what the fuck they're doing,"

You breathe in deeply, the nerves catching up to you. "With you. That's if ye actually know what to do."

That breaks him out of the spell you had placed him under, a huff leaving his chest as his hand slides down from your cheek to your throat, resting just between the junction of your neck and shoulder.

"I know what I'm doin' hen," He assures you with a chuckle, a small grin at the insinuation from you that he didn't. "But is that what ye really want? Don't get me wrong - I'd love to touch you, but only if that's what you want from me."

"I want you Jimmy, do you… do you not want me?"

His eyes close at your words as he takes a deep inhale, and he curses with your name on his lips. "You've got no fuckin' clue how badly I want you."

His lips are on yours instantly, the hand cupping the back of your neck as he brings you further into him.

It’s slow at first, uncertain, testing, but when your fingers dig into his covered chest, something breaks open between you. You feel it like a storm behind your ribs.

You’re not thinking about Home. You’re not thinking about the Council, or the scars they've left you with.

You're not thinking about tomorrow.

You’re thinking about now. Here. About this man who looks at you like you’re utterly his and lets you feel like you’re yours.

And for the first time in your life, you let yourself have something real.

The kiss deepens.

What started as cautious, slow, already burns with something harder now, urgent, real, hungry. His hands move to grip your waist like he's afraid you'll vanish, but there's nothing hesitant in the way he pulls you against him.

Nor in the way your fingers find his skin, trailing over warm muscle and the cool bite of the chains that dangle around his neck.

You don’t know who gasps first, him or you, but the sound fans the fire between you.

A soft groaning noise fills the room, and you both freeze, lips barely parted, breath tangled together.

Jimmima's snore blares like an alarm from the couch, her arm flopped over her head. A beat passes. Another.

You both stifle a laugh, yours muffled against his throat, his low and wicked against your ear.

Jimmy murmurs, voice a whisper near your temple. “As flattering as an audience would be…”

You shake your head, cheeks warm, heart pounding as you pull at his hand.

“My room?” You whisper.

He doesn’t ask twice.

He entwines his fingers with yours, and you’re already pulling him out towards the hallway. His tracksuit top is forgotten, as is his book.

You move fast, silent, past sleeping quarters and lantern lit halls, your bare feet slapping quietly on cool stone floors as you climb the stairs like giddy teenagers. You glance behind once, and the look he gives you - wild with lust, possessive, ready, sends heat rushing to between your thighs.

You open your door and step inside together, and this time, when it closes, it's like the world seals shut behind you.

It was just you and him now.

"Ye sure this is what ye want?" He asks again, and you turn to face him with a nod, heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. There's a pause between you, like both of you are waiting to see who makes the first move.

You do.

You walk right up to him, fisting at his gold chains that hang around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

It’s not soft. It’s not shy. It’s everything you’ve swallowed down for years. The hunger. The ache. The defiance. You pour it all into him, and he gives it back - double.

Thunder echoes around you, but the two of you ignore it, too caught up in each others touch.

His hands find your hips like they belonged there, gripping you hard enough to leave bruises. You moan into his mouth as he backs you toward the bed, mouth never leaving yours.

Every step burns. You’ve never felt like this. Never been allowed to. And now you’re the one taking something for once.

Pleasure.

His hands pause over your stomach, where your scar catches the low light.

You stiffen without meaning to.

His thumbs brush over it gently. “No ones ever taken care of ye.” He murmurs against your lips upon feeling you tense.

Not a question. A truth.

You look up, throat tight as you shrug lowly - voice barely a whisper. “I’m not asking for care.”

His gaze darkens. “No,” He murmurs again. “You’re taking it, and I fuckin' love it.”

You're bringing his lips back to yours before he can continue, and he's pushing you down onto the bed, your lips still together as you both moan at the sudden jolt.

His mouth is everywhere now as you pant up at the ceiling, your lips, your cheeks, your jaw and your neck, devouring you like he was starving and you were the first warm meal he has touched in years.

He kisses every inch of your skin like it mattered, sloppy and reverent all at once.

His hands roam all over, and Jimmy adjusts the way he was kneeling, resting on his knees as he sits up, looking down at you with a darkened gaze.

You look up at him, chest rising and falling as you feel something burning in your lower stomach. Jimmy reaches down, pulling at his vest until it's up and over his head.

He does it quickly, so quickly that the action sends his tiara flying, but he doesn't care, letting the plastic and his shirt fall to the floor.

He starts tugging at his chains, pulling them off his neck one by one and throwing them somewhere on the bed. The crucifix is last, but you stop him with a hand on his bare stomach, shaking your head, uttering to leave it on.

The blonde just grins, head tilted as he watches you run your hand all over his stomach, trailing over his soft skin and over the hair below his belly button that dips below his tracksuit.

He looks you all over. His own hand trace the long scar across your stomach again, eyes flicking up to meet yours, not asking permission, just seeing you - all of you. The way no one else ever has.

"Such a beautiful thing," He leans down, pressing another sloppy kiss over the healed wound. "My warrior, god, look at ye."

Your throat tightens. Your hands wound into his hair as he peppers kisses across your stomach, anywhere that wasn't covered by your pants or your sports bra. Sighs leave your lips, a pulsing feeling between your legs starting to startle you.

"You okay?" You hear him mumble against your skin, his voice thick and heavy. You nod, but he sees the look in your eyes, and so he presses his cheek to your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes. "Tell me, what are ye feeling?"

"I..." You swallow, feeling clammy. "I feel hot."

"Hot?" Jimmy repeats with another kiss to your stomach. "S'not a bad thing, why ye worried?" "Because I feel hot..." You close your eyes as you speak, borderline embarrassed. "Down there."

Jimmy's eyes light up, and he grins, pulling away from your stomach as he looks down. "Oh?" He reaches up, ring clad fingers resting along the waist band of your sweatpants. "Feeling... wet?"

A whine leaves your lips at his words, thighs squeezing together at the taunt. You don't know how he knew exactly how you were feeling, but you were self conscious all the same.

Jimmy tuts, running his thumb over the skin above your waistband. "Don't be shy love, that's good, means I'm making ye feel good," He leans down again, pressing one more kiss to below your bellybutton. "Means you're gettin' ready f'me."

He almost wanted to cuss aloud at your lack of knowledge about your own body, realising you had never been truly turned on when you had slept with Caz. It was cruel, knowing the bastard hadn't even cared if you were ready or not.

Jimmy didn't let it distract him, tutting again to get your attention as you mewl under him. "Don't shy away from what your body's tellin' you love, she knows what she wants after all."

You just nod, parting your legs again let him rest comfortably between them. He sits up on his knees again, a low growl leaving his lips as he sees your expression.

Your nipples peak through your sports bra, and Jimmy runs his hand along your sides, running them up past where your ribs hide before they cup the sides of your breasts. "Can I take this off?" He asks, his thumbs swiping gently over your covered nipples.

Your hips buck under him with a nod, but he shakes his head. "Words, I want you to tell me what 'ye want and what 'ye need."

Instead you smack his hands away, and he's about to question your actions when you reach the bottom of your sports bra yourself, lifting the material up and over your head, your breasts bouncing free as the covering falls somewhere behind you.

Jimmy inhales sharply, a nod off his head. "That works too," He curses loudly. "Fuckin' christ, dove."

His hands return, the coolness of his rings a subtle sting to the heat of your flesh as he cups the soft mounds, squeezing gently as his thumb brushes again over your nipple.

He ducks his head, blonde hair tickling at your neck as his teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He dips to press open mouthed kisses along the curve of your breasts. Jimmy nuzzles between them, breathing in deeply as if inhaling your scent, his tongue flicks out, drawing a gasp from your lips.

He lavished attention on your breasts, his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of the soft flesh. He suckled and nipped, his stubble rasping against your skin, leaving faint red marks in his wake. You hear him mutter a subtle fuckin' perfect as he leaves another mark.

Lord, he hadn't even touched you properly yet, and already you were wriggling beneath him. He laughs, hoarse and thrilled at your impatience.

"Relax," He says as he squeezes at your breasts, watching the way they bounce and ripple under his touch. "M'just taking my time, maybe I'll tire ye out, have ye stay another night."

"Nice... Nice try," You manage to repeat for a third time tonight, albeit stuttered as you tried to ignore the dampness that pooled in your underwear. His chuckle is muffled against your skin. "Shit."

You don’t know why you’re so nervous.

You’ve been touched before.

You’ve given yourself before.

But never like this. Never has someone touched you like you were delicate. Like you were something to be worshiped.

You hadn't felt him shift, so in your head own head that when his lips pressed to your jaw, you found yourself wounding your hands into his hair and bringing his lips back to yours.

Mouths open, teeth clashing, your hands pulling tighter and his hands bunching at the blanket below for leverage.

You feel his body, hot, solid, familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible after only three nights. But he fits. He feels like something you’ve been owed. His upside down crucifix dangles over your chest with every move of his lips against yours.

Jimmy does something that makes you moan louder into his than before. He grinds his hips into yours, something hard pressing right into that throbbing heat between your legs.

Your mouth leaves his as you cry out at the feeling, looking down to see the bulge in his tracksuit, eyes already half lidded.

There's nothing innocent about the way you want him. He looked incredibly hard already, even covered, and your breath stutters. Jimmy kisses your forehead, his gaze following your direction as he looks down with you.

"See that?" He whispers, nose nudging yours as he adjusts his hips, letting his bulge swipe against your front again. "S'all yours, every fuckin' inch."

You look up at him through your lashes with a nod, nails sliding from his hair to his neck, dragging them along the edge of his skin just to feel him shiver. "Take them off, please."

You're both still wearing pants, and Jimmy sighs in delight at your voice. "I will, but I want to do somethin' else first."

"Hm?" You try to hide the disappointment from your face, thinking it was something that involved his warm body leaving yours, but he didn't miss the groan.

He grins, pulling away only slightly to look down at your face from above. "Don't ye worry, I'll take yer pants off - mine too," He pretends to think, blue eyes darting from between your legs to your face. "But I want to do something I don't think you've tried before, that okay?" "Like what?" You ask, running your nails now down his shoulders as he groans.

"I'm going to take yer pants off, and then I'm gonna lick that sweet little cunny of yours, that sound alright to ye?"

'Alright?'

He says it so casually, but your eyes are wide with shock at such a statement as you mutter a yes regardless.

He wants to... put his face down there?

"You remember what I told you this morning?" He asks, starting to scooch back on his knees until he rest further down your body, knees bracketing your thighs.

"How much I," He grunts as he accidentally touches his straining cock with the back of his hand, still trapped in the confines of his pants. "How much I enjoy watching ye try new things, comfort n all that? That it's all mine to give?”

You nod down at him, thinking of the conversation over breakfast, and he begins pulling down your pants and underwear in one go, a tap to your hip that tells you to raise them to help him pull the pair out from under you.

He's trailed them down and off your legs slowly, an awkward huff leaving his mouth at the way he adjusts his position - before it shifts into a throaty groan as he sees what's waiting for him.

"Well love," Jimmy eyes your pussy like it was heaven sent. He wasn't a religious man anymore by any means, but the way you were already leaking onto your thighs and to the bed below had him damn near praying. "This is another thing of mine to give, and I'm gonna have a fuckin' damn good time doin' it."

You didn't feel self conscious this time, didn't hide yourself from him like he expected, instead you parted your thighs - giving him easier access.

Jimmy just encourages you on, sliding himself further down until his chest and belly were flush against the bed. His hands already wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you further down the bed and towards his mouth.

His hands slid up and down your thighs as he settles, his fingers even splaying across your lower belly as he settled himself between your thighs. He looked up at you, his blue eyes glinting with a feverish light, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Without a word from either of you, he dips his head and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh causing you to jolt.

He chuckles, the sound muffled by your skin. His lips moving higher and higher until he reaches above where you want feel yourself pulling for him the most.

He leans further up, kissing the length of your scar on your lower stomach like it were something sacred. You've since noticed his affinity for the mark, how much he focuses on it, but you choose not to comment.

He kisses his way down again. His nose nudges at the hair down there before he tilts his head, presses a kiss to your other thigh. He nuzzled into your most intimate place, breathing in deeply as he inhaled your scent.

"Been wanting to be down 'ere since I first saw ye," He admits, pressing another wet kiss to above your cunt. "Never been a patient man but, I think it was well worth the wait."

"Jimmy," You sigh. You weren't sure what you were expecting. No one had ever been down there before like this, and you found yourself even enjoying the kisses he littered around your skin. "Touch me."

He chuckles again. "Seems you're not patient either," He mock sighs, his hands moving to grip at your hips, the rings a sharp sting in the heat. "Aren't we the pair?"

Jimmy's head lowers even further, his tongue flicking out, parting your folds and tasting you for the first time.

A low moan rumbled in his throat, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through you, hips immediately pushing against him as he holds you down.

He already knew you would squirm.

"Mmh, knew ye'd taste like this," He grunts, running his tongue up and down, collecting every bit of slick that left you until it mixed with his spit. "Just right."

Jimmy pulls your hips down impossibly further, and a strangled moan leaps your mouth as he seals his lips around your clit, suckling gently, tongue swirling and flicking across the sensitive nerves.

He holds you in place as he feasted on you like a man starved, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your quivering body. With his name like a prayer, your lip trembles, hands moving all over the bed as you feel lost.

As if feeling your hesitation, Jimmy pulls away slightly, a trail of drool connecting from your pussy to his bottom lip. "My hair love," He pats your thigh to get your attention as you whine. "Pull my hair, s'alright - ye won't hurt me."

His lips return as your hands wound into his hair. He licked and sucked and kissed, his passion relentless, his hunger insatiable. The hand on your right hip leaves for a moment, Jimmy not even bothering to peer up again as he drags his hand against the bed, using the force to pull off his rings.

You're watching through hooded lids, eyebrows scrunching as you watch the gold jewellery fall off one by one. His tongue stops its assault for just another moment, his right hand moving over to touch just above your clit. "Ye ever touch yourself?" He mutters, thumb swiping just a little lower, avoiding where it felt best like a little tease.

You don't answer, so focused on the heat soaring through you. Your hips raise, chasing his tongue again when he clicks it, tapping your inner thigh to get your attention. "Answer me, have ye?"

"N-No, couldn't," You manage to answer with a shake of your head as you look down. "No... Privacy."

He seems pleased with your response.

"Lucky me," He slides his fingers down through your folds, collecting as much wetness as he could before his index finger stops just there. "Another new treat for me to give."

You weren't sure what he meant until his finger slides deep inside, and you find yourself tensing at the feeling. You expected it to hurt, to feel awful like it did when it was Caz's cock instead, but it didn't.

Your pussy welcomed him in, and a soft sigh emits from your mouth as Jimmy curses at feeling you clench around just his finger.

"Look at her," He says to himself if anything as you shiver and shake around him. "One finger and she's suckin' me in, my poor lady has been deprived."

He watches the way you grind against his hand just a bit longer, ignoring his little taunts as you feel him move down again. Jimmy's tongue returns to your clit, his finger curling inside as you whimper again.

His stubble rubs against you, your hands fisting into his blonde hair as you hold him close, urging him on as something burns hotter and hotter inside you.

“I want ye to remember this,” He murmurs between your legs. “Tomorrow. Next week. When you're back home."

Another finger slowly makes its way inside as Jimmy pulls the first out, the two pumping in and out with that same curling motion as before.

You slide your fingers into his hair even tighter, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth works on and in you. “Yes, yes - god I will.”

Jimmy could feel you growing closer, could taste your impending release on his tongue.

You however, started to panic. The burning grew with each lick and suck, something twisting inside as you felt your hole clench around his fingers over and over. "Jimmy," You voice was shaky, whiny, worried. "S-somethings happenin', I-I don't kno-"

His head lifts for the last time, only a tinge of doubt on his face. He would stop instantly if you needed, but something told him that he knew what was already troubling your mind. "Do ye trust me?"

His fingers were still fucking into you, curling right into somewhere heavenly. "Yes, fuck, I trust you - I trust you, mmphf."

He just mutters a good bonnie, mouth returning to suckle harder. He doubled his efforts, his fingers moving faster, determined to push you over the edge.

And then, with a sharp cry of his name, you shattered... your body convulsing, your cunt clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of something electric crashed over you.

Tears were dancing along the edge of your water line, mouth open wide in a gasp and lower half of your body attempting to rise from the bed as Jimmy keeps you grounded. You didn't know what this was.

It was explosive, wet, messy and exhilarating all at once.

Jimmy guided you through it, his touch softening, his kisses turning sweet and soothing as he brought you down from your first orgasm.

“That's it," He coaxes, nodding as he still kisses and licks gently at your swollen clit. "What a pretty sight that was eh? Feel good? Cumming on my tongue, tastin' like fuckin' sin."

You don't respond, eyes trained on the stone ceiling as your mind runs a mile a minute.

So this is what Jones was talking about.

He waits for you to stop shaking before he's crawling up your body, gathering you close, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace as he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Ye did so good," He lifts his hand, holding out his two wet fingers near your mouth. "Would ye like a taste?"

Jimmy was holding himself back, that much was evident. He was unbelievably hard in his pants, the soft fabric providing nothing but the feeling of being trapped.

He held out, not bringing it to your attention as you nod, mumbling a yes please as he gently slides his fingers between your lips.

You suck the digits, tongue lapping around the pair as his breathing quickens, eyes watching intently as you suckle, your own gaze locked onto his.

Jimmy mutters a fuck, feeling your tongue and the sweet gentle suck of your mouth around him. He found himself already imaging something else between your lips, but he pushed the thought away, wanting to focus solely on you.

You tasted different to what you were expecting. Tangy, but it wasn't off-putting or unsavoury, just unusual.

But as Jimmy pulls his fingers out, he places them between his own lips, licking off anything remaining before he pulls them out, placing his hand back on your cheek, pulling your lips against his.

You can taste yourself even more this way, moaning into Jimmy's mouth as he swallows the sound with a smile. His cheeks were flushed, wet with spit and your slick - but he didn't care, licking into your mouth with each tilt of his head.

Your hand presses against his own cheek before you slide your hand down slowly, dragging your nails along his throat, his broad chest and down his stomach.

They reach for his pants as he shivers, not even realising he had been grinding against your thigh.

You fall into it, eyes on him. He comes down over you, all muscle and heat, his mouth never leaving yours for long. His hands skim your waist, sliding down to your thighs.

Your fingers tangling into the waistband, sliding them low enough to reveal the sharp lines of his hips. He helps you, his own hand reaching to pull the pair down.

The purple pants are thrown to the floor with an awkward shuffle of his legs, Jimmy grinning as you return your hands to the back of his neck with a light giggle of your own at the huffs and puffs as he manages to pull his underwear off.

The weight of him above you, the heat of his skin, the scent of sweat and lavender and whatever cologne he’s managed to hold onto, it overwhelms you. In the best way.

He lays between your legs again, and your thighs part once more, giving him the room to get comfortable. He hums as he eyes the way your cunt is still leaking, a string of arousal between your thighs connecting the two as he leans down, swiping at the slick and using it to coat his throbbing tip.

You look down, eyes locked onto the way his cock bobs between his thick thighs. He's bigger than you expected, curved a little, and you release a noise by accident.

He just watches with a tilt of his head, seeing the way you're locked onto him. He sees your mouth part, your eyebrows quiver, and he says your name, louder than before to get your attention. He rocked his hips forward, the head of his cock parting your slick folds, teasing.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” He murmurs, reaching down to lift one of your thighs and hitch it around his waist. “You tell me anything and I’ll listen, yeah?”

"Okay," You whisper, trembling beneath him as you feel him glide the weeping tip of his cock up and down your pussy. You were so wet, that he slid so easily, coating his entire shaft in your arousal. "T-Thank you."

Jimmy stops just for a second, his face softening at your words. He puts his weight on his knees, one hand still on his cock whilst the other moves to hold onto one of yours.

His fingers lace with yours as he moves the two above your head.

"Ye never have to thank me for looking after you," He says in that same soft tone, but his words held weight, like he was both vexed and regretful that you had ever experienced anything other than the pleasure you deserved. "Never, ye hear me?”

Before Jimmy, you thought sex was one sided. You thought it was something men would do when they were fond of you.

You thought you were supposed to just lay there and let them show that fondness.

That even if it hurt, that their pleasure was all that mattered, roughness and ache be damned.

You didn't think it could ever be like this.

Never with someone who gave you space to want, to need, to lust and desire for something more.

“I hear you,” You reach up and grab his face tenderly, forcing him to look at you. “Please."

And that’s all he needs.

When he finally sinks into you, every muscle in your body locks tight - and then melts. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Perfect.

He inches himself in slowly, holding himself back from just slamming into you completely.

As he bottoms out with a final push of his hips, fully sheathed inside of you, a guttural moan tears from his throat at the sensation of your tight pussy enveloping him.

Your eyes are wide as you clench around him, taking him fully. He was so thick, almost throbbing already as you feel his groin flush against you, the hairs at his base flush with yours. A sound mimicking that of a moan and a cry leaves your lips at the fullness.

Jimmy pauses for a moment, savouring the feeling, letting you adjust to the stretch of his cock. With a nod of your head and another utter of 'please', he begins to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before slamming again, burying himself to the hilt.

You grip his fingers tighter as he moves, and he squeezes your hand back.

His other hand traces your skin like he’s mapping something holy. Squeezing and gliding his fingers all over. His cock hits that spot inside you that his fingers found before, and you cry out without thinking, not loud, but real.

Like something inside you broke open and let light in.

He stutters out a quick 'there she is', angling his hips to hit that spot over and over. Jimmy set a relentless pace, his hips pumping in a steady rhythm as he drove into you again and again.

The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the creaking of the wooden bed frame, the storm outside and the increasingly desperate cries and moans spilling from your lips.

He could feel your body tensing beneath his, your inner muscles starting to flutter and clench around his thrusts.

Because as he finally claims you, when his body moves with yours like you were made for this, for him - he knows this isn’t like anything you’ve had before.

Not quick, not careless. He moves like he’s learning you, memorising you, letting you set the rhythm with a rise of your hips against his and then giving you more. More than you asked for. More than you knew you could take.

"Fuck," You say breathlessly, one hand on his shoulder as you claw into his skin with a hiss leaving his lips. Jimmy brings his forehead to yours, nuzzling his nose against yours. "You feel so good, so... god," Your face scrunches at another hard thrust. "Good, full, god J-Jimmy."

He just chuckles at the way you struggle to speak. He kisses you as you fall apart beneath him, hips bucking, back arching, his name slipping from your lips like a secret you never meant to say.

"S'good for me," He says in between kisses. "Fuckin' hell, squeezin' me like that? Like ye don't want to - " Another wet kiss. "Fuck, like ye don't want to let me go."

His hand slid down between your bodies, his fingers finding your aching clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive centre.

He could feel himself growing closer, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he moves against your neck. He knew you were close too, could feel your body tensing, your cries against his mouth, but he held back.

This was about you.

Your body tenses even harder than before as Jimmy's fingers worked your clit, his touch sending jolts of electricity through every nerve ending.

Each thrust of his hips drove you closer to the edge, your walls clenching and fluttering around his cock. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your lower belly, threatening to consume you entirely.

It was different than before, searing, toe curling, blinding.

"Let go m'love," He breathes in a stuttering tone, unable stop the words from leaving his lips. "I've got ye, give me another, c'mon now love."

And you do.

You come undone with a shudder and a gasp that rips out of you before you can stop it, muscles tensing as heat explodes in your chest, down your legs, through your spine.

He keeps moving through it, drawing it out, whispering things you barely hear, your name, sweet praise, promises he might actually mean.

Your eyes roll back, words stuck in your throat.

He curses softly as he moves into the other side of your neck, willing himself to stop as he slowly draws himself out, your thighs trembling around him as you sigh at the sudden loss, your cunt clenching around nothing.

Then he collapses beside you, pulling you close without asking. His cock was still heavy between his legs, still hard and soaked in your cum as you give him a confused expression, too fucked out to speak.

"S'not about me tonight," He speaks through deep breathes, shaking his head. "All you, I said I'd take care of ye."

"But Jimmy-" You whisper, but he cuts you off with an even softer kiss than the others.

"Don't worry," He pulls away with a grin, shuffling so he rests his head on his hand as he lays on his side. "Just had to prove I knew what I was doin'."

He throws your words from before at him, and your head falls back against the bed with a groan and a laugh. Your body felt rough, but not used, and even through giggles did you feel the sensitive ache between your legs.

Jimmy laughs with you, moving his other hand to move over your stomach, below your breasts before he's tracing your scar again from beginning to end.

"You're way to..." You breathe out, cutting yourself off as you gather your words. "Way too obsessed with that thing, 'dunno why."

He half shrugs, still continuing his tracing. "I dinnae ken either," He sighs, head still facing the scar as his blue eyes look to you. "Who did it?"

You peer down at the mark, deciding there wasn't a point in lying. Jimmy would never meet the people who laid hands on you, and once again you had the chance to talk about things instead of bottling them up.

"Overseer Russ," You say softly, reaching down to rest your hand over his, seising his movements. "I cried too loudly, wanted to be let back in the compound."

His jaw clenches, trying to stop the real words that wanted to spill from his mouth. "Ye were small then too, weren't ye?" He thinks of your conversation in the tower.

You just nod, and Jimmy entwines your fingers together as he shakes his head. "There's nothin' I can say that'll make ye stay, is there?"

"Afraid not."

"I could make ye cum again?" He half jokes, and it was enough to have you laugh again, his own lips quirking at the sight.

He knows this won't be the first nor last time he touches you.

The two of you talk more, Jimmy even going as far as to say he was going to run a hot bath for you. He had shoved his tracksuit pants on over himself, looking around your room for the matching top when you reminded him that the covering was downstairs in the quiet room.

He clicked his fingers at the reminder, opting to leave the room in just his pants as he walked the halls towards the bathroom.

He leaves you laying in bed, naked and sticky, staring up at the ceiling as you think about everything that just transpired. His care, his touch, his kisses, all of it.

Jimmy returns later with a purple robe over his arm. "From my personal collection," He jokes as he walks over, holding out his hand. “C'mon, up ye pop."

He helps you up to stand on shaky legs, wrapping you in his robe and tightening the strap around your waist. You're just watching him, his eyes too focused on making sure nothing that he deemed for his eyes only was on display.

There's a subtly ask if you want any help bathing, to which you shake your head with a grin. Jimmy hesitates by the door, just like he had done that very morning.

"Ye don't have to leave," You tell him as you stand beside the bath, keeping your eyes locked onto his as you undo the robe. "Ye can stay here with me."

Jimmy's head tilts at the painful irony. "I could say the same love."

Your mouth just tightens, but he still walks in, closing the door behind him.

-

You say goodbye this time.

The rain was light, barely a sprinkle, and you could see the sun shining through just over the trees. Your boots are laced tight. Bow slung over your shoulder. Machete on your hip. Backpack heavy with supplies.

The only difference now was the dull ache in your thighs and your chest.

And that’s when you gave Jimmy a proper goodbye, even wishing him well for the party tonight.

It wasn't like yesterday, where you were sneaking away withoutt so much as a vague mumble.

This time, you stood in front of him by the gate. You looked him in the face. You said it out loud.

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy didn’t argue. Not really.

He just looked at you with those sharp, unreadable eyes and stupid tiara on his head, his expression alone reading, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

And that was worse than begging. Worse than him trying to change your mind again.

Because you know he meant it.

It made you feel like the choice was truly yours, and that’s the part that terrified you the most.

So you kissed him once more. Not on the cheek. A real one. Gentle. Slow. Full of things you weren’t able to say. But you left him with one final quip and a mock bow. "Goodbye Sir."

He rolls his eyes playfully at the mockery of his title, urging you to go before he changes his mind and tells his people to shut the gates with you still inside.

You turn your back and walk out the sanctuary gates with some of the Jimmy’s watching from the walls, waving in their ridiculously colourful tracksuits. Ink was on the other side of the walls, red suit and a sad smile.

You returned it.

She had a backpack on, her bat in her hand. "M'heading your way for a hunt," She nods towards the forest. "I'll ditch ye by the river, sound good?"

"Sounds good."

She doesn't try change your mind on your walk together, doesn't berate you for any foolishness. You just talk, swapping hunting stories, trap advice and tips on snares.

True to her word, she leaves you at the rivers edge, the only real divide between your factions. You hug, whispering to each other good lucks and stay safes, and you thank her for stalking you that day.

And now you're out on the trail, sun behind you, forest opening up ahead.

You’ve got a long walk back. Like always.

But something feels different this time.

The weight in your pack doesn’t feel like a burden. And your mind, though tangled and restless, doesn’t feel as… hollow.

You’re thinking about how Jimmy touched you like you weren’t fragile.

How he listened when you talked about Home. How the others laughed like they were people who hadn’t given up on the world.

You think about the way he looked at you when you said goodbye. No guilt. No threat. Just that same damn expression, like he’d already decided you belonged to him, whether you stayed with him or not.

And for some reason… you didn't hate it.

You stop at the edge of another creek, crouching low, scanning the area for any movement.

No infected, no colourful tracksuits.

But still, your heart isn’t in it the same way.

It feels strange, even as you pull out your map and see that you’re on the right track.

Your heart feels hopeful.

And you remind yourself of how hope had once felt more dangerous than any Alpha, any Overseer, any gathering gone wrong.