Hii can you do part 2 of "back off I have a girlfriend" pleasee🙏
Thank you beforehand <33
BACK OFF! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!
By an unfortunate twist of fate—and your boyfriend’s carelessness—he ended up mixing ingredients that definitely shouldn’t have been used together. The result? A slightly over-the-top explosion, a very angry Professor Crewel, and of course, your boyfriend affected by the smoke, which, to add to his suffering, left him unable to recognize you.
# A/N: Some people asked for more characters so here they are!! :) Sorry for taking so long, work is devouring me pls send help
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
Riddle’s eyes slowly opened, his vision still somewhat blurry. The colors were bright, but the faces were indistinct, and he could feel his head pounding.
He allowed himself to close his eyes again to rest for a little longer, but the moment he felt someone adjusting his blanket, he immediately sat upright.
“Riddle? Thank goodness you’re awake!” you exclaimed, smiling as you tilted your head to the side. “But don’t move so suddenly, you might get dizzy again—”
You thought the redness climbing from your boyfriend’s neck to his face was because he was embarrassed about being bedridden, or because he had messed up a relatively simple potion. Apparently not.
You lifted your hand to check his temperature, but in the blink of an eye, you had been shoved away from him—and a collar was now around your neck.
“Rule 807 of the Queen of Hearts states, in very clear terms, that physical contact this intimate is strictly prohibited with someone whom you do not share a mutual emotional bond with!”
The two of you stared at each other in silence for the longest sixty seconds of your life.
Trey knocked on the bedroom door before entering without waiting for permission, since he still expected his friend to be still in dreamland.
His eyes widened when his gaze landed on the collar adorning your neck. “What…?”
“Trey!” Riddle practically pleaded his name. “Remove this…this person from here! Immediately!” He yanked the blanket up, covering himself from head to toe.
The two of you could hear his muffled muttering and lamenting from beneath the covers. “How inappropriate, how inappropriate…! What will the prefect think of me!?”
FLOYD LEECH
Floyd’s expression was impossible to read, the corners of his lips curled downward as his eyes shifted between you and his brother.
“Jade.” Floyd stared at his face, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Yes?” he replied, not looking up from the alchemy coat he was currently trying to clean.
“Why is it touching me?”
Jade looked over at his brother, who was staring at his own girlfriend—who was trying to change his bandages—as though she were some kind of strange fish living in the depths of a swamp.
“It!?” you asked incredulously.
“How curious,” the twin blinked in genuine surprise. “Normally, you’re the one who enjoys physical affection—”
“With my shrimpy,” Floyd turned his face away so you wouldn’t touch his cheeks. “The human is courting me!”
You and Jade exchanged glances, both silently agreeing that the unlabeled sedative hidden in the infirmary cabinet could be very useful until the potion’s effects wore off.
“I’m gonna squeeze life out of it—“
“Please, don’t. You will cry later.”
JADE LEECH
You sighed, brushing the hair away from his face. “Jade, why did you add that mushroom when it wasn’t even in the recipe?”
To your surprise, he gently removed your hand from his face, his expression calm despite how firmly he was holding your wrist. “My, what bold behavior. Are you attempting to court me?”
You raised an eyebrow, thinking he had gotten offended by your scolding. “If you’d prefer, I can just leave Floyd to take care of you instead.”
He smiled politely. “That would be excellent.”
Your lips parted in surprise, unsure of what to say for a full minute, while your boyfriend’s twin let out a grunt.
“No,” Floyd muttered, resting his chin on his hand, still irritated from being forced by you to help carry his brother to the infirmary. “That’s your shrimpy’s job.”
“Precisely,” Jade said. “I do not feel comfortable being touched by a stranger while in such a vulnerable state as the one I currently find myself in… Where is my sweet beloved?”
Your eyes nearly rolled into your skull at his syrupy tone. “Right here, Jade.”
“Floyd,” your boyfriend called again, ignoring the way his brother slumped back in the chair with a dramatic sigh.
“What!?”
“This human believes we are in a relationship.”
“…Aren’t you?!”
“…No?” You placed a hand on your hip, but he didn’t seem to care about your irritation. “Please remove her from the room. My legs are numb, and I would hate for my beloved to see this human’s hands on me.”
MALLEUS DRACONIA
You never, ever imagined in all your time knowing Malleus that there would come a day when a small explosion involving a basic potion would actually knock him unconscious.
Your arms were tired after struggling so much to stop Grim from eating the ice cream you had bought to comfort your boyfriend. Though, as you passed through the gates of Diasomnia, you could hear Sebek crying—and not the actual victim of the accident.
Lilia smiled as he opened the door for you, stepping aside so you could enter. “He has already asked seven times if you were coming to visit him.”
“Silver, is she really coming? Why is she taking so long?”
“And that makes eight,” Lilia added with a laugh.
Malleus looked far more presentable than someone who had caused an explosion should. His hair was slightly messy, there was still a faint tiredness in his eyes, but he seemed fine enough.
And then he looked at you. The silence that fell over the room was strange. His green eyes slowly followed your every movement, almost cautiously, as you approached the bed.
“…Malleus?” you called carefully. “I brought ice cream.”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze slowly lowered to the container in your hands.
For a moment, his tail shifted briefly beneath the blankets, and he swallowed hard. “…Ice cream?” Malleus repeated slowly, almost hypnotized.
“You brought food without a security inspection—”
Silver placed a hand over Sebek’s mouth to silence him.
“It’s vanilla,” you explained. “Trey said sugar might help with the dizziness.”
Malleus turned his face away, avoiding eye contact with the dessert. “Ahem! How disrespectful.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at him, confusion written all over their faces at the comment.
“It is kind of you to visit me in such a delicate condition,” in truth, he had already been feeling better five minutes after the incident, “however, I do not believe it proper to attempt courting someone who is already committed.”
“Committed?” You frowned. “You have someone else?” Your confusion was genuine.
“Quite the contrary. I have only one lover,” Malleus said seriously, clearly distressed. “My beloved would be devastated if she discovered that I allowed such intimacy.”
Lilia was the first to understand the misunderstanding, bursting into loud laughter even after receiving a mildly irritated look from Malleus.
You crossed your arms, staring at him.
“Sebek,” Malleus called, “remove this young lady from my room.”
Sebek was speechless for a moment, an expression of horror appearing on his face. “Wh—” He looked at you.
Honestly, he had waited months for the chance to finally make you behave around Malleus and keep your hands to yourself, but this was the first time his master had not only failed to scold him for complaining about you, but had directly asked him to remove you from the room!
you confess to jade with one goal: to get rejected. things do not go according to plan.
tags/warnings: jade leech x reader (romantic), gn!reader, reader is yuu, swearing, set at the end of NRC year 1, confession crack, first date, reader is miraculously/momentarily a god at Dance Dance Revolution, not proofread cuz i’m lazy
a/n: so i DOUBLY made a liar of myself: i said i’d write a bunch a few weeks ago, didn’t; and then said i wouldn’t write for a while, then did. life’s still kicking my ass and i have midterms this week but i’m neglecting my responsibilities in favour of writing fanfic :D this one was actually meant to be the beginning of a wip request, but it was so long that i split it off and expanded it. that’s maybe half the reason it's so winding yet virtually plotless ;-; anyways so this is basically a prologue to that wip, but i’ll make it so that you can read either one as standalone :)
follow-up fic here :D
DO NOT FEED THIS TO AI.
word count: 3.2k
dividers by @/cafekitsune!
“I’m gonna do it,” you whisper.
“Don’t do it,” your entire first-year friend group whispers back, ears picking up on your stupidity even beneath the drone of Crowley’s long and winding year-end speech. They plead with you now more out of resignation than hope of persuasion. That ship has already sailed, and everyone knows it.
You eye the figure three rows ahead, clad in ceremonial uniform yet identifiable thanks to their towering height.
“I have to…” you sigh dramatically.
The ‘it’ in question that you shouldn’t do: confessing to Jade Leech, a sharp-toothed and sharper-witted eel with sketchy intentions and tendencies. It's a terrible decision that you’re unfortunately already firm on, but to be fair, this decision has been thoroughly deliberated. Your main reasons are as follows:
#1: You have a stupid crush on Jade Leech, arguably one of the worst people to have feelings for. Jade Leech is the type of person to leverage any crush for his benefit, let alone a crush on him. And confessing is the quickest way to get rid of your pesky feelings, something you’re very eager to do.
#2: After this, summer break will begin and school will be out of session. ‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’, as they say, and your feelings will absolutely compound if you don’t confess now. The break works in your favour though, as you won’t have to deal with repercussions until September comes back around. Best case scenario, everyone will forget by the time you return to school. Worst case scenario, you’ll at least get two months free of awkwardness and teasing. Which leads to:
#3: Jade will 100%, absolutely, undoubtedly reject you. He’s the type of person who only makes choices that benefit him, and you have nothing to offer. And though humiliation sucks, a one-and-done micro-moment of mortifying rejection is a small price to pay for emotional freedom.
It’s not that you want to confess to Jade Leech. It’s that you have to.
So with that airtight reasoning in mind as the ceremony finally comes to a close, you rush through the sea of eager students, your destination not a where but a whom.
The moment he’s within reach, you grab his sleeve. “Jade.”
He freezes; the crowd doesn’t. Even Floyd and Azul vanish in the flow of people. Still, though students shove past you ceaselessly, you stand strong.
“Prefect?”
You realize you’re cooked when Jade turns to face you. His eyes are wide in shock—adorably so—and surprise is a rare expression to see on Jade. It’s affecting you more than you’d like to admit.
“Um, could I talk with you?” you ask sheepishly, just as someone shoves you from behind. Luckily, you manage to right yourself before crashing straight into Jade, sparing yourself the extra embarrassment. “Preferably somewhere less busy?”
His expression morphs back into his usual: a coy, composed smile with eyes too scrutinizing for anyone’s comfort.
“Of course.” You repress a smitten grin at the sound of his voice. Soon, you won’t have to do that consciously anymore, and that thought is exhilarating. “Let’s be on our way, then. Stay close to me, Prefect.”
And you obey, never once dropping your grasp of his sleeve so as to not lose him.
It’s in the courtyard, beneath the apple tree, that Jade finally stops and you release his sleeve. With most students staying in the hallways and subjecting themselves to traffic jams by foot, only a sprinkling of smarter students pass through.
“What is it you’d like to tell me?” Jade asks, heterochromic eyes glimmering in the dappled sunlight. For a second, you almost forget that you’re here to be rejected.
Besides him, the scene isn’t picture-perfect: trampled apple blossoms decay beneath your feet, a brawl has broken out in the hall nearby, and you’re coated in sweat from being smushed in the crowd earlier. It’s pathetic and imperfect, which makes it perfect for your purpose.
You take a deep breath and brace for impact.
“Um…” you start, looking anywhere but his perfect face. “Well, y’know…”
Jade doesn’t rush you, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. He’s perfectly patient.
“You probably know this already, but—oh Sevens, I’m regretting this even now—so I… ah, fuck it.
“I have a crush on you,” you blurt.
…
…
…
“Do it quickly, please,” you add once the silence stretches five seconds too long for your liking.
“...Do what quickly?”
Jade’s seeming ignorance simultaneously baffles and infuriates you enough to make you look back up at him. The cunning smirk that you expect is nowhere to be found. In its place: pure, genuine confusion. Which confuses you.
“Uh… reject me?”
“Did you not just confess that you liked me?” he questions slowly. “Why do you want me to reject you?”
“Why wouldn’t you reject me?” you counter. “Just get it over with.”
And with that, the confusion washes from his face, and the composed smile you’d been expecting in the first place reappears.
“And if I were to decline? What would you do then?”
“Then I’d be fucked!” you think aloud accidentally.
The cutest chuckle leaks from his lips and rattles your heart in your chest. You slap your hand over Jade’s mouth before he can inflict more emotional damage on you.
“Oya oya?” you hear muffled against your palm, Jade’s eyes crinkling with mirth. “Quite forward of you~”
With your other hand, you hold an authoritative finger in his face. “Stop it. Quit being charming and cute. Just turn me down, please.”
As you feel his lips pull into a sharp grin, your hand flinches away on the off chance that he bites you à la Floyd. But Jade is quicker, catching your retracting hand in his own.
“No.” He says it firmly, a stark contrast with how gently he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “I’ll see you soon, Prefect.”
Jade leaves you with a pat on the head, a rejected rejection, and a mess of thoughts and feelings. Somehow, in all your overoptimistic deliberation, you’d neglected to take into account your crush’s stubbornness and affinity for playing the long game.
Kicking at the wilted apple blooms under your soles reveals the small mushrooms sprouting underneath.
Fuck.
Deuce is the first of your friends to find out how unsuccessful you were in your mission, him and his mom having very generously offered you and Grim a place to stay for the summer.
“You’re cooked,” Deuce helpfully comments while you’re settling into the spare room. Grim, on the other hand, has already crashed on the floor. “Jade’s totally stringing you along!”
You groan your entire soul out your throat. “I know.”
“Just DM him and reject him yourself!”
“mMMmmmm…” you whine. “Fiiiine…” You unlock your phone for the first time since passing through the mirror at NRC and open the Magicam app. For all the mental and emotional turmoil that Jade put you through today, you don’t expect him to spare you the satisfaction of replying to your DMs right away.
Well, it's not the first time you've been wrong about him.
Jade messaged you first. 42 minutes ago, to be exact.
Good evening, dear Prefect :) Where would you like to go for our first date?
You place your phone face-down on the dresser and place yourself face-down on the floor.
You lie there for a good minute before Deuce’s concern catches up to him. “Uh, Prefect…? You good?”
You flop about like a fish. “uUurGghhhHhh.”
“Wait, is he blackmailing you? If he is, I’ll teach him a lesson.” Bless Deuce’s sweet delinquent soul. “Just tell me. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not that,” you groan into the hardwood before lifting your head. “It’s worse. He’s asking me on a date.”
“WHAT?!” Deuce practically screams. “He’s totally playing you! Or else he’s gonna bring you up a mountain and we’ll never find your body! Tell him no!”
“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “Okay.”
Jade, I'm gonna have to reject your rejection of my rejection. Sorry for bothering you. Have a good summer break 👍
“Done,” you update. “I think he’s literally in the ocean so he’s probably gonna leave me on sent—oh Sevens he read it!”
Deuce leaps across the room to see your screen.
“Oh fuck, he’s typing!” you shriek, causing your friend to glance around warily and Grim to flip over in his sleep. “Oh shit, oh fuck.”
You shove your phone into Deuce’s hands. “W-What? What do you want me to do?” he sputters.
“Just—! If he sends something bad,” you instruct, “don't tell me what it is, just block him.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
You wait in charged silence for what feels like an eternity. Then:
“Prefect?” Deuce treads carefully.
“…what.”
“What counts as ‘bad’?” And slowly, he turns the screen toward you.
It’s a single sentence.
Even if I want to date you as well?
Yeah, that's bad.
Really bad.
Your first date is at a summer fair in a coastal town of the Kingdom of Roses.
You try to bail on Jade, really, you do! Or well, you try to convince yourself to bail on him.
He’s taking advantage of your naïveté for his amusement, whispers your brain as you agree on a time and place.
Tell him you don’t like sleazy schemers like him, it advises while you thoughtfully pick out your cutest outfit.
Say you got food poisoning and can’t meet him; the thought rattles through your mind on the 1-hour bus ride to the date spot.
Even as you arrive at your destination, your self-preservation endures. Even at the sight of Jade in a casual t-shirt and jeans, checking his phone for messages from you, It’s not too late to turn around!
Unfortunately though, your heart has been a whole lot louder than your mind lately. That fact becomes especially clear when Jade spots you: his eyes gain a twinkle to them as they meet yours, effectively shutting down every blaring alarm in your head.
“Hello, Prefect. You look lovely.”
“Um, thanks,” you respond choppily. “So do you.”
And because you’re in the palm of his hand and he knows it, Jade holds out said palm for you to take. “Shall we?”
It’s your Cinderella moment; of course you take it. If you’re this deep into a bad decision, you might as well go all in and enjoy yourself before the clock strikes twelve.
The date is… really nice.
You make pleasant conversation. About your hobbies, about your summer plans, about the shenanigans of the past school year. You tell him about the summer job you got to earn your keep at Deuce’s, and Jade tells you about the mesocosm he’d made with flora from Sage’s Island. He’s voluble when it comes to his interests, and you’re equally receptive when your guard is down. Together, you’re peak yappers.
“Are you hungry?” Jade asks when you (try to) subtly eye the food stalls.
You chuckle bashfully. “Just a little. It smells really good.”
“Good. I’m quite hungry myself,” he replies. “If you don’t mind finding us a seat, I’ll be back in a moment.”
And so you plop yourself down at a clean table for two, and wait for your date to return. With little else to do, you pull out your phone for the first time since meeting up. The notifications you’re met with—both the nature and the quantity—give you whiplash.
96 missed calls, 114 texts from Deuce, 201 from Ace, 1049 from your first-year group chat and counting. All spread across the past two hours, all with the gist of: ‘ARE YOU STILL ALIVE???’
You simply open your camera app, stick out your tongue and shut your eyes in a play-dead face, and snap a selfie. Into the group chat it goes!
baymax!: Prefect! Hi!
ass: oh tahnk sevens he hasnt killed them yet
doos: Are you in danger????? Do you need help????????
🍎: damn i lowk thought deuce was lying about you going out with jade lmao
You: no deuce i’m chilling dw he’s actually super sweet
got that DAWG in him: You don’t know what he’s thinking. Call us if you feel something’s off
“WAKASAMAAA”: DO NOT let him take you to a secondary location.
You: guys i’m fine lol
[ass started a video call]
You: bruh what do you want
ass: just pick up dude
ass: gotta make sure
When you do pick up, everyone’s already there. “Hiii~” you greet.
Your friends collectively sigh in relief. And then they start drilling you with questions.
“WHY???”
“Did he make you sign an NDA? Or some other life-binding contract?”
“He hasn’t poisoned you or anything, right? Don’t eat anything he gives you!”
“Guys, it’s fine,” you laugh. “He’s getting us food now.”
“Don’t let your guard down! That’s how he’ll get you.”
“Oh Sevens, they’re cooked. He’s stringing them along.”
“You sure have a lot of faith in me, huh?” you sigh. “It’s just one date, guys. We’re not dating.”
“Is that so?” Jade’s voice croons from behind you. You scream. Your friends scream. Jade chuckles, laying out a feast-worthy spread of street food onto the table.
Your stomach drops at the sheer amount of stuff he bought. “Jade—this is so much. How much did this cost?”
“It’s my treat,” he assures you quietly, while your friends yell at you through the screen not to fall into his loan shark trap. “Don’t worry about it.”
“PASS US TO THE EEL,” Ace articulates loudly, but Jade gently takes the phone from your hand himself. “Listen here, Leech,” the redhead threatens. “If you do anything to the Prefect—”
“You’ll be sleeping with the fishes,” Deuce finishes, “and not literally.”
“Of course,” Jade smiles politely, and you groan in pure mortification. “Rest assured that I have no ill intentions with the Prefect. I’ll do nothing against their will.”
“That means nothing! It’s you, so they’re gonna be willing either way!”
“ACE!” you scold, snatching your phone back from Jade. “Appreciate the concern guys, but I’m fine. BYE.” You hang up and bury your face in your hands, quietly screaming. Jade laughs, whether at your friends’ passion or your mortification or both, you’re not 100% sure.
“Your friends care very deeply about you,” he giggles, finally taking the seat across from you.
“Yeah. Um, just ignore everything they said. They’re really spirited,” you plead. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”
“No need to apologize,” Jade reassures you. “I find it very endearing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
A particularly loud growl cuts you off before you can refute him again. From a stomach. Your stomach.
“Please, dig in,” Jade invites, unfazed. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
Despite everything, your embarrassment quickly dissipates as you two work through the buffet, exchanging reviews for each dish as you go. Even when you’ve eaten your fill, Jade is still ravenous. It’s impressive how a cute boy like him can have such a boundless appetite and daintily pat his mouth with a napkin like he didn’t just effortlessly Kirby-inhale three times as much as you did.
It’s annoyingly charming.
Bellies full, you slip back into easy conversation, and before you know it, the sun has nearly fully set. Lingering copper sunlight skips across the rippling surface of the sea, tinting the town with warmth (as if your rose-tinted glasses weren’t enough).
“The last bus back to Clock Town leaves in 40 minutes,” Jade alerts you. “Would you like to check out the rest of the stalls before we part ways?”
“Sure, let’s do that!” You slip your hand into the crook of Jade’s elbow as he offers it, the gentleman. “We still haven’t seen the vendors or the game stalls.”
You browse the pop-up vendors selling magical trinkets, handmade charms, jewellery, all sorts of wares, but nothing catches your eye nor Jade’s. And as you walk through the area of game stalls, you begin to think that you might have the same luck here, too.
Except a gasp from Jade stops you in your tracks. Like you, he’s equally frozen to the spot, but his gaze is trained on one particular game stall: what looks to be… Dance Dance Revolution? Well, to be more specific, it’s not the game that entrances him, but the prize.
It’s a jumbo mushroom plush. Like, you-sized-level jumbo.
“Wanna try?” you ask him.
It takes a moment for Jade to come back to his senses. “Ah, no, no need.” But the stiffness in his posture betrays his reluctance.
“C’mon,” you coax, tapping your fingers on his elbow. “Let’s do it.”
Unfortunately for Jade, his two years of experience with legs never prepared him for the impossible gauntlet that is Dance Dance Revolution. Five seconds into the game, it becomes clear to everyone that Jade’s dream of winning the mushroom is nothing more than that: a mere fantasy.
Well, not if you can help it. The second he steps off the platform, you’re up. Failure is not a possibility, let alone an option.
Your legs move unlike ever before. Even as you’d run for your life from overblot monsters, your legs never had this speed. Even as you were training for your VDC audition, your legs never had this level of coordination and precision. The omnipotent Spirit of Dance Dance Revolution has possessed your body.
And so, naturally, you win the game. The stall owner’s jaw is dropped, the passersby are applauding, and your date stares at you with so much wonder that you chuckle a little.
Jade is so adorably awestruck when you pass the mushroom to him, you almost forget how bad of an idea he is. Well, either way, at the moment, he’s perfectly harmless with both his arms wrapped around the giant stuffed stalk.
“Thank you,” he whispers, more tenderly than you’d ever thought possible for him.
“It’s my pleasure. You’re the one who bought me an all-you-can-eat buffet earlier, anyways.”
“Fufufu, I’d told you it was my treat,” he hums. “There was no need to repay me.”
“It’s alright, I’d rather not leave with debt anyways.” You do, after all, know that being indebted to the trio from Octavinelle is bad news, regardless of how sweet Jade seems. “Speaking of, my bus leaves in 10 minutes, so I should probably get going.”
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop, then.”
And so, as your bus approaches in the distance, your Cinderella moment comes to a close. Both of you got this date out of your systems, so now Jade’ll find you boring and leave you alone, and now you can die knowing what it’s like to go on a date with Jade Leech. All’s well that ends well, right?
Except, you find yourself thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad to miss your bus if it meant spending a little more time with Jade. The next bus comes at 6 in the morning; you know that would be a seriously bad idea. But you also think that if Jade asked you to, you’d still do it.
So in a last-ditch attempt to save your soul, you ask again, “Can you reject me now?”
He laughs. “No.”
“Hm. Worth a shot.”
“Instead, actually…” Jade starts, his hold tightening around the mushroom, “would you be interested in doing this again sometime?”
An unfinished draft of Souta x reader one-shot inspired by clemeientene's story 'EYE CONTACT'
I'll leave it here because it's most likely I wouldn't be able to finish this since I lost the source material (and forgot to save it).
The scent of fresh humid air still lingered the air outside, accompanied by shallow pools of water scattered across the street's pavement. Tiny droplets falling from the sky, crashing against any hard surface it lands on. The sound that resulted from the impact created the perfect background noise for a lazy sunday. The serene scene ahead of you contrasted with the one a few hours before. Winds so strong you could've sworn you saw someone's car flying away. Water going down so hard it was practically raining rocks, not pebbles, rocks. Added by the fact that it appeared so suddenly, without any warning made you internally curse the clouds. With how the rain came so unexpectedly, it was an absolute miracle that you and your boyfriend made it home partially wet from the utter chaos happening outdoors.
Of course, even if some parts of you were dry, it never hurt to take a shower. You settled down the soaked bags of groceries, before going inside your room to grab something to dry and replace both of your clothes with. Because of you favoring garments sizes too big, it was safe to say that it wasn't difficult to find the perfect attire for the two of you. Handing out a towel, you urged him to shower before following suit. Time after that was a bit of a blur, but you knew one thing; the storm outside didn't stop. And judging from its intensity, it wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. So you asked Souta if it was alright for him to stay the night, especially since your dad and his girlfriend were gone for the week. Plus, your stepbrother wouldn't be returning until tomorrow from whatever business he had to attend to. Leaving you and Souta alone for the night. He wasn't really bothered by it, he said. Then suddenly, he asked if you were comfortable instead. To which, you answered with an obvious yes.
Making dinner with Souta was nothing but domestic that it made you a bit giddy now that you thought about it. From setting the plate, to assisting in cooking the food—that task was left to Souta since you weren't so confident in your ability to cook without burning some parts of both the food and kitchen. After dinner, you and your boyfriend did the dishes together. Midway, you had the great idea to blow some bubbles using dishwashing liquid. Then your boyfriend joined in, indulging into your childish whims. A few moments passed before the dishes were forgotten in favor for the war that you created. Giggling while covered in small mountains of soap, you threw another handful towards Souta—who was, fortunately, in the same messy state as you were—dodged, again. Deciding to stop, you two formed a temporary truce.
With nothing else to do, you found laying on the couch snuggling up to your boyfriend as a large fluffy blanket engulfs the both of you.
Rejecting Ratio on the basis of not being smart enough — specifically "you deserve someone who can hold intelligent conversations with you" — would result in a deep frown on his face and a hand hovering centimetres from your cheek. His eyes search yours and it's clear that he's unhappy with your words. He'd accept a normal rejection but this foolish excuse? He cannot allow it. Ratio will ask if you doubt his conviction and unless you make an argument he cannot dispute, he won't let this go.
the d in divorce stands for 'despite everything, it's still you.'
sypnosis. [ 11.7k words ] lawyer!mydei x math!professor!reader. divorced parents + daughter au. — endless nights of waiting for him to change pushes you to the edge and file for divorce. almost six years after the divorce was finalized, mydei asks to see you without your daughter.
usagi's note: header credit here! PLEASEEE I KNOW I SAID 8K BUT IM A LIAR OKAY, ITS NEVER WITHIN 8K WORDS OMFG, BUT TRUST I COOKED WITH THIS ONE. ive been watching too many cdramas like a facebook mom omfg. i didn't give melina (your daughter, whose name means honey btw) any physical traits so u guys can rlly envision what she looks like as YOUR daughter! (personally i see melina like mel from arcane or like annabeth from pjo bcs i can't see myself having kids, but thats just me LOL). enjoy mydei lvrs!
“Melina, be good, okay? See you next week, honey.”
You hug your daughter tight and she nods against your clavicle as you look up for a second at the man in front of the doorway. The girl in your embrace pulls away and you give her a kiss on the crown of her head, then she walks to her father’s car.
You give Mydei the luggage you packed with Mel the day before, reminding him of her events during the week.
“Mel signed herself up for an archery class this Wednesday, I’ll send you the address later, but if you can’t drive her there, I can.”
The man shakes his head, “No, I can take her, I’ll make time.”
You pause and nod stiffly at that. Neither of you say anything.
Then a long beep comes from the car, followed by muffled complaints.
“Yeah, I’ll drop her off next week.”
“Yep.”
And that was it.
Five years. It’s been five years since the divorce finalized. Seven since you brought the papers up—but five years since this arrangement has been going on.
Melina was ten years old at the time, barely coherent enough to understand the weight of the effects of the decision you both had made. Your mother kept saying she was too young to understand, and you knew that. Really, you did.
But this was a situation where you could put yourself first without taking her childhood away from her or his fatherhood from him.
So here we are, five years of weekly dropoffs and pickups with your ex-husband, Mydei.
Was it ideal? Definitely not.
Was it necessary? Maybe.
Did you miss him? Next question.
…
It doesn’t take long for your daughter to update you.
Honey
Hi mommmm
We r getting ice cream
Dad is rewarding me for acing my test !!
You
That’s good, honey.
Make sure to drink water after, okay?
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
…
You
Make sure she drinks water.
Mydei
Wouldn’t forget it.
[ thumbs up ] reacted by You
…
The rest of the week goes on just like that. Mel would update you, Mydei would clarify some things for her schedule, you and your daughter would call when she gets stuck in one of her advanced mathematic questions—she’d fall asleep on call saying she’s only ‘resting’ and you’d chuckle when you hear her snore after a while.
You decide to message your ex-husband after a while of just admiring your daughter, your heart blooming for fondness as you gaze at her through the screen.
How could one foster such longing for a daughter so loved?
You sigh and type out the message.
You
Mydei, can you carry Mel to her bed?
She’s gonna get a crick in her neck when she wakes up.
Mydei
She fell asleep at her desk again?
You
Yep.
Mydei
I’m coming up now.
…
It doesn’t take long for the doorknob to twist and open. You hear him sigh in amusement through the phone as he picks her up carefully and tucks her in bed.
You stay quiet through all of it and just… watch.
Mydei does, too. After tucking her in properly, he pauses—looking content.
It’s normal, you suppose. With her studying as hard as she can for her upcoming entrance exams—she’s 17 now. Almost an adult, and growing ever so fast. Neither you nor Mydei have the time to know everything she did like when she was a child.
He must not see her asleep often—being busy with cases and paperwork. Only having time to pick her up from school, cook dinner, and go back to working on the documents.
But he’s changed.
He isn’t the same as before.
And it does little to soothe the pinpricks of your heart bleeding out through your chest.
Mydei sucks in a breath through the phone and when your eyes flit back to your phone, you find that he’s already looking at you.
“You miss her already?” He asks in a hushed voice.
You swallow—trying to make sure your voice won’t croak, “Yeah.” Your eyes turn to Mel who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind him, “Yeah, I do.”
That makes your ex-husband sigh softly, “It’s only Friday, two more days and she’s yours again.”
“I know,” you murmur, scrolling idly at your laptop—browsing through your students’ essay submissions.
You say nothing for a while and neither does Mydei as he starts to tidy up the papers, books, and pens on Melina’s desk.
You don’t know the right word for it.
You don’t know how to describe the feeling of it.
Domestic, maybe—but how is being on call from your daughter’s phone with your divorced ex-husband considered domestic? You don’t know. Maybe it’s just the familiarity of it all.
Maybe you’re just tired.
“Hey, Mydei, I’m going to end the call now, I have a few calls to make and a dozen papers to grade,” you tell him to catch his attention and you see him raise an eyebrow through the screen.
“This late at night?”
You swallow hard, caught in the lie, “Y-yeah… you know how it is with Cas and Aglaea, I need to consult a few things from the kids’ submissions.”
You pray to Nikador he believes your bullshit and doesn’t push.
He won’t.
He never does, but with how his brows are furrowed together—you know he doesn’t buy it at all.
Still, he relents, “Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The moment the call drops, you deflate into the ergonomic chair he bought—a matching set you and Mel have. You press your palms into your eyes.
God, five years in, and everything is still about him.
You don’t know how to feel anymore.
Ever since the divorce finalized, nothing felt right anymore. Mydei was respectful. Always have been. You never divorced because of any abuse, but because you felt… Well it doesn’t matter how you felt.
In the end, no matter how many times you’d try to talk to him, to think of a solution, to attend countless couple’s therapy sessions. It didn’t matter, none of it did. Because at the end of the day, he still didn’t have time for you nor Melina.
It was always case after case after case. His work always came first.
You had tried to understand at first, after all you were both chasing promotions at the time. You with your professor’s thesis, and Mydei with his heavy cases. You told yourself it was just a busy week.
Until a week became a month, a month became a season, and before you knew it, your daughter turns nine without her father by her side and he’s only been there for about half her life.
He’d come home, folders stacked under his arm, apologies spewing from his mouth as he tells you, ‘it’s the last time, I promise’.
The last time he forgets to attend a parent-teacher conference.
The last time he comes home late to a dinner long-gone cold.
The last time he puts work first.
It never happened.
And when one day, you give him the divorce papers, he doesn’t even ask why. Doesn’t even try to reason. He doesn’t fight you for it. Just stares at the papers you’d given him for a whole minute before moving to get a pen and signs his name on all of them.
That was it.
Eleven years of marriage, a daughter that’s ten years old, signed away in a minute, not even being fought for one.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most about it all.
Mydei’s a lawyer.
He fights for his client at the court almost every day.
He’s a fucking lawyer and yet he didn’t even fight you for the divorce papers.
Just looked like he’d long known about it. He just… accepted it. And signed away without a second thought, not even looking at you, just downing his black coffee and left.
It took you four hours to even move from your spot and even then your legs shook so much that you had to call your brother—Phainon—to take Melina to school and preferably for the rest of the afternoon.
…
The next two years following that were even harder.
Not only did you have to face him multiple times at court just to prove that you both really did want this divorce—you had to face multiple counselling sessions, the worried stares of all your friends and family, and juggle your job to prove that you can have custody and take care of your daughter.
But you were also faced with the daunting task of trying to explain divorce to a ten year-old child.
You let her ask whatever she wants—making sure you hold her in your arms or some part of her as she does. You try to answer as best as you can, Mydei answering some questions she asks him, too.
You just didn’t know her next question would make both your hearts stop.
“Does Daddy still love us, Mommy?”
Oh, how you wanted to know that, too.
“I’m sure he does,” you try to reassure her, trying not to look at the man behind her, and holding her hands, “It’s just… Daddy and Mommy need to… need to have a break from each other, okay?”
“Forever?”
You try to blink back tears, “Yes, honey. It’s… It’s kind of complicated.”
“But why?”
“Because… because Daddy and Mommy have different goals in life right now…”
Mel is quiet for a while—fidgeting with her toys on the floor as you rub your thumb on her knee in a circle, trying to reassure her in the subtlest way possible just so you couldn’t disturb her train of thought.
“Are…” her voice breaks—and you think a piece of your heart does, too.
“Are we still going to be a family?”
You swallow down your own tears and hold Mel as tight as you could.
“Yes, sweetheart,” your words catch on the hitch of your breath, “always, baby, we’ll always be a family.”
And she sobs. Melina sobs for the first time since she started asking questions and the way she does lets you know that she was trying so hard to be brave and mature about the whole thing.
You truly did not think your heart could break any further.
Until she calls out daddy in such a broken voice that you do all you could, shut your eyes and sigh quietly—just so you don’t break down, too.
Mydei comes up and embraces the two of you tightly, a pained inhale comes from him as Mel switches her position and buries her face in his neck instead. He tightens his grip around the both of you.
You think of it as him apologizing—maybe trying to offer some comfort for your daughter.
You tuck the thought that maybe this was as close to an apology that you were going to get from him to the very back of your head.
…
After the lawyer and social worker talked to Melina, the divorce agreement was drafted with a few new additions from your daughter.
Both parents must remain in continuous contact.
Custody exchange is scheduled weekly.
All of Melina’s events are to be attended by both parents.
You sign the papers without hesitation.
You’d give anything for Melina to be happy.
…
It was hard at first.
Melina didn’t want to adhere to the custody schedule during the first few months. She’d cry, she’d scream, flail around, saying she didn’t want to leave your house when Mydei came to pick her up, or that she didn’t want to leave his when you did, or when he had to drop her off. Instead, she kept asking ‘why?’
“Why can’t we just live in one house anymore?”
“Why can’t Daddy live with us again?”
“Why can’t Mommy just come over?”
It was… a lot.
Every time Mydei had to come in front of your doorstep, holding your sobbing daughter in his arms, he’d look so… mournful. Tired, even.
There are times he’d call you over at night—telling you that Mel refused to go to sleep without you beside her. You’d come over, only to leave a while after she falls asleep. He’d offer to drive you back and you would refuse, and he’ll leave it at that.
But eventually, it got better.
Mel got used to the weekly switches, you’d attend every event she had with her father, and just like your daughter’s terms in the agreement, you stayed in contact with Mydei.
He’d send updates about her, or even tell you when he’ll be picking her up and dropping her off.
Mydei changed.
He’s early to all Mel’s events—on time for pick-up and drop-off, has all her stuff accounted for, takes her for ice-cream or any sweet treat she loves every time she achieves a goal she’s set. It’s something she’s gotten from him, must be a genealogical trait or something.
The most surprising thing is—Mel tells you that he’s picked up cooking again.
It was something he stopped doing when she was around six and had gotten busy with work. It surprised you to learn that he picked it up again.
He’d cook their dinners and even send her some to take home. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him his cooking.
And sometimes—quietly, unwillingly—you wonder if this version of him had always been there.
And you hate that a part of you keeps circling back to the same thought—that maybe it was easier for him to become this man when it was just him and Mel.
That maybe you were the variable that made everything harder.
The thing that didn’t quite fit.
If maybe… it just never showed up when you were still part of the equation.
You try not to think too much about what that might mean.
No.
You shake the thought off before it can settle.
You didn’t walk away for nothing. You didn’t leave because you were the problem—you left because the relationship was. Because love, on its own, hadn’t been enough to make it work.
And maybe things are easier now. Maybe he’s better now.
But that doesn’t rewrite what the two of you were.
If he can show up for Mel the way she deserves, then that’s all that matters.
That’s enough for you.
…
Months pass in a way they hadn’t before—steadier. Not exactly easier, but… manageable.
You fall into routines you didn’t think you’d ever get used to—Work. Home. Mel. The empty spaces in between.
Therapy becomes one of them.
At first, it feels strange—sitting in a room and saying things out loud that you’d spent years swallowing down. But eventually, the words come easier. You learn how to sit with the silence after them. Learn how to name things for what they are, instead of what you wished they could’ve been.
Some days are heavier than others.
But you get through them.
Mel does, too—though in her own way.
She throws herself into archery with a kind of focus that reminds you a little too much of Mydei, shoulders squared and eyes sharp with determination. What starts as a hobby turns into something she actively pursues, something she talks about over dinner with bright, animated gestures.
Somewhere along the way, she picks up taekwondo, too—for fun, she insists, even as she drags you along to watch practices and shows off new moves in the living room.
She’s… happy.
And that makes everything else easier to bear.
Things with Mydei settle into something else entirely.
Not what you had before—never that—but something functional. Something steady.
You talk when you need to. About schedules, about Mel, about the little things that come with raising her between two homes. The sharp edges between you two dull over time, worn down by distance and routine.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, you stop hoping.
Stop waiting for something that isn’t coming back.
You learn how to speak to him again without it meaning more than it should.
It’s… normal.
Or at least, close enough.
…
You’re in a lecture room when Mydei texts you on a random day during your turn of the custody exchange.
Mydei
I have to drop Mel off for a few hours.
Your brows furrow at the message, Mydei was supposed to pick her up from archery and spend a few hours with her today since he had a less busy week than you did. Neither of you wanted her to be alone as finals week loomed around the corner.
Immediately, you text back—worried something had occurred.
You
What happened?
Mydei
Nothing concerning her, don’t worry.
Just some stuff at the office came up.
It’s quite a gruesome scene of documents and images and I’d just rather she not see that
You
Alright, no problem.
She can hang out in my office or here in the lecture with my TA.
Mydei
You’re teaching right now?
I can have Phainon take her if you’re too busy.
You
No, it’s okay.
It’ll be easier for us when we go home, too.
Mydei
Alright.
We’ll be there in 10.
15, if she wants to get food.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
“Can anyone tell me what the derivative of this is?” you ask as you finish writing on the whiteboard.
Coincidentally, the bell rings at that moment and you laugh at your students who breathe a sigh of relief.
“Alright class, hahaha, let’s circle back to this next week, reminders that your final projects are due next month—so please make progress on it. Your weekly exam is already posted online and will be due this Sunday. We will not be having a final exam so do well on your project outputs. See you all next week.”
While your students trickle out the door, a familiar face pokes her head in the door.
“Hi, Mom!” she greets and runs through the door, tackling you in a hug.
“Hello, sweetheart,” you press a kiss into her hair, looking up to see Mydei walking in.
“I’m really sorry to drop her off like this,” he tells you, running a hand through his bangs, his low ponytail in a bit of a frazzled state. It was obvious the case in his hands had gotten him shaken up. Yet, Mydei seemed composed if anything.
You wave him off, letting your daughter go so she could set up her books and iPad beside your Teaching Assistant—Polites.
“It’s no problem, besides, I’ll be going home after this next class. It’d save us both the trouble.”
He nods and fishes out his phone from his pocket, answering a message before it rings.
“Ah, I gotta go, I’ll see her for pickup next week. Bye, sweetheart!” He calls out to her before he rushes to take the call outside.
…
It’s only when you’re in the car and on the way home that your daughter tells you a very interesting and mildly concerning piece of information—interesting for you, and you being mildly concerned for Mel’s reaction to it.
“A client came over to Dad earlier.”
“Mh?” You answer absentmindedly, focused on switching lanes to not miss your exit.
“She was all up in his personal space, Mom, I swear, even I was uncomfortable watching them, and Dad wasn’t making that face he always makes when he wants to strangle Uncle Phai and he has to be polite because we’re in a public place. No, Mom, he was polite and smiling.”
Your attention splits and your brows furrow. That wasn’t like Mydei at all. He’d usually have no problem telling someone to respect his personal space—even if it was a client.
“Maybe he was just trying to be respectful, honey,” You reasoned with her as you took a right turn, turning off the blinker after you did.
Mel shakes her head at you, her hair and braid shaking as she did so, “Mom, that’s not even what I wanted to tell you—that’s just the context.”
You raise your eyebrow at her dramatic storytelling tendencies, “Go on…?”
“Mom, Dad turned her advances down and told her he was married.”
You let out a chuckle at that, you’d long given up on making it work with Mydei. You’d hoped that years after the divorce, he’d snap out of it and get his life together and win you and Mel back, but that was too far-fetched of a fantasy even for you.
“It’s just an excuse, sweetheart. I know what you’re trying to imply and your father definitely does not see me that way anymore.”
She sighed dramatically, “But Mom! I swear, if you were there you would’ve seen the look in his eyes.”
You actually snort at that, “You little missy, have been reading too many romance books. I gotta tell your Dad to limit your spending at Jayce and Viktor’s (this fic’s version of Barnes and Noble lol).”
“W-huh? Mom, you wouldn’t!”
You just laughed at your daughter.
…
Later that night you texted Mydei, making good on your promise to ask him to limit her budget on romance books. You fear your daughter might get too swept up in book romance and forget that real-life guys should be straightforward—none of that ‘playing hard-to-get’ game they try to play. Girls should be the one doing that, not the men.
You
Mel told me something today.
Within seconds, the typing bubble already appeared.
Mydei
I already told her not to tell you and it was an excuse, I swear.
Ah.
You
Yeah, I figured. No worries.
She’s been reading too many novels, I think…
Mydei
Oh.
It stays silent for a few moments.
Mydei
Got it. I’ll lessen our trips to JnV’s.
I’ll probably take her somewhere else that doesn’t involve romance books, huh?
What do you think she’d enjoy other than the sports center?
You
Please don’t bring her to the sports center anymore.
I will actually be sighing constantly if she picks up another sport.
I’m worried she’ll injure herself again.
Mydei
My thoughts exactly.
I was thinking of maybe bringing her to a farm or something.
Let her run around a field.
You
I’m raising an eyebrow at you right now.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
Do you think our daughter is a dog? TT
Mydei
Hey, it’s what my Mom did to me as a kid to burn off all my stress and energy.
You
Mydei, please do not.
Mydei
Got any ideas?
You think about it for a little while, then you get a few.
You
You could teach her how to bake?
Or to cook, as long as you don’t leave her long enough to burn the kitchen down…
Mydei
That’s actually helpful.
I’ll do that, thank you.
You
Make sure she won’t burn your house or herself down.
Mydei
Copy that.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
It’s a few weeks after that talk—during Mydei’s turn of the custody exchange—that Mel updates you with a video. You take a break from grading the final projects and watch.
“Okay, okay, wait, Dad, don’t start yet!”
The camera shakes as she fumbles with the phone, propping it up against what you later find out is a jar of flour, “I need to film this. Mom’s soooo gonna be proud of me when she sees how good these turn out.”
It turns out, Mydei actually did try to teach her how to bake to spend more time with her and give her something to do to burn off her energy—while increasing her dopamine when she accomplishes something.
You hear him huff from beside her as he comes into the frame—tying an apron around his waist, “If yours turn out bad, do not blame me,” He jokes.
“Excuse me?” she gasps dramatically, “I am the creative director here.”
“You’re the one who almost set the toaster on fire last month.”
“That was one time!”
He snorts, but there’s a softness in it now. An ease that wasn’t there years ago.
“Hands washed?” he asks.
Mel rolls her eyes but holds them up anyway, “Yes, Dad.”
“Properly?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Show me.”
“Okay, now you’re just being annoying—”
“Melina.”
She groans but trudges to the sink again.
And later—when the kitchen smells like sugar and something slightly overbaked, when flour dusts the counter and her cheek, when she laughs at how lopsided their cupcakes look—She sends you a picture.
Honey
[image]
we cooked !!!
well… baked LOLL
they lowk look ugly but taste good I PROMISE
ILL BRING SOME HOMEE
And then a few minutes later, to which you assume the pause is because she started snacking, she sends another message.
Honey
Dad said I didnt even burn anything im so proud of myself !!!!
You stare at the photo longer than you should.
At the messy kitchen island, flour everywhere, metal and glass bowls still sitting on the counter, countless utensils in the sink, and the fridge left ajar.
At the uneven frosting on the cupcakes, some dripping on the island, some out of the cupcake liners.
At him, behind her—slightly out of focus, but there. Smiling.
You don’t realize you’re smiling too until your cheeks hurt.
…
Towards the end of the year, your students mention their siblings are applying for colleges now and that they would love to let them have you as a professor. The compliment makes you think about Mel and where she’d be applying for college in the summer.
You hadn’t really had the chance to talk with her about it. With her getting busier with her sports and extracurriculars and with you trying to improve your syllabus for the next term, you and Mel only spend time at home and when she needs help with her homework.
For a lack of information, you decide to text Mydei if he knows anything about it since Mel is in his custody this week.
You
Has Mel told you where she’s applying yet?
Mydei
No. Has she told you?
You
Nope.
Mydei
We should be concerned.
You
We are concerned.
I just don’t know if she’ll apply to Okhema U or maybe GoE.
Mydei
I’ll ask her tonight.
Maybe she’ll apply to Gibranipar U, like we did?
You
It’s Garbaniphoro now, don't forget.
Also..
Don’t interrogate her.
Mydei
I don’t interrogate?
You
You’re literally a lawyer.
Mydei
Unfair.
[ haha ] reacted by You
…
The day Mel’s supposed to switch back to yours, Mydei is called into a meeting into the office. Something about a client requesting him, specifically. When he explains this to Mel, she grimaces in discomfort.
Mydei picks up on this—but not for the reason he thinks it’s for.
“Sorry, honey. It’ll be quick, I promise,” he reassures her, “I’ll go over some parts of the contract with her, then we can get a sweet treat at The Orchard before we go drop you off to your Mom’s, okay? How does that sound?”
The girl all but shrugs, fixating on the fact that her Dad said ‘her’ and feeling queasy.
Mydei ruffles her hair, “Alright, go pack up your stuff, we’ll leave in an hour.”
…
Melina sits on a desk in view of Mydei’s office—he put her there so he could see her at all times, and she could see him—earbuds in, pretending to study and do her homework, but she’s watching her Dad and his female client.
The woman across his desk leans in too close, laughs too easily, touches his arm like it’s nothing, and it makes Mel narrow her eyes.
That’s definitely not how clients should act.
And the worst part of it all, is her Dad doesn’t react the way she expects. He doesn’t lean away dramatically, doesn’t snap—He just… shifts slightly and doesn’t do anything about it.
It… unnerves her. Like watching them feels… wrong. It shouldn’t be—they’re technically not doing anything bad, but her mind does nothing to dissuade the uneasiness in her guts—like the feeling that she ate something that didn’t sit right with her digestive system. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with her.
Then she hears the woman giggle through the glass.
“What is so funny that she has to laugh so loud and high-pitched?” she whispers to herself as she turns her attention back to her AP Geography homework.
And then she hears her Dad speak.
“Let’s keep this discussion relevant to your case,” he says evenly.
The woman speaks like she has a pout in her voice, “You’re no fun.”
“I’m not here to be.”
Mel fights the urge to snort.
It does little to lift the uneasiness in her stomach, but she’s glad her Dad is being professional about it.
…
Later, in the car, she squints at him.
“You know she was flirting with you, right?” she tells him, looking directly at him as he fumbles with the seatbelt and looks for his parking ID.
He gives her not much emotion about it, not even a raised eyebrow like he always does, “I’m aware. Put your seatbelt on.”
Mel huffs, quickly pulling her seatbelt on and facing him again, “And?”
“And nothing.”
She looks at him in disbelief, and tilts her head, “Dad.”
He sighs, knowing she won’t let this go until he answers all of her questions and complaints, “Mel.”
She crosses her arms and it reminds him of you.
“You didn’t even look annoyed!” Mel starts to gesture wildly with her hands now.
“I was working,” He stresses and puts both hands on the wheel.
She studies him for a minute. In silence.
Then she deflates and looks out her side of the window—arms still crossed, not even looking at him anymore.
Mydei doesn’t know what to tell her—how to reassure her that it really isn’t like that. The client is just a client, and that…
That he…
…
He still loves you.
But before he can even articulate any of his thoughts properly and move his mouth to speak, he hears her sniffle.
Then mutters—“Mom would’ve done something instead of just letting it happen.”
He stills, just for a second.
It sinks into him, then.
He did let it happen.
Mydei starts the engine.
…
It’s a very quiet ride home.
When Mydei asks Mel what she wants from The Orchard, she shrugs and tells him to get whatever he feels like. Eyes not meeting his and instead focused on her phone—texting who he saw was Phainon.
He sighs and tells her he’ll get her a strawberry cream cheese danish. If she has any indication that that’s what she wanted, she never gives it, and Mydei is left to order something for Mel, him, and you when he gets to your house.
He picks up a treat for Phainon, too, when he realizes Mel might’ve asked him to come over.
Mydei is no stranger to this. He’s dealt with Mel’s stubborness—something she got from both of you, and anger more times than he can count. And the best solution? Wait for her to be okay enough to talk about it.
He knows she’ll talk to him about it when she’s ready.
It’s something you’ve both taught her from a young age. She just needs to feel it out and gather her thoughts together before she tries to confront the problem she has.
If her eating the danish on the way to your house was any clue, he’d say he and Mel are doing just fine.
…
Phainon lets you know through text that he’s coming over as per the request of his favorite niece through text.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I’m coming over.
You
???
Why??
Not that you’re not welcome…
It’s just so completely random.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
My favorite niece has told me she requests my presence.
You
…
Phainon, she's your only niece.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
I know.
Obviously, she’s gonna be my favorite.
Duh.
You
(eyeroll emoji) Whatever, get me a drink while you’re out.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
(eyeroll emoji) Fineee.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
…
To your surprise, he gets there earlier than Mydei and Mel get home, which really confuses you since he lives 25 minutes away, and he was able to get you the drink you wanted.
“Do you know why she’s asking for you?” You poke at him as you lounge on the couch behind him, sipping your drink as he flips through the TV channels with the remote.
“See, I would tell you, but that would render me a traitor to the Cool Uncle Club.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re sooo corny.”
Phainon flashes you a smile, “You can’t trick me with that anymore. You may be my little sister, but my cool status comes first.”
Finally, he settles on a channel that’s showing Andrew Garfield’s The Amazing Spiderman, and you both get quiet.
Then you lean against him a little more, your head resting against his shoulder.
“Hey, Phai?”
“Mh?”
“Thanks for always being there for Mel,” you murmur, “and for me.”
Your brother huffs out an amused smile, “Always.”
Just then you hear the honk of Mydei’s car—a signal you both gave out to let the other know you were there. You stood from the couch to open the door only to see your daughter already approaching.
“Hi, Honey. I missed you,” you say as she buries herself in your embrace.
“I missed you, too, Mom. Is Uncle Phai here already?” she pulls away, asking.
You jerk your head softly towards the living room, “He’s in there, what happened, you okay?”
She nods absentmindedly, “Yeah, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
Mel then pivots to greet her Uncle and gives him a hug, “I’ll be down in a minute, let me just change my clothes.”
You exchange a look with Phainon as he shrugs, not knowing why she’s in such a rush to get out of the house. It’s at that moment that Mydei’s trunk slams shut and he appears in the doorway holding Melina’s luggage.
Quietly, he hands over her stuff and a paperbag from The Orchard.
You thank him and go to put it away in the kitchen before you ask, “Did… anything happen?”
Mydei stays quiet for a moment—like he’s debating whether or not to tell you, his hands fidgeting with the bracelet on his left arm, a nervous habit he never got rid of.
“Mydei?” you ask again.
Yet, before he can even answer, your daughter comes down the stairs and straight to Phainon.
“C’mon, Uncle Phai,” she tugs him up by her arm and your brother easily relents, telling her to slow down, there’s no rush.
Your eyes flit towards her father and you can obviously see it in his eyes that something happened. You watch as he chews on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to say something but is holding back from doing so.
“Aren’t you even going to say bye to your dad?” Phainon asks, making Melina stop in her tracks, three steps away from Mydei.
The air is charged with something you can’t quite name.
Then slowly, lacking enthusiasm, Mel hugs him and you hear a muffled, “Bye, Dad, see you next week.”
Mydei’s arms curl around her almost instantly, one hand petting the crown of her head, “See you next week, sweetheart…”
And that was it.
Phai then leaves with her dragging him out of the house—telling you he’ll bring her home before nine because it’s a weekend after all, with her hollering a different tone of goodbye to you, telling you she and Phai will be safe.
Leaving you and Mydei standing inside the house.
…
Mel doesn’t talk to her uncle at first. They walked around aimlessly to the park at first—Phainon asked her if she wanted him to drive them somewhere but she shook her head, asking if they could walk around instead.
Your brother was all too reminded of the way you’d walk around with him when you were young to refuse.
At the 30-minute mark, he suggested they get ice cream like they always do—her’s pomegranate-flavored and his would be caramel and vanilla, and she only nodded, still not talking.
When they got the cold treats, he dragged her over to sit on a bench by the riverside, and just… waited. Phainon watched her quietly as she pokes at her ice cream instead of eating it.
“That bad?” he finally asks.
Mel shrugs.
“You usually finish that before I even sit down.”
She sighs, pushing the pink cream around, “Not hungry.”
He leans back on the bench, “I thought we already established years ago that you can’t lie to me? Try again.”
She sighs.
“They’re… fine,” she starts, “Mom and Dad.”
“That’s not what I asked, Meli.”
The girl presses her lips together.
“They’re good parents,” she insists, “like—really good. They show up, they talk, they don’t fight… They’re following my rules in the divorce, everything’s in place, everything’s good and steady…”
She trails off and Phainon waits.
“But it’s just…” she mutters, staring at her melting ice cream, “It just feels… wrong.”
His voice softens, “Wrong how?”
She swallows.
“Like… it’s almost right. But not really. Like when you make eggs a little too runny and you’re thinking, no—it’s okay, it’s been cooked under a fire, but you get the feeling that you might get salmonella. You know? Like, it’s supposed to be right, but it feels so… off.”
A pause.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
Phainon sighs. He knew this day would come eventually, when the divorce would actually affect her in a way that she can fathom—not as a kid who only thought being a family was enough.
“Uncle Phainon?”
“Yeah?”
She sets her ice cream cup down on the bench and curls her fists in her lap, “Can you… Can you not tell Mom or Dad about this?”
Then she looks up at him, eyes teary and red—like she’s been holding them back. Looking the same way you did when you told him that you were divorcing Mydei and asking him if it was the right decision.
Phainon had always been weak towards you.
And with how Mel definitely inherited your crying face? He was weak towards her, too.
So he relents.
“Of course, kiddo.”
…
Back at your house, Mydei purses his lips and you just observe. When it starts to look like he’s going to turn and leave, you stop him.
“Still drink pomegranate juice?”
His gaze snaps to you, “What?”
“Pomegranate juice,” you repeat, “Melina got her preference for it from you, I guess—she’s always keeping a carton of it in the fridge. Do you want some while we talk about whatever that was?”
Mydei nods, low ponytail bobbing a bit as he does so.
“Take a seat.”
…
When you finally settle on the couch, you take a bite of the pastry he bought from The Orchard, “Okay, spill, what happened?”
And he does, Mydei talks so much, you think it’s the first time he’s talked to you face-to-face this long since you served him divorce papers. It baffles you, if you were being honest.
He lays out every detail from start to finish—leaving out the part where he can’t say that he still loves you. And when he ends, he deflates into the couch.
You sigh as you ponder over the information he just gave you and shake your head softly as you come to a realization.
“She’s scared you’ll find someone else, start a new family, and lose time for her.”
Mydei snaps back up, “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, I would never lose time for her, not again.”
Not again, the words echo in your mind.
You shrug, “That’s how she sees it.”
“It’s not like that!”
You put your hands up in the air in mock-surrender, “Hey, I know that because you told me just now. But you haven’t told her.”
Mydei sighs again, deeply this time.
You know exactly what he wants. Advice. A solution. A way to make your daughter understand that you were still going to be a family no matter what—even if her father might find someone else. You knew he wanted to know how exactly he would tell her that.
You murmur his name softly from across the couch and he responds with a tired, defeated “Mh?”
“Talk to her,” you urge, “maybe not now, since I’m sure Phai is taking her out of her bad mood and if you talk to her now, you’d probably just undo everything he did.”
He keeps quiet.
“She’s just a kid, Mydei. She’s just scared, you didn’t fuck up your relationship with her. You two will be fine as always.”
He exhales.
“I know.”
“You two will be fine.”
…
The following weeks were strangely quiet in a way that unsettled you more than any outburst ever could. Melina would come home from her father’s place with that same faraway look she used to have when the custody exchanges had just begun—back when she didn’t understand why she had to leave one home for another—only now, there were no tears, no protests, just a tightness in her smile and a heaviness in her silences.
It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but you were.
You always were.
You considered asking Mydei if he’d said something to her, if anything had happened, but something told you he was just as in the dark as you were.
So you tried asking her instead, but she only waved you off with a tired laugh, insisting it was just stress from college applications, nothing more, nothing to worry about. And you wanted to believe her. You really did.
But something was bugging you, so you texted Mydei again.
You
Hey.
Mel wants us to be at the Foundation Fair for her school.
The family day thing, just like last year.
Mydei
Hey, yeah.
I saw it on the school forum.
I’ll be there.
You
Also…
Have you noticed Mel’s been… off lately?
Mydei
Yeah.
She’s been quieter.
You
She said it’s just application stress.
Mydei
Do you believe her?
You stare at the message longer than you should.
You
I don’t know.
No message comes through for a moment.
Then the typing bubbles come up again, and—
Mydei
We’ll keep an eye on her.
There’s a pause.
Mydei
We’ve got her.
And for some reason, that steadies you more than it should.
…
It’s noisy at the Foundation Day’s Fair. Kids ran around everywhere, balloons of different colors strapped to their wrists. The student band playing had really cool live music.
You and Mydei arrived together, he picked you up from your office when Mel texted him that there was limited parking and it would be better if he picked you up to save time trying to find a space to park in.
She let you know through text as well that her Dad was coming to pick you up. Which to be completely honest, saved you the time of going home and parking your car then hailing a ride to her school.
The moment you got there, Mel was already waiting for both of you at the entrance, dragging you off to… well, everywhere. She rode on scary rides and insisted that you both ride with her. She asked Mydei to buy her cotton candy, win her prizes, and all the sort.
It made you smile, seeing how happy she was just to run around the fair with the two of you. Her weird attitude towards her Dad disappeared, and it was just like before. Like you were a family. It brought a warmth to your chest as you can only sigh in content as she enjoyed the day with you both.
Then she got hungry.
“Dad, please, I wanna eat nachos, please, please, please, please,” she repeated over and over, tugging at her father’s arm as his other carried all the prizes he won for her that afternoon while her other hand was looped around yours.
“You will eat real, actual food, Meli,” he replied.
“And then nachos?”
Mydei sighs in defeat, “Yes, and then nachos.”
The girl can only squeal in triumph.
When you got to the food caravans, you both told her to go find a seat somewhere for the three of you while you and Mydei ordered food—taking all her prizes with her.
You only shook your head in fondness when she asked if she could get ice-cream, too.
“She takes after your sweet tooth too much,” you jokingly scold Mydei and he raises his eyebrows, an amused smile on his lips.
“Please, like she didn’t get your taste for cold drinks?”
“Hey!” you swat him on the arm, “That’s a need in this weather, you know.”
“Uh-huh…” he nods like he believes you even though the grin on his face tells you he doesn’t buy it one bit.
…
From a few tables away, Mel had her eyes on the two of you—finding a seat in the cooler area of the venue. She saw the two of you talking and even laughing.
Even without the romance books, she knew that look in her Dad’s eyes.
There was something.
And then she hears it a few tables over, someone from the Parents’ Association was talking about the two of you, about her family.
“It’s a shame really, I mean, come on, Mydeimos Gorgo is a gorgeous man,” the voice starts, “The ex–wife isn’t that too bad looking either.”
What?
“But obviously, she’s done something wrong for them to divorce.”
Mel stays silent, she couldn’t believe someone would talk about her parents that way without even knowing the full story—actually, no! They shouldn’t talk about them like that at all!
Her eyes darted around, ears straining to hear where exactly the voice was coming from over all the noise.
Then another voice speaks.
“I don’t know whether to feel bad or embarrassed for them, I mean, they’re not even a real family anymore, why would they attend Foundation Day when it’s obviously known for being a family day? They’re just prolonging this charade for their daughter at this point.”
Melina stands up so abruptly that her chair scrapes the ground and the voice stops talking. She realizes the voice was coming from behind her all along—and the horrified look on the woman’s face when she sees that the daughter she was talking about was right there? Priceless.
But not enough to undo the damage.
“Next time, keep your comments to yourself,” she spits out before walking away.
…
It doesn’t take long for Mydei to notice your daughter missing.
The moment he scans the area when you finish ordering, he tells you immediately.
“Melina’s gone.”
Your attention takes a 180 and you scan around immediately, “What? Gone?”
Then Mydei spots the bag of prizes she had—now laying on a lonely table a few ways away and holds onto you to take you there.
“I’ll look for her, between you and me, we know I have better eyesight, I need you to be here in case Meli comes back, okay?” He tells you and you nod, panic steadily creeping up your back.
Mydei takes notice of this, places a hand behind your head, and pulls you in to place a kiss on top of your hair as he wraps a hand around you in a hug.
“I’ll find her, don’t worry,” he reassures, “I won’t let her slip away this time.”
You nod—still in a daze—still processing what the hell he just did, and watching as he walks away in search of your daughter. Phone in hand as you wait for any text that Mel might send you.
…
Just like it didn’t take long for Mydei to notice she was missing, it didn’t take him long to find her either.
He breathed a sigh of relief and texted you that he found your daughter, waiting for you to reply before pocketing his phone.
The field is loud in the way only campus events can be—whistles cutting through the air, laughter spilling over from picnic blankets, parents calling out to their kids with easy familiarity. It’s bright, full, and alive.
And somehow, that’s what makes it feel so quiet when Mydei finally spots her.
Melina sits alone on the bleachers, a few rows up, elbows on her knees, chin resting on clasped hands. She isn’t on her phone. IShe’s just picking at the skin beside her fingernails. Just… watching.
Watching the families gathered below, the ones that fit together without effort.
Mydei slows his steps.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything—just takes it in. The way her shoulders are slightly hunched. The way her gaze lingers a second too long on a father lifting his kid onto his shoulders, on a mother brushing grass off her son’s shirt.
He exhales quietly and walks up the steps.
The metal creaks softly under his weight, but she doesn’t turn.
He lowers himself beside her anyway.
Not too close. Just enough to give her space if she wants that, and enough that she can lean on him if she wants to. For a while, he lets the silence sit between them, lets the noise from the field fill the space instead.
Then, gently, he tries.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Melina blinks, like she hadn’t expected that, but shakes her head quickly, “No, Dad, you didn’t…” her voice falters, just slightly, “It’s just… I heard some people talking.”
Mydei hums, low and patient, eyes still forward, waiting for her to continue.
She shifts then, leans—just a little—until her shoulder presses against his arm. Not quite a hug. But close. It’s enough for Mydei.
And then it all spills out.
“You and Mom have been nothing but good to me,” she starts, words rushing over each other like she’s afraid she’ll lose them if she slows down, “you both didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…”
Her voice wavers.
She swallows hard, shoulders trembling like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
“It’s me.”
Mydei’s arm comes around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, anchoring her to him and Melina presses her face into his side, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
“I feel like it’s wrong,” she admits, the words muffled but heavy, “I know you and Mom divorced years ago, I know that, I get it, I should be over it, but—” her breath stutters, “—but here, today, it just feels like…”
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Like we’re not really a family.”
The words land heavier than anything else.
“Like we’re just… pretending. Like we’re faking it for me.”
Mydei’s chest tightens.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t correct her.
He just listens.
“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” she continues, voice cracking now, slipping past the point of control, “because I am happy, I am, I swear, but then I see them and it just—” she chokes on the rest, shaking her head against him.
“It feels wrong that we’re not like that.”
A pause.
A breath.
And then—
“Why can’t you and Mom try again?”
Mydei stills.
For a moment, the world narrows down to just that question.
His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting. He takes a moment and inhales slowly, deeply—like he’s bracing himself against something unseen.
When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, rougher, like it pains him to try to answer it—because it does.
Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?
“Meli…”
She doesn’t look up.
So he continues anyway.
“From the moment I lost you and your mom… I never found anyone else.”
Her grip on his sleeve tightens.
“It’s always been her for me,” he admits, the words sitting heavy on his tongue like something long kept in, “there wasn’t anyone after. There isn’t anyone now. There won’t be anyone else.”
He lets out a small, breathless exhale.
“That woman you saw at the office—she meant nothing. Truly. I was just doing my job.”
Melina sniffles, but she’s listening.
“I love your mom,” he says, more firmly now, even if it costs him something to admit it out loud, “I still do.”
A beat.
“But…” his voice dips, quieter, “I don’t think I’m right for her anymore.”
Mel pulls back just enough to look at him.
Really look.
And then—smack.
Her hand hits his bicep. Not hard, but definitely not gentle.
“If you love her, then tell her that!” she bursts out, eyes still wet, frustration cutting through the tears, “You can’t just decide that for her, Dad!”
Mydei blinks, caught off guard.
“Meli—”
“No!” she cuts him off, shaking her head, “You always do that! You just… decide things on your own and don’t even ask! That’s probably why you ended up here in the first place!”
That one lands heavily.
It makes him wince.
She sniffles again, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, breathing uneven but steadier now that it’s all out.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then slowly…
Mydei exhales.
A small, almost helpless smile tugs at his lips, “…Okay.”
Melina frowns, “Okay?”
“I’ll tell her,” he says, softer this time, “I’ll… try again.”
She searches his face like she’s making sure he means it.
Then, she nods.
They fall into silence again, but it’s different now, lighter, like something that had been pressing down finally shifted. The wind picks up slightly, brushing against their faces still sticky with tears.
Mel leans against him again, this time without hesitation.
Mydei glances down at her, then sighs quietly.
“You know,” he starts, tone shifting just enough, “we really have to limit your book purchases at JnV’s.”
Mel groans immediately “Oh, be quiet, Dad.”
And just like that she sounds like herself again.
…
Whatever happened on those bleachers, neither of them told you.
Melina came back first, eyes a little red, nose still pink from sniffling, but smiling softly, like something inside her had finally settled. Mydei followed a few steps behind, expression calmer than you’d seen it in weeks, the usual tension in his shoulders eased just enough to notice.
You didn’t ask.
You didn’t need to.
There are some things a parent learns to recognize without words—and the way Mel slipped her hand into his sleeve for a second before letting go, the way he rested his palm briefly against her head as he passed by—you could make a pretty good guess.
Whatever it was, it helped.
The strange distance that had crept in over the past few weeks seemed to dissolve after that day. Mel laughed more, talked more. Fell back into that easy rhythm between the two of you, and with him. The quiet heaviness that had followed her around finally lifted, replaced with something lighter. Something closer to how things used to feel.
Things were good.
Melina ended up applying to The Grove of Epiphany University in the end, where Phai went—after weeks of deliberation, second-guessing, and late-night rambling about pros and cons that changed every other day.
When she finally told you and Mydei, she looked… proud and certain.
“That’s a good school,” you told her, squeezing her shoulder.
Mydei nodded, something unreadable flickering across his face before it softened, “Your grandmother would’ve liked that.”
Mel tilted her head, “Grandma Gorgo?”
He hummed, “She always wanted me to go there.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” he agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “We went to—” he paused, frowning slightly like he was trying to recall it properly, “Gibranipar—no, wait—”
It was easy, in moments like that, to forget everything that came before.
…
It’s one of those quiet evenings during your week with Mel.
Nothing particularly special—just the hum of your home settling into the night, papers half-graded on your desk, your phone lighting up every now and then with notifications you don’t feel like checking yet.
Until it buzzes again.
You glance down.
Honey
Imma be sleeping over at uncle phai’s !!
for movie night 😎
Pls say yes
You smile, shaking your head slightly.
You
Don’t stay up too late.
Honey
no promises
THABKU LOVEU
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You let out a soft huff and set your phone down—only to pick it up again a moment later, already opening your messages with Phainon.
You
Is this true or is she plotting something?
It doesn’t take long for him to reply.
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
Wow… no trust. I'm hurt.
[ haha ] reacted by You
No, yeah it’s true, I invited her over.
I’ll pick her up from school in a bit.
[ <3 ] reacted by You
You
Alright.
Have fun, just keep her alive please.
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
Most Annoying Brother Ever <3
No guarantees.
[ ?! ] reacted by You
You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it.
You set your phone down again, and a few minutes later, it lights up once more.
Mydei
She texted you too?
You blink, then pick it up.
You
Yep.
There’s a pause.
Just long enough for you to think the conversation’s over.
Then—
Mydei
Can I see you?
You freeze.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
Almost six years.
Six years of schedules, of updates, of polite conversations that begin and end with Melina at the center of them.
And this… This is the first time he’s asked for something that isn’t about her.
The cursor blinks.
Waiting.
You
What is this about, Mydei?
There’s a pause. Longer than usual. Long enough for your chest to tighten in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.
Mydei
It’s important.
You stare at the message.
Important.
Your fingers hover again, hesitation curling at the edges of your thoughts. Somewhere deep down, something stirs—something you buried months ago, something fragile and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.
Hope.
You press your lips together.
No.
You’ve already made peace with this. With him. With what you are now.
You shouldn’t.
And yet.
You
Okay.
…
He arrives twenty minutes later, ringing your doorbell with a bag of ingredients slung over his shoulder like this is just another normal night. Like he hasn’t just tilted something off balance with a single message.
You stand at the door and he stands there, staring right back at you.
“…Hi.”
“Hi…”
God, it’s awkward.
You step aside anyway, letting him in.
He moves through the house like he remembers it—like muscle memory guides him more than thought. Straight to the kitchen. His kitchen.
Just like he used to.
Before…
You linger by the doorway for a moment before closing it and following after him. He’s already unpacking the bag, pulling out ingredients, setting them down with quiet efficiency. You lean against the counter, watching as he does so.
“You didn’t change anything in the kitchen,” he comments, taking note that it looked just like how he customized it.
You shrugged, “Didn’t have the chance to back then, you know. I never really set foot in here until maybe a year after it all.”
He keeps quiet about it and starts to wash the ingredients.
“Now, I don’t really see a reason to change it, I don’t think there’s a need to.”
Mydei takes a look at you and hums, “I see.”
“…Did you just come here to cook?” you ask, unable to keep the curiosity out of your voice, “Is that the important part?”
He huffs softly, not quite amused.
“No,” he mutters, focusing a little too hard on chopping, “I’m… working up the courage to say it. Okay?”
You blink.
Mydei? Working up courage?
That’s… new.
“…Okay,” you say slowly.
You don’t push.
Instead, you give him space—moving back to the island where your papers are spread out, laptop open, red pen in hand. You sit, trying to focus on grading, but your eyes keep drifting up to him, sneaking glances every now and then.
And every now and then, his eyes drift back to you.
It’s quiet.
Not uncomfortable, exactly.
Just… charged.
Like something is waiting to happen and neither of you knows when it’ll break.
…
“I’m almost done,” he says eventually.
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.
“Oh, okay.”
You stand, moving automatically, grabbing plates, setting them on the table. The motions come easy, it’s familiar. Pause. Too familiar, actually… It feels… domestic.
Again.
And yet—there’s something different now. Something cautious. Like the two of you are circling each other, careful not to step too close too fast. Like you’re both trying to test how far the other is letting this go on for.
You decide you’ll wait for his move. The ball is in his court and it’s his turn to do something.
But for now, you sit, he serves, and you’ll both eat.
The lasagna comes out of the oven still bubbling at the edges, the surface a perfect, blistered gold where the cheese has melted and browned just enough to crisp. The smell hits first—rich, slow-cooked tomato, garlic softened into sweetness, a deep savory warmth that wraps around you before you even take a bite. When he cuts into it, the layers give way with a soft, satisfying slide—tender sheets of pasta, velvety bechamel, and a thick, meaty ragu that’s been simmered long enough to taste like time itself.
Steam curls up from the slice on your plate, carrying that same intoxicating aroma, and when your fork sinks in, it’s almost effortless. The first bite is warm in a way that settles deep in your chest—the cheese stretching slightly before melting on your tongue, the sauce rich and full, balanced with just a hint of acidity that keeps it from being too heavy. It’s indulgent, comforting, and familiar.
It tastes like something made with patience.
Like something made for someone specific.
Like home.
“This is really good,” you compliment with a smile, “I haven’t had your cooking in years.”
He pauses mid-bite and raises a brow, “…I’ve been packing food for Melina to bring home,” he says slowly, “What do you mean?”
Oh.
You wince, shrugging a little. You couldn’t tell him that you couldn’t stomach the thought of his cooking back then, because you were… you were angry. At him. But that was back then, therapy had made you come to terms with these feelings, so you try to pivot the conversation back into a safe area.
“I just thought they were for her specifically,” you say lightly, like it doesn’t matter, “You know… I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
The silence after that is so thick and heavy it’s as if the air’s been knocked out of the room.
“Myd—” you try to start and he interrupts you quietly with your name on his lips.
You immediately backtrack, “Hey, it’s okay, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—”
“It was always for you.”
You stop.
You blink.
He’s looking at you now.
Really looking.
“I cooked extra because I knew you’d be there,” he continues, voice tight, “I just thought… I thought you knew.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head, “It’s fine, I’ll—I’ll eat the next one you send, okay?”
He looks… pained, as you tell him that.
“I thought we were okay.”
“We are—”
“Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?” he cuts in, frustration slipping through, “I know we’re not… great, I know I fucked up, but I thought we were okay enough to… to—”
He trails off and you sigh, rubbing your temple.
“Mydei,” you say softly, “why did you come here tonight?”
That stops him.
Completely.
For a moment, he just sits there.
Then he exhales and something shifts.
“I didn’t fight for you.”
The words hit you like a blow.
Your heart stutters.
“…What?”
“When you gave me the papers,” he continues, voice low, steady only by force, “I didn’t fight you. I didn’t ask you to stay. I didn’t even try.”
You shake your head slightly, “Mydei—”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, a bitter edge creeping in, “I thought… if you were unhappy enough to leave, then the least I could do was not make it harder for you.”
Your chest tightens.
“I told myself it was respect,” he continues, “that I was respecting your decision. Your autonomy.”
He laughs dryly, “But really, I was just a coward.”
You stand up from your seat, the chair scraping off of the floor and you back up, “Don’t—”
“No,” he cuts in, sharper now, standing as he does so, “you don’t understand.”
You take a step back, “Don’t do this, Mydei.”
“Please—”
“No, please,” you echo, your voice breaking, begging, as months of therapy start to unravel at the seams, your heart bleeding out in your hands once again in this very kitchen, “please don’t do this.”
“It’s you,” he says, stepping forward.
You shake your head, another step back.
“It’s always, only ever been you.”
Your back hits the island.
You didn’t even realize you’d been retreating.
He’s there in front of you now.
Close—Too close.
“Despite everything,” he murmurs, voice dropping, hands coming up—hesitant at first, then certain and gentle as they cradle your face, “it’s still you.”
You feel dizzy.
Like the ground’s been pulled out from under you.
His forehead presses against yours. His scent flooding your senses.
The sensation too warm, too familiar, and eternally devastating.
“Please,” he whispers, breath uneven, “tell me what I have to do to win you back.”
Your vision blurs.
This is—This is everything you ever wanted.
For him to fight, to choose you, to try.
And now that he is—you don’t know what to do.
“I’m scared, Dei.”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it, and it breaks something in him.
You feel it.
The way he inhales sharply. The way his grip tightens just slightly.
“…I know,” he murmurs.
You shake in his hold, barely able to contain the tears that spill out from your eyes.
“How do I know it won’t end the same way?”
It’s barely a whisper, but it carries everything.
Every late night, every empty chair, every broken promise.
Mydei’s hand trembles as he brushes a tear from your cheek.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss against it.
“I won’t let it happen again,” he says, voice fierce despite the quiet, “I lost you once. I won’t—” his breath catches, “—I won’t let it happen again.”
His hand slips down, finding yours, intertwining your fingers.
He brings it up between your face as he looks up at you—despite being taller—and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
Gentle.
Reverent.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “if you’ll have me.”
Your chest heaves, your eyes burn, and you nod.
Just once, but it’s enough.
He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and broken.
He’s crying too.
You realize that distantly.
And then—softly—just like the first time.
“I, Mydeimos Gorgo, take you,” he continues, voice steadier now, like he’s anchoring himself in it, “to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
“I don’t have perfect words, I never did. But I know this—every version of my life that meant something had you in it. And every version without you… didn’t feel like mine.”
“I vow to come home to you—not just in place, but in heart. I vow to make space for you in every part of my life, the way I should have from the beginning.”
“You are not an afterthought. You never were. You are my first choice.”
“And if you let me again—I will keep choosing you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
Your breath catches.
He remembered.
After everything—he remembered.
A breath.
“I do.”
“Do you,” he begins, voice trembling, “take me, Mydeimos Gorgo, as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” you sob, nodding through tears, the words breaking on a hiccup.
He smiles at that and slips a ring you didn’t even know he had into your ring finger. His face soft as his heart remains aching.
“I know this may be sudden, but I think this is long overdue, what about you?”
Your hands come up, cupping his face like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
You answer him by pulling him down and crashing your lips against his. Like you’re dying of thirst in the desert and he’s the only thing that can save you.
It feels the same.
God, it feels the same.
And that’s what breaks you.
You sob into the kiss, your fingers tightening against him, and he smiles—smiles—against your mouth, holding you like he’s afraid to let go.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again and presses a soft kiss to your nose.
Your breathing is uneven. Your chest is aching. Your mind spinning from trying to process everything, but you feel lighter.
So much lighter.
“…Meli’s going to be ecstatic about this,” he murmurs.
And despite everything—you laugh.
…
Meli
DAD UPDAET
Plss im dying of anticipaton here
Meli
HEY DONT LEAVE ME ON DELIVEREED
DADD !!!
On nikador bro i swear u are taking
So longgg
read at 8:04 pm
Meli
HEY I SEE U READ IT
Dad reply pls oh my strife
Uncle phai and i are dying here
Meli
Give update to revive pls pls pls
Dad
[ sent a photo: ring in someone’s finger, hand covering her face as she’s leaning against someone’s clavicle ]
Got her back.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Meli
THATS WHAT IM FUCKING TALKING ABOUT !!!!
Dad
Language.
Meli
God forbid a girl is happy she's no longer a child of divorce.
[ haha ] reacted by Mydei
…
Bonus scenes!
You
Meli and I are on the way to the grocery store.
Do you want anything?
Dei <3
My beautiful wife and daughter home safe
You
Corny.
[ <3 ] reacted by Mydei
…
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Can u sneak me out and drive me to a party
It starts at 11
On the 12th
Pls pls pls u would be blessed with a gf w a big ass
Coolest Unc 5Ever
Girl what ??
Your mom AND dad will kill me.
Favorite Niece 5Ever
Soo is that a no…?
Coolest Unc 5Ever
If your mom catches me we are soo dead.
Send me the addy.
[ <3 ] reacted by Melina
Favorite Niece 5Ever
THX LUVYEW 5EVER !!!!
[ <3 ] reacted by Phainon
…
Mom
Melina Hera Gorgo.
Where are you.
You are so grounded when you get home.
usagi's note: can u guys pretty please tell me what melina looks like for u guys PLEASEEE i begggg, anyway i have another mydei fic coming up soon, can u believe i did this in 2 days? me neither. i am so insane wtf. stream dawtde!
@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!
wanted to write something with a little more humor in it but there’s still dark shit because phantom troupe
Warnings: mentions of death
“There’s trouble, boss.”
Phinks’ voice cut through the chatter of the busy casino. Chrollo didn’t look up at first, relaying a few more instructions to Shalnark via text. ‘Trouble’ wasn’t unexpected; as much as Chrollo could plan ahead, human nature could be unpredictable and would usually cause a few bumps in the road when it came to their heists.
“What sort of trouble?” Chrollo asked as he pocketed the cellphone.
It's very late at my place but I wanted to put this out tonight! This is a commissioned piece :D
WARNINGS: A/B/O set in normal HXH setting, Dubious Consent (both parties), Yandere, Yandere! Feitan x Reader, Female! Reader, Violence, Blood, Biting, NSFW, Home Invasion
Feitan walked with purpose, a ghost slipping between bodies on the busy city street. Streetlights cast his shadow on the ground before losing him again.
The pavement, slick and reflective from an earlier rainstorm, showed the chaos of the streets: passing headlights, flashing billboards, the hurried shapes of people probably too absorbed in their own heads to truly notice him passing by.
The air was thick with the usual scents of the city. The usual suspects of concrete and gasoline, sweat and perfumes. But then, Feitan noticed as he neared his destination, something worse. Cloying, sweaty floral with a heap of artificial alcoholic notes on top. Too much perfume masking something delicate and loud. He barely twitched, but his nose curled slightly in distaste as a woman passed, her scent dragging in the air behind her like a net. Feitan adjusted his cowl higher over his face and kept moving.
He made a turn into an alleyway and jumped from the creaking fire escape stairs onto the rooftop of a nearby building. A homeless woman sitting by a dumpster had seen his movement up the side of the building and had accompanied his ascent with an amazed sounding ‘huh?!’. Feitan started running, jumping from building to building.
Better.
The job was one of subterfuge, something he didn’t exactly excel in, so he probably wouldn’t get to do much, but Chrollo disliked doing jobs with no heavy-hitters there to be sent in if things went wrong, especially when he wouldn’t be there himself. Uvogin, Nobunaga and Franklin were off doing something on the other side of the continent, Bonolenov had a concert he didn’t want to miss if it could be helped, and Phinks had some omega he wanted to break in.
None of the absences bothered him- he had no reason to care, since he only came because he was nearby and no one else wanted to- but he hoped to god Hisoka wouldn’t show up. Feitan barely had the patience to deal with the magician to begin with, but to be cooped up for days with him, Shalnark and the remaining female members who disliked Hisoka nearly as much as him (save for Shizuku, but she seemed to hold no strong negative feelings on anyone) seemed like an annoying way to spend a week.
Descending back into an alleyway and joining the commuters, Feitan neared the address he’d been given and entered. There were three large revolving doors and a large middle manual door, manned by a widely smiling man in a crisp suit, greeting the guests heartily, his eyes following the backside of every woman he let pass.
The hotel was the kind of place that reeked of wealth—clean, crisp air-conditioning laced with golden filigree on each piece of decoration, chandeliers casting soft golden light over polished marble floors, littered with the same kind of horribly well-meaning staff smiling widely at each passer-by. Feitan stepped through the revolving door, his eyes flicking over the main hall.
He didn't belong here, but then again, neither did she.
Pakunoda sat in the foyer like she owned it. One leg crossed over the other, posture effortlessly poised, she barely glanced up from her newspaper as he approached. A half-finished glass of red wine rested on the small table beside her. Her eyes finally lifted from the page as he approached, meeting his unimpressed expression with a vaguely amused tilt of her lips.
"You’re late," she murmured, flicking the newspaper closed with a sharp rustle.
Feitan ignored the remark, his gaze darting briefly to the headlines. Nothing interesting. He shifted his weight, coat rustling as he slid into the chair across from her. "Traffic," he said flatly, though they both knew he hadn’t taken a car.
Pakunoda smirked, tilting her glass slightly. "Mm. And here I thought you got distracted."
Feitan only scoffed. “Do I look like Phinks?”
“At least insult him when he’s present.” Paku said, placing the glass on the side-table, a brown-haired girl filling up the glass up to the rim immediately without being indicated in any way. “How is he supposed to defend himself?”
“He could not even if he was here.” Feitan said, avoiding eye-contact with the waiter who seemed desperate to know if he wanted something to drink as well. “Who choose this place?”
“Not me, if that’s what you’re thinking. Turns out Shalnark objected to the usual place.” The usual place around these parts being an underground sewage pipe turned shelter for Meteor City citizens. “I think he was still upset about that leak into his room.”
“Heh.”
The waiter girl passed by him again, once more sneaking a glance. Feitan tried to ignore the needy wave of servitude he felt her exude, not needing anything. And even if he did, he wouldn’t call on her, and would instead walk to the bar himself, if only to be left alone.
So, he ignored her entirely, but her proximity sent a wave of eucalyptus and musk crashing into his senses, making his lip curl in irritation. The combination was sharp and cloying, like someone had tried to drown themselves in an herbal bath and failed. His fingers twitched against his knee. What would it take for some people to just walk around with scent blockers?
Pakunoda must have noticed his expression shift, because she leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on one gloved hand.
Feitan exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing.
He had grown up in filth—actual filth. Rotting garbage, the stench of sewage thick in the air, bodies pressed together in cramped spaces, all of it so constant that it dulled his senses over the years. His nose had adjusted to the putrid, to the rancid, until it was nothing more than background noise.
The second they’d gotten out, his sense of smell had gotten sharper, but after a lifetime of scent being a useless sense, he’d found out that he disliked nearly every scent out there. Every omega smelled like a honeytrap, disgusting him with their scents that screamed ‘look at me! I’m here!’. Alpha’s were more of the same, just as loud with their body odor, filling up every room they came in.
It was the reason why, when working, the first thing he cut out of a person was their scent glands.
He was usually better at dealing with it, though, even his annoyance fading after a few weeks in highly populated areas, but he’d just come from a woodland area, having been occupying his own time with some training. The last fight he’d been in should’ve been easy, but he’d gotten nicked with some third grade kitchen knife on a lucky strike, and Shizuku and Uvogin had been there to witness it, saying nothing but giggling like small children.
For that, he needed to train, if only to make sure that never happened again.
But like always, when he was by himself for some time, away from others polluting the air, he always underestimated how much he hated pheromones until he got back to society.
But he could get used to it, it just took a while. This place would serve as a trial by fire, as in places like this, everything was filled to the brim. It was offensive. Scents that were supposed to be "pleasant" felt intrusive, overwhelming, like being suffocated under layers of artificial sweetness, bleach and thousands of cries for attention.
Pakunoda hummed, tapping a finger against the rim of her glass. "You’d think you'd get used to it."
Feitan shot her a sharp glance. "You get used to bad things," he muttered. "Not good ones."
Pakunoda chuckled at that. She didn't press further. She never did when he got like this.
As he left Paku to her drink to unpack his bag in his room and wait for the remaining orders to come in (Shalnark was hidden away in one of the rooms and was doing intel, it was unlikely Feitan would even see him before the job was finished) and so far the set-up had been going as expected, the only hick-up being one of Chrollo’s pet nen-users lurking around the site Machi and Pakunoda were going to infiltrate.
It was all going well, but still, Feitan didn’t like how loud this setup was. An entire floor rented out? Not inconspicuous. Even if the staff didn’t ask questions, too much space meant too many places for annoyances to lurk.
The elevator slowed. A chime. Doors sliding open.
Feitan stepped out—
And choked.
The stench hit him like a punch to the throat, thick and sickly sweet, curling into his lungs before he could stop it. He immediately noticed the source and felt a hint of killing intent leave his body, which was a frustrating lack of control. Frustration seized him as he stared at the origin.
Footsteps. The lazy kind, drawn out, deliberate.
Hisoka rounded the corner, and Feitan’s nose was once again assaulted by a suffocating blast of bubblegum, so aggressively sweet it made his throat seize.
DisgustingDisgustingDisgusting—
He barely swallowed down the urge to gag. His grip tightened around his bag, and for a fleeting moment, he considered hurling it at Hisoka’s smug face.
“Oh, Feitan,” Hisoka drawled, tilting his head with that insufferable smile. “Didn’t see you there.”
The bastard even had the audacity to reel back his scent, as if that did anything to erase the crime he had just committed against Feitan’s senses.
“Forgive me.”
Feitan didn’t hesitate. “Die.”
“Oh my,” Hisoka said, his face smug as he pretended to be the picture of innocence.
Only one person in the world was allowed to smell that strongly, and it wasn’t the fake weak magician that for some reason had been forced into his life.
(Phinks)
(He was familiar.)
“Stay away from my room.” Feitan hissed as he passed Hisoka.
Like expected, Feitan didn’t get to do too much.
It was a lot of waiting around for a call that was unlikely to occur. Usually that meant just sitting around, reading or training, but the overcast weather made Feitan want to walk around a bit, close enough to act if something happened, but just to get out and away from the hotel.
If they ever had a job here again, Feitan would be sure to appeal to the boss that the sewage pipe was better.
Feitan spent the next few hours weaving through crowds, slipping between packed alleyways and busy intersections. The neon glow of shopfronts and the distant hum of traffic blurred into a constant, mind-numbing background. He hadn't meant to be out this long, but the longer he walked, the calmer he felt.
Eventually, he stopped at a small market tucked away from the main streets, a place that didn’t reek of overpriced perfumes and clashing pheromones. The air here was better. Raw vegetables, fresh herbs, the faint scent of soil clinging to produce that hadn’t been drowned in sterilization. He stole whatever he needed, which wasn’t much. A few vegetables, some simple ingredients. Enough to make something edible.
By the time he returned, the halls were quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices behind closed doors. He stepped into his room, already shrugging off his coat, when he noticed movement inside.
You froze, caught in the middle of wiping down the desk.
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then, you started to talk.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir—I forgot to put the cleaning sign up.” You fumbled with the rag, eyes wide as you backed away from his space, hands raised in apology. He realised immediately why you were so flustered, as his sword was askew and partially unsheathed on the table, and you’d clearly picked it up to look at it. “I’m done anyway, I’ll leave you be!”
Feitan barely looked at you, irritation flickering across his face before dulling into something more neutral. His grip tightened on the bag in his hand, debating whether this was worth being annoyed over, but he realized he was partly to blame. He should’ve put on the ‘no cleaning’ sign.
Still, he’d remember your face, just in case he sensed something off about the sword. Nothing about you looked like a nen-user, so he tried to drown out the paranoid part of his mind that told him that if you were dead, it was even unlikely that you’d put something odd on his sword.
Then you moved past him, and something strange happened.
Nothing.
No cloying perfume. No overwhelming musk. No sharp, headache-inducing pheromones. It was like walking past a blank space in the air. The absence of a scent was so unfamiliar, so starkly different from the rest of the world, that he almost turned his head to check.
Despite the lack of scent, you were clearly an omega, everything about you signing off ticks in his mind.
You were already at the door, bowing slightly in a rushed, awkward manner. “I really am sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Feitan watched you for a beat longer than necessary. His nose twitched, testing the air. Still nothing.
“…Hn,” was all he said in response. Then he turned away, walking further into the room as if you weren’t there at all. Either you had scent blockers stronger than his, or his walk in the city had dulled his senses completely. Unlikely, as he’d been holding his breath the entire walk through the hallway, damned Hisoka once again for acting like a set of nails on a chalkboard by stifling the entire floor.
The door shut behind you with a quiet click.
Feitan continued to look after the closed door longer than he could justify, before unpacking his groceries.
Feitan didn’t bother hanging up the sign the next day, nor did he go for a walk.
He told himself it was out of laziness—nothing more. He just didn’t care enough to dig it out and hook it onto the door. If someone came in, they came in. Not his problem.
And yet, when morning came, he found himself waiting.
Not obviously, of course. He still went about his routine, eating what he’d stolen the night before, sharpening and putting his sword away properly this time, flipping through the newspaper he’d nicked off Pakunoda. But when the faint sound of a keycard slotting into the door echoed through the room, he didn’t move.
You stepped in cautiously, clearly remembering yesterday’s mistake. But when you saw him sitting there—very much present, very much watching—you froze again.
“Good morning.” You hesitated, gripping the cleaning supplies in your hands. “I can come back later.”
Feitan barely glanced up from the book in his hands. “No need.” His voice was flat, dismissive, like he barely cared. Which, of course, he didn’t.
You blinked. “You want me to clean while you’re here?”
A short, noncommittal hum was his only response. He turned a page.
It took you a moment, but eventually, you nodded and stepped further in. He could hear you working—the soft clatter of supplies being set down, the gentle sweep of fabric over surfaces. The usual chemical-clean smell that came with these hotels was there, but it didn’t cling to you the way it did to others. It was faint. Background noise.
He kept reading.
The quiet stretched between the two of you, broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft clatter of items being put back into place. Feitan flipped another page, eyes scanning the words without really reading them. His attention had settled elsewhere.
You were still moving through the room, wiping down the dresser, dusting the shelves. It wasn’t just subtle—it was nothing.
After another long moment, Feitan spoke, voice as flat as ever. “Why don't you stink?”
You paused mid-wipe, turning slightly toward him. “…Excuse me?”
He didn’t bother looking up. “You have no scent,” he clarified. “Not normal.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, slowly, you went back to cleaning, though your movements were more careful now, like you weren’t sure if you should answer.
“…I use scent blockers,” you said after a moment, your voice slightly lower. “It’s a hotel policy. We’re required to wear them.”
Feitan hummed, absorbing this information. He supposed that made some sense. But most people still had something lingering underneath. You didn’t. Which meant you were lying.
A curious part of him wanted the answers immediately, to stand up and threaten you with things worse than you ever could’ve encountered in those daytime shows most people watched, but he refrained. The troupe was trying to be inconspicuous in a place that was definitely not that, and he doubted Chrollo would be happy to hear they had to move locations because he couldn’t help but torture a random cleaning lady.
Maybe after the job was over.
Once the rest had left.
Maybe.
He turned another page in his book, then finally glanced up, watching as you wiped down the nightstand. He’d go along with you for now. “It work well.”
You blinked, looking briefly startled, as if unsure whether that was a compliment. Then you simply nodded. “Thank you…?”
Feitan said nothing else, letting the silence return.
On day four, a thought came to him whilst you were dragging a wet cloth across a mirror and he was once again pretending to be reading.
(He’d made a bit of a mess. Yesterday you’d been done too quickly.)
A part of him was getting paranoid. This felt like a honey trap, one specifically designed for his tastes. What if you’d been placed in his room for this very reason, to entice him and lead him somewhere. It was all a bit coincidental, that someone fit for his exact preferences would have cleaned his room, while they were in the midst of a job, to distract him while-
He exhaled.
He looked over the edge of the book, a ripple of dark nen surging to life around him. It crackled, swirling with malice and deadly intent. You froze, wide-eyed, your teeth almost chattering from the sheer weight of the energy he was radiating, the cloth in your hands falling to the floor.
Feitan’s gaze was unyielding. His presence seemed to crush the air, the pressure in the room making it harder to breathe. He wasn’t just watching you; he was studying every inch of you. Your body language, the way your eyes flickered, every slight twitch in your muscles. He was looking for any sign of deception, any indication that you weren’t as afraid as you claimed to be.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the gnawing fear crawl up your spine. This was it. His nen swirled around you, and for a split second, it felt as though the very air around you was being sucked out.
But then, Feitan stopped.
The nen stopped.
You were clear.
For now.
Slowly, cautiously, you turned to face him, still rattled. “Did—did you feel that?”
Feitan didn’t even look up, casually flipping a page. “What?”
Your fingers trembled as you reached down to grab the cloth, the unease still coiled tight in your chest.
“Oh. Never mind.” You hurriedly gathered your cleaning supplies. “I… I need to go. I’m already late.”
Feitan tutted. You clearly weren’t above a little lie. First trying to get away with playing with his sword, and now this.
“Bathroom.”
“…Okay.”
He’d never seen anyone scrub a bathroom so fast.
Feitan was careful. He always was.
The Troupe knew his habits, but they didn’t question him. If he wanted to disappear for a few hours, no one pried. Still, he took extra precautions—choosing the least conspicuous exits, taking indirect paths through the city, shifting into the background like a ghost. If any of them saw him slipping out of the hotel at this hour, they’d assume he was on some personal errand, something bloody, something useful.
Instead, he was watching her.
He had expected something dull. A straight path home, maybe a stop at some forgettable store. Something mundane and simple. But instead, you led him somewhere unexpected. A hospice.
Feitan watched from the rooftops, crouched against the cool metal railing, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. You didn’t just clean there. You weren’t paid for this. You stayed longer than necessary, speaking softly to the sick and dying, adjusting blankets, listening, nodding. He watched you squeeze an old man’s frail hand before leaving, watched the way a woman smiled at you as you tucked her pillows properly.
Disgusting.
He clenched his jaw, fingers flexing against his knee. What was it with people and their constant need to be good? As if it meant anything. As if the world rewarded that kind of useless, bleeding-heart sentiment with anything other than a shot to the back of the head.
Feitan was already unimpressed, but then you had to go and make it worse.
On your way home, you stopped in a quiet alley, crouching down beside a stray dog—a ragged thing, fur patchy, ribs slightly visible beneath thin skin. A pathetic, filthy, creature. Yet you reached out without hesitation, scratching behind its ears, murmuring something under your breath as it wagged its tail weakly.
Feitan’s fingers twitched, exasperation clawing at his chest.
Of course. Of course you were like this. As if voluntary work and politeness wasn’t already some kind of moral superiority. No. You had to do this too. Next you’d read to some children in a hospital and protest for the environment, if your current track record was any indication. It was so nauseating it made his teeth grind.
Still, he didn’t leave.
He remained in the shadows.
Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe she wasn’t what he thought she was after all. Maybe she was just another one of them.
At this point, he kinda hoped for it.
Feitan slipped into your apartment as easily as stepping through an open door. Locks meant nothing to him. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his movements silent, seamless.
The space was small—modest, clean, and lived-in. It smelled faintly of detergent.
He moved through the rooms without a sound, eyes flicking over everything, cataloging details. Nothing out of place. No hidden weapons, no secret compartments, no signs of anything remotely interesting.
Then he found the pictures.
They lined the walls in small frames, tucked into bookshelves, pinned to a corkboard near the kitchen. Feitan stared, unmoving.
You with the elderly patients at the hospice, some laughing, some frail but smiling. You with friends at a café, mid-laughter, a drink in hand. You in different places—on a beach, in the mountains, in a busy market somewhere foreign.
A good person.
His fingers twitched at his sides.
Exasperation curled in his chest, sharp and unwanted. He had been hoping—half-expecting—to find something else. Some secret that explained why you’d caught his attention. A trace of something darker, something real beneath all the selfless, unassuming nonsense. But no. There was nothing. Just more of the same.
Feitan exhaled through his nose, forcing his irritation down.
What did this say about him? That he’d left his post for what? A sudden urge to see if his cleaning lady was up to anything interesting? There was something off with him lately, and these kinds of actions didn’t help. Feitan looked at himself in a hallway mirror, trying to decipher what he had been thinking coming here.
The frustrated glare he sent himself through the reflection didn’t clear up anything.
It didn’t matter. This was just a test. Whether you were an exception or just another fool meant nothing in the end.
The apartment was quiet when you arrived, save for the faint jingle of keys and the soft hum of a tune under your breath. Feitan had been waiting- why?- while shrouded in Zetsu, his presence smothered into nothingness. He could stand right next to you, breathe the same air, and you’d still be oblivious.
You kicked off your shoes, setting your things down with the heavy sigh of someone shaking off the day. The mundanity of it all was oddly fascinating—the way you rolled your shoulders, the way you peeled off your jacket with an absentminded flick of your wrist.
From the shadowed corner of your room, he didn’t bother to move when you undressed. There was no need; you wouldn’t see him. You stripped out of your work uniform, shedding the day’s exhaustion with each discarded piece of fabric. When your bra came off, you barely even thought about it, tossing it across the room with a tired, careless huff.
It landed right at his feet.
Feitan’s fingers twitched.
Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned on his heel and left, slipping out as quietly as he had come.
The entire walk home Feitan tried to convince himself his heart wasn’t beating rapidly. It shouldn’t.
When Feitan went to sleep later in the night, having spent too long just staring at the wall even for his own mind to justify, he tried to finally make up his mind on what was happening.
You.
It was your fault.
His frustration, his absent-mindedness lately, his debasing one-track mind when it concerned you. He’d even pondered asking around for more intel on you, and while he could probably get away with it without others guessing it was for… unseemly reasons, the sheer possibility of someone knowing he was pawing after an omega woman angered him intensely.
He was supposed to be better than that.
And yet.
Feitan had always been a curious individual. The human body fascinated him—its limits, its weaknesses, the way it reacted to pain, to fear. He liked figuring things out, breaking things down. The world was a puzzle, and he enjoyed taking it apart piece by piece. His work for the Troupe was just another extension of that. Whatever the boss assigned, he did. No hesitation.
But sex? That was different.
The idea of it felt… wrong. Not because of inexperience, or uncertainty—Feitan had neither, as he didn’t want his dislike to become a weakness—but because it disgusted him. The thought of being tangled up with another person, flesh against flesh, drowned in their filth—it made his stomach twist. Like it would be debasing. Like it would drag him down to something lesser. He had seen the way people clung to each other, weak and desperate, and it made his skin crawl.
It wasn't a popular way for alpha's to think.
He preferred his only 'touching' to be done when he was killing someone, when all that remained was blood on his hands. Blood, so filled with iron, never let him down in its unanimous scent and appearance. Once you’d killed one person, it was the same for any other.
And yet.
His fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. His mind flickered back, unbidden, to the past few days. To the silence of the room while you worked. To the way you passed by him, how you’d moved through your room, rolled your shoulders and hummed to yourself. How he was now able to spot the slight panic in your eyes when you lied to him about menial things he asked you, a fact that equally aroused and angered him.
You could work.
The thought came suddenly, sharply, and yet it settled in his mind like it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. If he had to entertain the concept of physical closeness, it would have to be like this. With you.
He exhaled softly through his nose, shifting onto his side.
Tomorrow, then. He would test it. See if the thought held weight.
Feitan didn’t put on his scent blockers the next day.
There was no need. You were no longer a threat—just a curiosity. Something to toy with. And now that he had moved past the initial phase of assessing you, he could move on to the next part of his plan.
Not that he had fully decided what that was yet.
Sex, probably. That seemed the most likely outcome. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he acted already? One answer was that he was simply being cautious.
The other was that he enjoyed this.
A game of cat and mouse, where you weren’t even sure you were being hunted. Every day, you had to come up into his rented floor, moving stiffly around his space, clearly uneasy but unable to acknowledge why. You were always careful not to look at him for too long, careful to keep a professional distance, but that only made it more obvious.
You felt him, and while he was disgusted by the effect himself, he doubted you were similar to him in that regard. You probably felt what every omega felt when they encountered an alpha. Worse probably, since nen-users’ scents tended to be far more effective than just a regular person. Even the first time he’d met you, he remembered how at one point you’d done a double take while walking past him.
And that was even before he stopped wearing his blockers.
Now, there was no filter between you and the oppressive weight of his presence. It was fascinating to watch you try to push through it—how you held your breath at odd intervals, how your fingers fumbled just slightly as you wiped down surfaces. He could practically hear your thoughts scrambling for a distraction, anything to focus on besides him.
You even attempted small talk once or twice. He shot it down immediately.
Your discomfort was amusing.
But more than that, it was telling.
He had been reading—at least, that’s what he let you think. His eyes followed the lines of his book, but his attention was elsewhere. He could see you in the reflection of a full-length mirror, kneeling on the bathroom tiles, scrubbing diligently.
Then, suddenly, you looked up.
And your eyes met his in the mirror.
For a single, stretched-out second, neither of you moved.
Then—color bloomed across your face. You dropped your gaze almost instantly, fingers gripping the cloth a little too tightly.
Feitan turned a page, slow and deliberate.
Interesting.
Maybe you were less opposed to the idea than he’d been imagining.
Room 1509 was a fucking creep.
You’d told your supervisor, told your colleagues, even told Mrs. Brownston while you’d readied her evening fruit cup. 1509 stared, made weird comments, dressed like he was from a weird metal band, and made your skin break out in hives with the odd way his scent would swirl around you. It smelled good, of course it did, he was an alpha, but why did he have to be so creepy about it?!
On Wednesday you’d forced through it, showering the second you got home because you could still smell the remnants of that scent on you.
On Thursdays you wanted to call in sick so bad, but then you’d seen in the groupchat that four cleaners had already called in sick, and you could just already hear the lecture if you came in tomorrow looking right as rain while the rest was still recovering. You went in, hated it, tried to pawn off 1509 to someone else, but since you’d been complaining too much they refused.
On Friday, Paul stepped up and offered to take 1509 for the day if you’d take over a shift when he wanted to visit his uncle’s birthday. Fine by you.
Saturday. 1509 had made a complaint. Supervisor mad, since of course a diamond card client had made the reservation for the creep. No more switching.
You hated this job.
Sunday was your day off, but you still dreamt about that fucking room.
The scent of it stuck in your mind, thick and cloying, something between cedarwood and dark spice, the kind of thing that should’ve been nice but instead wrapped around your throat like a noose. You woke up sweating, heart pounding, convinced for half a second that you could hear 1509’s door clicking open in the hallway outside your apartment.
Monday came too soon.
You dragged yourself in, armed with the strongest deodorizer the supply closet had to offer, and nearly gagged when you saw the itinerary. Deep clean. Full linens. Bathroom scrub.
For some reason, 1509 had decided to let housekeeping in today. Again.
You tried to swap. Again.
"Not a chance," Nina snorted, tapping her acrylic nails against the check-in list. "Besides, you’re the expert now."
Ugh.
By the time you reached the fifteenth floor, your nerves were shot. The hallway was too quiet, the gold sconces casting weird, flickering shadows. Every floor was identical, but lately, you swore this floor felt off. Something was weird, especially since nearly every room on the floor had a no-cleaning sign hanging on the doorknob. Only one didn’t.
Room 1509’s door loomed at the end like a goddamn horror movie set piece.
You knocked.
No answer.
You knocked again, louder.
Still nothing.
Policy said you had to wait at least two full minutes before entering an occupied room, just in case. You checked your watch, forced your breath steady, tried not to think about the weird way your skin felt electric every time you got near this place.
And then—
The lock clicked.
And the door swung open.
1509 stood there, barefoot, shirtless, his too-pale skin catching the light like something inhuman. Like usual, he seemed unwilling to indulge in some base pleasantries like ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’, instead just stoically waiting until you said something.
Internally you just groaned. Why did he have to be shirtless.
…And ripped?
Huh.
Not the body you’d imagined.
1509 had the kind of body that looked carved, muscles shifting under his pale skin like something out of a Renaissance painting—if Renaissance paintings featured creepy weirdos with too-intense eyes and a scent that curled around you like a living thing.
You forced your gaze up. Eyes. Look at his eyes. Not at the shoulders.
"Housekeeping," you said, voice as flat as you could make it.
1509 didn't move.
"Yeah," he murmured, like he was tasting the word, slow and thoughtful. "Come in."
Every instinct screamed at you not to.
But your supervisor had already given you hell for the complaint, and you were not about to get written up over this. You squared your shoulders, gripped your cart, and stepped inside.
Immediately, the scent hit you harder. Stronger than before, like stepping into a wall of it, which was getting to be a problem on the fifteenth floor lately. Alpha scent, dense and dizzying, but this wasn’t your first day on the job. You’d been through worse, and you always came home.
You kept moving, pretending you didn’t feel it. "I’ll start with the bathroom."
"No," 1509 said suddenly.
You froze, fingers still curled around your supply bag.
"...Hm?"
He tilted his head, something almost curious in the way he studied you. "Come here first."
Your stomach dropped.
“Why?”
He made a come hither motion.
"That’s not how this works," you said, forcing a laugh you didn’t feel. "I do my job, and then I leave."
He smiled unkindly, and it felt like he was mocking you. 1509 took a slow step closer, head tilting just a little too much, like some weird bird watching its next meal squirm. Another gust of his scent wafted your way, and your eyes widened in recognition.
"Do you—"
"Nope."
You turned on your heel, grabbed your cart, and walked out.
Didn’t explain. Didn’t look back. Just dragged the cart down the hall, hit the button for the service elevator, and stared at the doors like your life depended on it.
Screw the write-up. You’d deal with it later.
That was not in your contract.
Feitan stood there, completely still.
For a second, his brain didn’t seem to process what had just happened.
You’d left. Just left. No reaction, no fear, no argument—just a flat nope before walking out like he was some inconvenience. Like he wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Like he’d misread your looks yesterday.
His eye twitched.
No hesitation, no stammering excuse, not even the usual, nervous glances that you always gave him. Just that short, clipped nope and then the sound of the cart’s wheels squeaking away like he was nothing.
Nothing.
The pressure in his chest expanded, thick and suffocating, rage bubbling up with nowhere to go. His nen, usually sharp and controlled, bled out in an ugly pulse.
A lightbulb in the bedside lamp burst.
Glass cracked, a sharp, high-pitched snap, and tiny shards sprinkled onto the nightstand. The scent of burnt filament filled the air.
Feitan exhaled through his nose, steadying himself, but his body remained rigid, his mind cycling through a thousand different ways to erase this feeling.
Embarrassment. Humiliation.
His tongue flicked over his teeth, sharp and annoyed.
A knock on his door.
Feitan’s head snapped up instantly, body already in motion before his brain could catch up. He crossed the room in a few quick, soundless steps, something electric curling in his chest—anticipation, irritation, something else.
You came back?
He schooled his expression into something neutral, fingers tightening around the door handle before pulling it open—
Only to be met with Hisoka.
Standing there like an absolute menace, one hip cocked, that insufferable smirk already tugging at his lips.
Feitan slammed the door shut immediately.
Hard.
The loud thud and crack was deeply satisfying.
From the other side, Hisoka let out a low chuckle. “Rude~”
Feitan didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. Just stood there, fingers still curled around the handle, jaw locked so tight it ached. The irritation that had been simmering beneath his skin flared into something sharper, nastier.
Of course it wasn’t you.
Why would he have even though you would return?
For what?
He inhaled slowly, deeply, forced his grip to relax before he crushed the handle in his palm.
Behind the door, Hisoka hummed. “Oh my, don’t tell me you were expecting someone else~?”
Feitan twitched.
He debated opening the door again just to stab him.
Feitan hadn’t meant to come here.
Yet here he was.
Standing at the edge of your street, watching the familiar glow of your window in the distance, the weight of realization settled over him like an iron chain. His route shouldn’t have led him here. He knew the city’s layout well enough to know that. He’d been leaving, having decided to ignore his own anger and frustration before he imploded and destroyed the entire hotel.
So why had he taken this path?
His fingers twitched at his side, restless.
Feitan wasn’t the type to linger. Yet, he stood in the quiet parking lot outside your flat, jaw tight, fingers twitching at his sides. The same old frustration kept bubbling up—how you’d lied to him, walked away, embarrassed him—all while tempting him like the honey pot you were. It was pathetic to punish you for something so small, but Feitan wasn’t the type to let anger simmer away. It needed a target.
Without another thought, he leapt upward, using the railings to climb higher until he reached your floor. Nearly spotted by one of your neighbors, he moved before they could blink, vanishing into the shadows as his shoulders tensed. He was off his game—slow and distracted. He hadn’t even been on the lookout on the way here. Unacceptable.
And yet, before he could stop it, the thought slithered in, insidious and persistent: I could kill them all.
Quick. Easy. He’d go door to door, slicing off the heads of anyone who’d made the mistake of living close to you. A few minutes of work, and you’d feel unsafe for months, knowing how close you’d been to death. By morning, your building would be quieter, but in the days after, you’d be interrogated for hours. The sole door untouched, you’d be hounded for months—years—after he’d gone.
No one left in the building but you.
His fingers flexed, and for a moment, he just stood there, still and calculating. It wouldn’t be difficult—he could be in and out before anyone noticed. You wouldn’t even know—just wake up tomorrow to find the world a little more empty, a little more terrifying.
The thought was tempting.
Feitan tilted his head, considering. Then he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking the notion off. Pointless. A waste of time. There was no reason to be standing here, letting his thoughts spiral down this path. The vividness of the urge unsettled him—usually his instincts made sense. Usually, his violence had purpose.
Breaking in and fantasizing about killing everyone else in the building didn’t fit that category. If anything, it sounded almost possessive, like he was trying to clear the vicinity and lock—
Oh.
The second he realized what was happening, his pace slowed. So that was it. It’d been a while, after all.
The restlessness, the odd decisions, the damned obsession.
The norm was once every six months for a full week, but Feitan had come into contact with so many product numbing scent blockers that one of the side-effects (namely irregular ruts) had settled into his routine. In his specific situation, irregular meant uncommon. The last one had been two years ago, and he’d locked himself into a bunker using nen-enhanced locks. If he was having sex, it was on his terms, not out of some full-force bodily desperation.
It was already too late for any of that now.
Feitan didn’t bother with subtlety when he slipped into your apartment. The window latch was pathetic—barely a barrier—and the lock gave way with a quiet click under his deft fingers. Inside, he hesitated, just for a moment, one foot still on the windowsill.
He hated how his pulse quickened, how his jaw clenched tighter despite himself. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Before realizing whatw as happening, he’d intended to confront you, maybe lash out, make you regret every stupid choice you’d made. But now, standing in your space, surrounded by remnants of you: your coat tossed over a chair, half-finished tea on the counter, the quiet hum of your fridge in the background, he felt something close to nausea creeping up his throat.
Ridiculous. He had no business feeling anything. Especially not something this... volatile.
He slipped off the windowsill and moved through the room like a shadow, his eyes tracing every detail. It was quiet. Too quiet. You weren’t here. For some reason, that fact scraped against his nerves, and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to knock something over just to break the suffocating stillness.
His fingers twitched at his side, flexing and clenching as he stalked deeper into the space, senses on high alert. You’d been here recently; your keys were on the side table, your jacket still damp from the rain. Probably just out on some errand.
The ache in his chest dug in deeper. Why the hell was he even here? He should’ve left the second he realized what his body was doing. Instead, he was pacing your apartment like some feral animal, waiting for you to come back. His control was slipping, crumbling into fractured impulses that made his hands curl into fists just to keep them steady.
Feitan huffed out a breath, forcing himself to slow down and reassess. There was no reason for this. No reason to let your absence bother him, to feel like he needed to punish you for not being here when he decided to show up.
But the thought crept back, sharper now, needling at him like a thorn lodged under his skin: If you were here, he could make sense of it. He’d know what to do with all this energy.
He felt his jaw tighten again, an unspoken snarl building in his throat. Pathetic.
Feitan turned sharply, moving to the window again, fingers brushing the glass as he stared out into the night. He should leave before you got back. Get his head straight. The second he lost control around you would be the second he lost his edge, and that was unacceptable.
But even as he tried to convince himself to go, he didn’t move. Instead, he stayed rooted in your apartment, still and seething, waiting for the familiar sound of your footsteps on the stairs.
It took an hour.
Feitan hadn’t moved a muscle.
The sound of keys in the door. Feitan turned around slowly, muscles coiled and ready. The door creaked open, and you barely had time to react before he was on you, one hand closing around your wrist and yanking you inside. The door slammed shut behind you, and in a blur, you found yourself pressed against the wall, his body caging you in.
Your breath hitched, and a scream lodged itself in your throat, strangled and dying before it could escape. Wide-eyed and trembling, you went completely still under the weight of his gaze. You couldn’t scream, but the frantic, uneven gasps spilling from your lips betrayed your panic, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation.
His grip was ironclad, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you from moving. You swallowed hard, and he caught the motion, his gaze flicking down to your throat.
He didn’t say anything at first—just stared, unblinking, his face inches from yours. His aura was suffocating, heavy and oppressive. He noticed every singular detail. The fact you were still in uniform, the small dots of mascara that had smudged under your eyes, the stray strands of hair.
You couldn’t even muster the nerve to speak.
Feitan’s eyes narrowed, and his hand shifted from your wrist to your shoulder, pushing you down. Your legs gave out under the pressure, and you sank to your knees, back sliding down the wall. His hand left your shoulder, but his aura stayed, pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. Your hands trembled against your thighs.
Silence stretched out, suffocating and tense. When he finally spoke, it was low, almost a growl.
“Stay.”
One word. Commanding. Final. You didn’t dare move, didn’t even consider disobeying, the earlier ease with which you’d walked away from him, still 1509 in your mind, a far off memory.
His gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and assessing. "Why are you scentless?"
You stammered in confusion at the familiar question, words spilling out in a mess before his stare cut through your rambling, forcing you to swallow down the panic. You hesitated, then managed to mutter, “I told you—we’re forced to wear scent blockers.”
His hand shot out, slapping the back of your head—quick and precise. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying,” you snapped, mind reeling with the fact that you’d not even seen him raise his hand. Your words came out sharper than you meant to, but it was clear he didn’t buy it.
“You are.” He’d normally tear off something for the audacity of lying to him so frequently, but stopped himself. “One more chance.”
“It’s a medical thing. The glands kept getting infected,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “They were removed when I was twelve.”
You could feel the change in the atmosphere before it even happened. Feitan’s eyes flashed with annoyance, and before you could even react, he slapped the back of your head again, harder this time, frustration evident in his motion.
“Ouch!” You hissed, leaning forward instinctively, even though you couldn’t move. “I told you the truth, didn’t I?”
“Took too long,” he said flatly. “And you are comfortable lying.”
You didn’t reply to that.
Feitan glared down at you, as if blaming you for every issue in the world. You didn’t dare move or speak, staying rooted to the floor where he’d forced you to sit, instinctively knowing that your life could be over in an instant if he decided it should be. His gaze flicked down to your trembling hands, and his lips twitched like he wanted to sneer, but he kept silent.
You knew you had to do something—say something—anything to break the suffocating tension. You didn’t want to die. Swallowing hard, you tried to sound calmer than you felt. “You’re... clearly in a rut, but you don’t seem to want to be. If that makes sense?”
He didn’t respond right away, just stared at you like he was deciding whether to shut you up for good or let you keep digging your own grave. When you didn’t immediately take the hint, he scoffed, lips curling into a bitter sneer. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Your hands clenched at your sides, fighting back the urge to flinch. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Shut up.”
You didn’t. “There’s... there’s suppressants,” you said carefully. “In the cabinet, above the sink. I keep them in case—”
“You think I’d take pills from you?” Feitan said icily, his finger tapping against his upper thigh, the urge to fidget, do anything other than stand still. Revulsion in his own desires and the desires itself warred inside him. It’d be weak to give in, but at the same time he didn’t know how manageable the current situation was.
One thing was certain, and that was that he wouldn’t take any kind of suppressants.
That would be admitting defeat.
You sat on the floor of the narrow hallway, the painted walls of your own home pressing in on you like they were closing in with every breath you took. Your throat felt tight, and you forced yourself to breathe evenly, even as the sting of tears burned in your eyes. Your options were shrinking, the weight of your helplessness sinking deeper with each passing second. The thought of 1509—of him—hurting you made your entire body panic. All you’d done this year was work and volunteer. That couldn’t be how your life ended. You still had so much left to do.
Your voice wavered despite your best effort to keep it steady. “If... if I help you—if I do this for you... will you let me live?”
If anything, your offer further angered him
He closed the distance in a single step, his hand shooting out to grab your jaw again, rougher this time, fingers digging into your skin. You yelped softly, but he didn’t give you a chance to speak.
“You think that’s what I want from you?” he hissed, his voice low and lethal. “Pathetic. Offering your body like it’s some kind of bargaining chip.”
Your breath hitched, and you tried to shake your head, but his grip was too tight. His eyes burned with a furious intensity, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, himself, or both.
“That’s why you’re acting like this, right?” you managed to choke out, barely able to get the words past his grip. “You’re... you’re in a rut, and I thought—”
“Shut up,” he snapped, squeezing harder for a moment before forcing himself to ease off. His lips curled back in a sneer, but there was something almost bitter in the way his gaze bored into you. “You think I’m that weak? That desperate?”
You swallowed thickly, trying not to tremble under his touch. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I thought it would help.”
He let out a harsh, humorless laugh, clearly unimpressed. “Your help is useless,” he spat. “You’d let me do anything just to save your own skin. Disgusting.”
The words hit like a slap, and your eyes stung with tears again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Despite his anger, he didn’t move—just stayed close, breathing hard and clearly fighting with himself. His fingers loosened a little, no longer digging into your jaw, but he didn’t let go entirely.
Feitan internally felt like he was going insane.
The thought of taking you like that, using you when you were scared out of your mind, made his stomach churn. He wasn’t some mindless animal. His instincts didn’t rule him. He wasn’t one of those desperate, weak things who let ruts tear their minds to shreds.
(...right?)
But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the need that clawed at him like it would never be satisfied, his pants tightening beneath his coat and his mind constantly spewing vivid imagery of how good you’d feel. It was this gnawing, uncomfortable urge to make you stop looking so pitiful, to make you stop crying and shaking and acting like he’d break you in half just for speaking. It was possessive and softer than anything he knew how to deal with, and it made his head spin with anger and confusion.
He hated it. It didn’t make sense, and it infuriated him that he couldn’t just shut it off.
The entire apartment felt too small, too cramped with you in it, and every breath you took made him twitch like he wanted to close the distance and either kiss you until you stopped crying or just put his hands around your throat and end the problem entirely.
His fists clenched tighter, and he forced himself to glare at the wall instead of you, his voice rough and low when he finally spoke. “You’re making this worse.”
Your head snapped up at that, wide-eyed and wary, and he hated how seeing you like that made him feel even more unsteady. But no matter how hard he tried to stamp it down, the thought kept circling back—tight and vicious and undeniable.
Mine.
The thought made his teeth grind even harder. It was disgusting. He didn’t need that. Didn’t need to feel anything like that for someone like you. Someone who’d lied to him, embarrassed him, tried to manipulate him just to stay alive.
He wasn’t going to let himself feel this way for a random cleaning lady.
He wasn’t going to let himself get so weak from a mere omega.
He was going to kill you.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The idea made his chest feel too tight, his breathing too sharp. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to want to keep you safe, even from himself. The silence stretched out, suffocating, and he felt your gaze on him—hesitant and unsure, like you didn’t know whether to speak or stay quiet.
He couldn’t stand it.
Unbeknownst to Feitan, who was unable to do anything but stare directly at you, his internal agonizing made his fingers tense just a little bit more, making the hold on your jaw just that much more painful.
You couldn’t help it. The noise slipped out before you even realized, a tiny, breathy whimper that broke the tense silence. You saw his shoulders stiffen instantly, the air around him going razor-sharp.
He surged forward, lips crashing against yours with a force that stole your breath. The kiss wasn’t hesitant or gentle. Nothing about it was soft or careful. It was raw, his teeth scraping your bottom lip, tongue forcing its way past your lips like he couldn’t stand being denied.
A muffled sound escaped you, half-surprise, half-need, and his hand moved from your chin to cup the back of your head, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
When he finally pulled back, you were gasping for air, and he didn’t move far, just hovered there, forehead almost touching yours, his breath fanning over your mouth.
Feitan’s harsh glare had glazed over somewhat, the earlier frustration and anger abiding, losing to his own instincts.His fingers didn’t leave your hair, and his grip didn’t loosen. You didn’t dare move, just barely managing to keep your breathing steady as you waited for whatever came next.
Feitan’s gaze dropped to your mouth again, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw as his lips parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened, and you felt his grip tighten just enough to make your heart skip.
“Quiet,” he finally muttered, voice low and gravelly, almost like he was talking to himself more than to you. “Don’t make that sound again.”
You nodded faintly, unsure if you even could make another noise with your heart hammering in your chest.
He stayed like that, barely an inch away, his lips brushing yours with every shallow breath. You could feel the tension still radiating off him, but it wasn’t the same furious energy as before. It was heavier, like the desire had finally settled into his bones and refused to let him move away.
And despite his warning, despite the danger still thick in the air, you couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that slipped out when his finger traced over your jugular. The moment it did, his mouth was on yours again.
The air felt thick. You’d noticed it immediately, but you’d been too caught up in his rage and the violent way he’d broken into your house to pay attention to it, but now that he was so so so close, it was impossible to ignore. The scent was rich and intoxicating.
Faintly, you remembered having likened it to a noose.
Your head spun, and it took everything in you not to sway. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before: dark, heady, and laced with something sharp that made your pulse race faster than it should. It didn’t help that he was kissing you again, his presence overwhelming and his scent saturating the air around you, making your thoughts blur together into a hazy mess.
You didn’t even realize you were leaning into him, instinctively drawn closer, until his hand tightened in your hair. He didn’t say anything. You swallowed hard, trying to clear the fog from your brain, but it only made it worse. The scent was in your lungs, coating your tongue, making your mouth dry and your skin tingle.
His mouth found your neck, sharp teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you shivered, a soft gasp escaping you despite your best efforts to stay quiet. He didn’t like that—didn’t like how you tried to smother your reactions—so he bit down, just enough to make you jolt
“Pathetic,” he muttered, voice rough and low against your skin.
Instead of scare you, as his harsh words had done before, now all it did was send tremors of lust coursing down your body.
Both of you were breathing heavily, eyes glazed over and hanging by a thread, on the verge of breaking. When you cast a quick glance toward the door, the fragile thread snapped. His hands roamed across your body, and in a daze of your own lack of control, you tried to mirror his movements, your hands tugging at his coat, silently pleading for it to come off already.
He grabbed your wrist before you could touch him.
“Thats not how this is happening.” He hissed, dragging you on your feet and to your bedroom, where you were pushed onto the bed, distantly noticing the window opened and the lock on the floor. “You. Undress.”
The second you hit the mattress, you scrambled to prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes glued to him as he stood at the edge of the bed, practically vibrating with tension. His command lingered in the air.
Your hands shook as you moved to comply, tugging at the fabric of your clothes with clumsy, desperate fingers. Feitan didn’t move, just stood there watching you, his sharp eyes tracking every inch of skin you revealed. To have him so threateningly watching you made your whole body feel like it was on fire, and the urge to cover yourself was only held back by the instinctive knowledge that he’d just rip your hands away if you tried.
When your shirt hit the floor, his lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close enough to make your stomach twist with nerves. You hesitated, but his eyes flicked up to yours, warning clear in his glare. Without a word, you continued, peeling away the last of your clothing until you sat there exposed.
He finally shed his coat, tossing it aside without care, and your pulse quickened.
His hands moved to his shirt, but he didn’t break eye contact, as if testing your reaction. You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away as he pulled the fabric over his head and discarded it just as carelessly. His lean, toned frame was littered with scars and what should’ve been horror at his clear familiarity with violence turned to excitement.
He circled around you slowly, like a shark scenting blood in the water. You felt his eyes on your back, your sides, your legs, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
The tension was almost suffocating, and your hands fisted in the sheets as he moved closer, finally settling onto the mattress with a knee on either side of your hips. His fingers traced along your jaw, rough but deliberate, and he let out a low, almost frustrated sound when you couldn’t hold back a soft whimper. His lips grazed your ear, his voice low and threatening, but there was a rasp to it that betrayed his own unraveling control.
“You’ll be so easy to break,” he murmured, and despite the venom in his words, there was a hint of something almost reverent beneath it that made your inner omega very happy.
His mouth trailed down to your collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make you flinch, and he laughed cruelly at the way your body tensed under him.
“You’re the one that wants this,” he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt, but his hands moved lower, tracing over your sides in a way that contradicted his words. You swallowed back a retort, too overwhelmed to think straight, and his eyes narrowed as if daring you to deny it. “I’m just obliging.”
You hummed affirmatively, knowing you’d say or do anything to make him continue.
Feitan's hand slid lower, fingers skimming over the curve of your breast, tracing the swell of your hip. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you moaned.
“Pathetic,” he muttered against your skin, but his voice was hoarse, lacking the usual bite, as if your reactions were unraveling him just as much as they were you. He didn’t give you a chance to recover before his mouth moved to your breasts. The feeling of his teeth scraping over your nipple made you gasp, your fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in just to ground yourself.
He bit down harder, making you cry and try to pull away from him, which he didn’t seem keen on.
“That hurts…” You said, despite hating the fact that he pulled away from your nipple.
By silent apology, his tongue flicked over the abused skin, soothing the ache before his lips moved lower, trailing rough, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. Each press of his mouth sent a shiver racing through you, and you couldn’t stop the way your legs shifted restlessly, caught between the instinct to close them and the undeniable urge to spread them instead.
His hands slid down to your thighs, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, and you couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Before you could process it, he was spreading your legs apart with a single, rough motion, his digits ghosting over your cunt.
You tried to catch your breath, tried to hold onto some semblance of composure, but it was impossible when his hands were tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, brushing so close to where you needed him but never quite giving you what you wanted.
When his fingers finally dipped lower, grazing over your clit, your hips jerked up instinctively, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Feitan’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk as he pressed down just enough to make your vision blur, the pressure light and teasing despite the roughness of his earlier touches.
“What’s that?” he sneered, clearly enjoying the way you writhed beneath him, struggling to hold back the sounds threatening to spill out. “Didn’t you want me to use suppressants? I think you could use them more, don’t you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer—just pushed his fingers inside your pussy, curling them in a way that made your back arch off the bed, another broken moan escaping your lips despite yourself. His other hand kept your hips pinned down, forcing you to take everything he gave without escape.
His thumb traced rough circles, coaxing more desperate sounds from your lips.
Your vision was starting to blur, overwhelmed by the way his hands seemed to know exactly how to undo you, rough and relentless but so perfectly controlled that you couldn’t think straight. An insane part of your mind repeated the same idea over and over again.
If you’d known it’d be like this.
You wouldn’t have left earlier today.
Feitan chuckled, clearly pleased, and his lips found yours again, devouring your mouth with bruising intensity as his fingers continued to work you over, determined to leave you a trembling mess beneath him.
Your body tightened around his fingers, the way they plunged into you relentlessly, and the tension that had been building finally snapped. A wave of pleasure crashed through you, so intense it left you gasping for air, your body arching up into him as shudders wracked your frame. Feitan didn’t let up—he rode you through it, fingers relentlessly pumping inside you as he milked every last tremor from you, watching with a twisted, satisfied smirk as you came undone beneath him.
Your mind was hazy, still trying to catch up with your own body, and you barely noticed when he pulled his hand away, wiping your slick from his fingers on your thighs with a detached sort of efficiency. The absence of his touch left you aching, but that thought barely had time to form before his hands were on your thighs again, spreading them wider.
Your breath hitched when you felt the press of the tip of his cock against your entrance. He hadn’t taken off his pants, merely pushed it down to free his cock, and it felt unfair.
Feitan didn’t give you much warning before pushing his cock inside, the stretch sudden and overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop the cry that tore from your throat. He paused, just for a heartbeat, staring up at the ceiling.
“Please, please, please can you-”
“Please what.” Feitan replied, his gaze snapping down again, irritated you were interrupting him now that he was finally inside you.
“Move!” You begged, your body so overheated it felt like you’d burn up if you didn’t get what you wanted right this instance. A part of you knew your heat had been triggered by his scent, but that thought didn’t hold any power anymore, not like it mattered. “Please just fuck me, I need it!”
He scoffed softly, almost like he couldn’t believe how easily you’d given in, and his fingers dug into your skin as he pulled back just enough before slamming forward again, forcing another broken moan from your lips.
He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust hard and deliberate, like he was trying to drive out every coherent thought from your mind. You couldn’t stop the way your body moved with his, desperate to meet him halfway despite the bruising pace. Feitan’s mouth found yours again, messy and uncoordinated, more teeth than lips.
There was something almost feverish in the way he moved, like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of you no matter how hard he pushed. The desperation in his movements was foreign, but it drove him faster, deeper, and your hands scrambled for purchase against his shoulders, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.
The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps and his harsh breathing, mingled with the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. The heat between your bodies was suffocating, leaving you lightheaded and completely at his mercy. You could feel the tension building again, winding tight in your core, and the way he shifted his angle, hitting deeper and making your vision blur with the force of it.
Feitan cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering just for a moment before he picked it back up, even rougher than before. You were barely holding on, unable to think, unable to do anything but cling to him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge once again.
Time seemed to blur, each moment melding into the next as Feitan's relentless pace continued—shifting and changing, never quite letting you catch your breath.
You lost count of how many times he repositioned you—fucking you pressed against the wall, sprawled over the edge of the bed, pulled onto his lap having you ride his cock with his hands digging into your waist. Every new angle brought a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body, each touch rough and unapologetic. He barely gave you time to recover before pushing you further.
Your body ached, skin flushed and sensitive, and yet every time you thought you couldn’t take any more, he’d lean in close and tell you to stop being pathetic, which unfortunately did turn you on tremendously. His need seemed insatiable, and even having heard about ruts plenty in your life, you couldn’t imagine it was like this with everybody.
Hours passed, marked only by the gradual shift from moonlight to the first hints of dawn creeping through the window. Your body was heavy with fatigue, limbs trembling and skin glistening with sweat, but Feitan showed no signs of stopping
By the time the sky began to lighten, his movements had finally slowed, the tension in his shoulders loosening as his breathing evened out. You could barely move, every inch of you feeling worn out and thoroughly claimed, but there was a strange sense of peace settling over the room, the air finally cooling as the feverish heat subsided.
Clarity crept back in slowly, cutting through the haze like a knife. You were drained and felt disgusting- your entire body covered in cum, a little bit of blood–1509 really loved biting–and sweat, but your thoughts were finally starting to piece themselves together.
Fuck.
Reality hit hard, and you couldn’t help but curse inwardly. This was just a break—nothing more. Both of you knew it. Ruts didn’t just end after one night; they lasted at least a week, sometimes more, with only brief windows of rest in between. You’d never shared one with anyone before, and now here you were, trapped with the guy from work who’d broken into your apartment and taken you apart like he owned you.
1509 wasn’t lying next to you. He’d shoved your hands away when you (overcome with hormones and post-orgasmic affection) tried to cuddle, snapping at you to quit being clingy. Instead, he sat cross-legged next to you, reading a book he’d swiped from your shelf. The lamplight cast shadows over his face, and his attention seemed entirely fixed on the pages, but you knew better. He noticed the second your breathing shifted from the slow rhythm of sleep to the shallow breaths of regret.
You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to force down the panic bubbling up. “Oh god,” you mumbled, covering your eyes. “This is... You don’t even know my name.”
“False. I know your name. You just don’t know mine.”
You hesitated, unsure whether you actually wanted to know, but curiosity won out. “...Which is?”
He turned a page slowly, the faintest hint of irritation creeping into his tone. “Irrelevant. For now.”
A shaky breath left your lips, and you swallowed thickly before forcing yourself to ask the question gnawing at the back of your mind. “Are you... gonna kill me when this is over? You know, just in case I... tell someone?”
Feitan huffed, a dark, humorless laugh slipping through his lips.
When his mind had finally cleared, a part of him had been disappointed in himself, but the other part felt a strange, newfound control. Every inch of his body had been sated, and even the lingering scent of sex only served to further satisfy him. Perhaps denying himself for so long had been a foolish endeavor. Starvation only dulled the senses.
Now that he had you, there was no need for restraint.
“No.” His gaze finally flickered over to you, a cruel glint dancing in his eyes. Every bit of earlier apprehension was gone, his frustration at his own lack of control having shifted into satisfaction. “By then you’ll know better.”
For Valentine I paired up with @uvobreakmylegs to post an Illumi fic :D This is a long ass fic (which was also the working title of this one) and I'm surprised Tumblr lets me post this in one go. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: A/B/O-setting in college, Yandere! Illumi x Reader, alpha! Illumi, beta! Reader, violence, classism, weird misogyny, non-con, blood, somnophilia, masturbation, 26k words
You sat on your bed with your back against the wall, typing away on your laptop. The small space you’d claimed on your bed was cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and random bits of your life, all fighting for attention. You were supposed to be focusing on the upcoming group project, texting your classmate, but in a form of semi-productive procrastination, you’d decided to do some readings first, summarizing them in a separate document, trying to forget the bit of anxiety the assignment was already causing you.
The current readings were on the ‘dichotomy of social status in a post-transformative hegemony’ and to be fair you hadn’t really absorbed a single word in more than thirty minutes.
With a sigh you put away your laptop. You’d read the abstract before class tomorrow.
Closing your eyes you pushed away some stuff, slid down the wall until your shoulder reached the mattress and curled in on your side, snuggling into the bed for a bit.
…
You turned to your other side, facing the wall. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, counting to five and holding for seven seconds like you’d once seen someone explain in a yoga video.
…
With a frustrated exhale you sat back up. You were too stressed to take a nap, and the only thing that would probably work in calming your overactive mind down, would be to actually do a little work or procrastinate with something fun. The dorm had been mostly vacated when you’d made dinner in the dingy dorm kitchen (ramen with an egg to be fancy) so you probably couldn’t even bother anyone to distract you.
A little work it was.
But that left the group project, since you weren’t gonna read a single word more written by Prof. Reima et al. They’d had their shot.
So all you had to do was grab your phone and send a text to the name that’d been next to yours on the match-up sheet that was posted online earlier today. Just… a little….text.
With an embarrassing fuck yes you were happy no one was around to hear you found out you didn’t have his number and he wasn’t in the class group chat.
Though your happiness was short-lived, since now you were just stressed, with no idea what to do to fix it.
You just really didn’t want to talk to the stranger you’d been assigned.
You didn’t consider yourself awfully difficult to work with, and part of the exercise was of course to work with different people- with different personalities, and still make a good end-product. Nevertheless, you’d secretly hoped to be matched up with Mariah or Bianca, your dorm ‘neighbors’, knowing you could count on them not to procrastinate till the last minute or hand in shit work.
Not that you expected this person to be bad, per se, it was just…
You didn’t know him.
You’d seen him in class, right in the front. He had very long, beautiful black hair that made him stand out from the collection of bed-heads and hoodies up front. The seats next to his were always empty, and when you’d asked around as to why that was, people had confided in you it was because his scent was often strong enough to even unnerve the most confident alpha in class.
Not a problem for beta’s like you, but you tended to follow by example.
The only two words you’d shared with him was a while back when you’d dropped something and instead of picking it up, he’d merely informed you that you’d dropped your keys, even though he was standing next to them. You’d walked back, bent down to grab them and gave him an earnest ‘thank you’, since even if he was a bit weird or rude, at least you didn’t have to call a locksmith or commute back to the classroom to find them.
He had an awfully intense look about him, like a man who couldn’t be paid to smile, and despite being tall, handsome and meticulously groomed, there was something off about him that would dissuade even the bravest from approaching him (all except that red-head alpha from a year up that you’d seen walk with him a few times).
But then there was that little ‘A’ at the end of his name on the sheet—a single letter that carried more weight than it had any right to, making you clench your jaw in frustration before you’d even spoken a word to him. He was an alpha. And as a beta in college, you knew exactly what that usually meant.
Betas were rare enough that it was easy to feel out of place most of the time, caught in the social dynamics of a world that didn’t quite know what to do with you. Lacking the keen sense of scent that alphas and omegas relied on so heavily, you couldn’t pick up on intent or emotion in the same way. That made you clumsier, not out of carelessness but simply because you missed social cues others considered obvious.
It wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating when alphas in particular interpreted your missteps as a lack of social intelligence.
The worst part was the fact that you did have a scent. Everyone around could read you like a fucking book, while you had to scramble and try harder just to avoid all kinds of mistakes.
People could hate you, and you’d be none the wiser unless they’d say it out loud, but you couldn’t get even the slightest bit annoyed without someone next to you turning up their nose and knowing.
You couldn’t even consistently wear scent blockers, since they’d yet to be tested on beta’s and so the pharmacist wasn’t allowed to hand them to you. On important days, in the past, you’d stolen some from your uncle, but after getting a really bad fever after taking one too many, the medicine cupboard had been locked.
So. All in all, not the best hand to be dealt.
With omegas, it was easier. They were generally more forgiving, more open to communicating frustrations once they realized what you were, and their common desire to smooth over conflicts often meant you could find common ground without too much difficulty. But alphas? Alphas were different.
To them, a beta’s inability to respond in kind wasn’t just a gap; it was an absence. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the perception that you were perceived as somehow less to them. They found you annoying, since you couldn’t adapt yourself to what they wanted, and they always tended to get what they wanted.
Added onto the fact that you were biologically utterly useless to them, no heats or hormones that’d match up, and getting along was often a pipe dream.
You’d seen it happen over and over again: discussions where your input was brushed aside, decisions made without consulting you, and the ever-present condescension, always cloaked in well-meaning advice. Even when they weren’t trying to belittle you, the effect was the same. It was exhausting. So you’d learned to temper your expectations, to approach alphas with the wariness of someone who’d been burned before and to try and read body language and social settings like your life depended on it.
Still, it wouldn’t do to walk into this with prejudices, as long as you kept your expectations low to begin with. He seemed serious about school. It wouldn’t be like last time. It’d be fine. It’d be fine.
You checked how much of your grade was impacted by the assignment and cursed.
Well… off to find this ‘Illumi Zoldyck’ then.
After class, you followed Illumi out of class, calling his name once to grab his attention. He didn’t hear you and walked out, making you have to follow him through the hallway.
Not having seen him take a corner, you wandered around for a bit, before you saw him and that red-haired creep talk by the coffee machine. You wouldn’t have been so mean to Hisoka, if he hadn’t broken your friend Bianca’s heart, standing her up after she’d prepared to ask him out for weeks and then ignoring all her texts. You sure didn’t get what she saw in him, but decided that in some light, he could look pretty cool with his half-shaven up hair and piercings.
Before walking up to the both of them, you grabbed your body spray and coated your neck in it, worried your irritation at seeing Hisoka would be noticeable. After putting it away, you walked up to the both of them.
Illumi was saying something, but you couldn’t quite catch it yet.
“Hmm~ Fine. But make sure Chrollo is there.” Hisoka said, a sultry tint to his voice even when making simple plans. His eyes flickered to you and he tilted his face your way in a borderline predatory manner. Dear god, what was wrong with this dude? You tried not to look too nervous, but saw his lips curl up into a smile nevertheless. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, and I’ll give my precious spot over to your new admirer~”
Illumi’s face turned to you as your face scrunched up.
“What?” You said, not having expected that.
“Don’t have to look so mortified.” Hisoka said, walking past you and waving Illumi away. “He doesn’t bite~”
“Ignore him.” Illumi said, as if that wasn’t the weirdest thing to say about a friend ever. “Organisational structures, right?”
A part of you was surprised at his tone of voice. His face was entirely expressionless, but his voice sounded rather casually amused, as if to compensate for how stone-cold he seemed otherwise.
“Yes.” You shifted your weight, trying to ignore how Hisoka still hadn’t walked away but was standing directly behind you. You could smell him, which was impressive considering you generally didn’t smell a whole lot. The little bit that you caught was a horribly sweet scent that would’ve made you believe he was an omega if it just wasn’t so suffocating. Omega’s always smelled comforting, a discovery you’d made recently during a sleepover with Bianca, and this was like walking around a carnival while on really bad shrooms, so the furthest thing from comforting. “I wanted to ask when you wanted to meet to talk about it.”
“Ha ha…” Came the creepy off-putting laugh from behind you, followed by a slow inhale that made every hair on your body stand upright. You looked over your shoulder and took a step forward, kind of shocked by how close he’d been standing. Shifting gears, you held out your hand for the phone Illumi was holding.
This wasn’t much better, since now you were standing a little too close to Illumi. His scent, while lighter, was unfamiliar and odd in its own right, like a musky perfume that needed to settle a little to get rid of the rubbing alcohol smell. Damn. You understood those empty seats now, knowing that if your nose was even a little better you’d also not want to sit next to either of them.
Though it would’ve aided you a bit in navigating this odd social interaction. Scents were often described as a whole separate language in itself. A russian novel you’d once picked up for a literature class had dedicated three whole chapters to the minutiae of the intent behind scents during an exchange between an alpha and omega at a dinner.
All you got from smelling was an indication whether or not someone smelled nice or not.
Having a strong scent was usually considered a ‘good’ thing, especially if you could control it a little, which you still didn’t really understand. How was such a thing controllable, wasn’t it just basic bodily functions? Googling it didn’t help, as you didn’t understand the medical jargon and the only normal articles about it were just on how to increase scent strength in order to be seen as more dominant and successful.
You looked at Illumi’s face intently, finding absolutely no indication of any sort of emotion. Was he angry? Was he annoyed you’d interrupted his conversation with Hisoka? Why was he being so quiet?
You raised your hand a little further.
“I’ll give you my number, text me.” You said, eager to get out of this situation as soon as possible. Why did alpha’s have to be so weird? Even the so-called standard alpha had so many quirks that it made life quite unbearable for someone like you who didn’t like to be sniffed all the time, despite knowing it was technically normal. “I’m on campus every day next week for my thesis, so feel free to just pick a moment.”
Illumi handed you his phone, already open on the contact screen.
“Busy bee~” Hisoka murmured as you entered your contact information, his voice carrying some blatant mockery.
“Are you done?” you snapped, unable to stop yourself. Hisoka’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your planning.” He twirled on his heel, sauntering off with an exaggerated sway to his step.
The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as Hisoka finally disappeared around the corner, but the unease lingered. Illumi watched you silently for a moment.
“I’ll text you,” he said simply, as if nothing unusual had happened. “But I won’t meet you here. I’ll send you a location.”
“Hm? Why?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended, but you couldn’t help it. His demand caught you off guard and you were still on edge by that Hisoka figure.
Illumi raised a single, sharp eyebrow, as though your confusion was unwarranted and nodded towards the coffee machine. “The coffee here is horrible. I much prefer the café close to the business district.”
You stared at him, your lips parting in disbelief. Was he serious? You didn’t know which café he was referring to, but the business district was at least a thirty minute walk. You narrowed your eyes, trying to gauge if this was some kind of test.
“And pay ten times what the coffee costs here?” you asked, your voice edging toward incredulous.
His head tilted slightly, his lack of expression unchanged. “I’d prefer not,” you added, folding your arms in a defensive stance.
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s expensive,”
“It’s really not,” he replied without missing a beat. His tone was so matter-of-fact that you almost felt a flash of secondhand embarrassment for yourself.
You huffed a small laugh, half-joking to break the awkward tension. “I don’t mind, if you pay for my drink.”
“Low on funds, are we?”
Your laugh died in your throat. The way he said it made it feel less like a tease and more like a diagnosis. Fuck.
“...” You stared at him, words failing you for a moment. Then, very bravely and wisely deciding this conversation wasn’t worth pursuing any further, you shook your head and turned on your heel.
“Bye,” you said, the word clipped as you walked away, clutching your bag a little tighter.
As you put distance between you and Illumi, you couldn’t shake the feeling of having lost. You resisted the urge to glance over your shoulder, refusing to let him see how much he’d rattled you.
“You’re late.”
Illumi was seated at the corner table, wearing a dark red button-up that seemed like it was ironed just before you got in the café. He’d tied his hair in a very low-ponytail, and not for the first time you marveled at how pretty his hair was.
In comparison to how put-together he looked, you were wearing the same outfit you’d been wearing yesterday, only remembering that to be the case when you were three minutes away from the café. It was hot, and you felt sweaty.
You grabbed your phone. “You sent me the location twenty minutes ago. This was a thirty minute walk. The fact I made it in twenty-five should be impressive.”
“It isn’t.” He said, already sipping his drink.
“What? It is a thirty-minute walk.” You were already grabbing your phone to show him.
“No,” He said. “I mean it isn’t impressive.”
Your fingers stopped typing the address to show the route you’d taken. For a full ten seconds you stood there in silence before just sitting down and sinking into your seat. “So. The project.”
You’d promised yourself you’d be cooler this time, and you’d already failed. It wasn’t like you were keen to impress alpha’s, but this was just plain embarrassing.
For the first time since you’d met him, the edges of his lips inched upward.
The two of you settled into the task at hand, pulling out notes and reference materials. The café buzzed softly around you, the staff cleaning up empty tables and clinking cups creating a soothing backdrop. You worked in silence, focusing on the project with an intensity that kept your thoughts from wandering too far.
The two of you decided on a subject pretty quickly, and you both split up for a bit, trying to find sources and ideas online that would make for a good baseline to work from. Illumi sent you a reading he deemed pretty worthwhile, and so you tried to work out what it was implying so you could work ahead.
Illumi pointed out a specific section he wanted to use, his finger lightly tapping the screen as he indicated the passage. You nodded and set out to read it. The text, however, was dense and convoluted.
You squinted, your eyes scanning the same lines repeatedly, trying to wrestle meaning from the words. Frustration prickled at the edges of your mind, a tight knot forming in your chest. You bit your lip, determined not to show any signs of struggle. The last thing you wanted was to seem clueless in front of Illumi.
‘Within the nuanced framework of matrix organizational structures, as seen in fig 1., the dual-reporting lines and the interdependence between functional and project-based hierarchies create a lattice of authority and responsibility, indicating that in order for managers to navigate the intricate equilibrium between vertical accountability and-’
What the fuck did this mean.
He was waiting for you to respond to it.
You were being slow. You didn’t want him to know. You should just quickly think of something vague to say, and try to read it again. You opened your mouth, to reply something, anything, but nothing came out.
Illumi’s gaze lifted from his own work, his eyes settling on you with quiet intensity. His posture remained relaxed, one arm resting on the table, but his piercing gaze made you feel like he could see straight through you. “You’re confused,” he stated plainly.
It wasn’t a question. The bluntness of his observation made your face heat instantly. You could feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “What? No, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “I’m just... thinking.”
His eyes remained on you, unblinking. “Your scent says otherwise.”
You froze, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Of course, he could pick up on that. You were mortified, knowing he could sense every flicker of your emotions, even the ones you tried to suppress. Bianca and Mariah pretended not to notice, and your family knew better than to say it this bluntly.
“I—” You fumbled for words, glancing down at the laptop screen. “It’s just... this part is confusing, that’s all.”
Illumi tilted his head slightly. “Is it?”
The simplicity of his statement only made you feel more self-conscious. “I’m just-,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll get it in a minute.”
“You’re not majoring in business, are you?”
You exhaled sharply. “I’ll get it in a minute.”
He didn’t press further, simply nodding and returning to his work. But the heat in your cheeks lingered, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly exposed. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus back on the task at hand. Even though the embarrassment lingered, you were determined not to let it derail the rest of the session.
You did grab your body spray again to lather your neck, a move which made both Illumi and the waitress crinkle their noses.
The rest of the meeting went better, and at one point he even nodded approvingly at something you’d written, which made you inwardly cheer. Your scent had probably betrayed you again despite the overdose of perfume you’d used, because his eyes flickered up at you again at that.
“Would meeting again tomorrow work for you?” Illumi said, pulling out his phone to check his agenda. “I want this done before the holidays.”
You hesitated. “Didn’t we just divide the parts?” Usually, one or two meetings were enough, with the rest of the communication handled online. You also had plans to watch a movie tonight, and squeezing in another session seemed excessive. “I won’t have a lot done by tomorrow.”
“I prefer to work on this exclusively like this,” Illumi said. “I don’t like waiting for replies when I’m working on projects.”
“Oh.” You could understand that, but you weren’t keen on trekking all the way to the café again. “That’s fine, but I don’t have time to commute all the way here tomorrow. Is meeting on campus okay?”
“No,” Came the immediate response. “You can take a cab to my place. This café is too noisy after all.”
You glanced around, noting the nearly empty space. His comment caught you off guard. “...No,” you said after a moment of stunned silence.
“Ah yes, low on funds,” he remarked, sitting so upright that it was hard to tell if he was even leaning against the backrest. “I’ll order the cab then.”
“You do realize you sound insane, right?” You were genuinely unsure. “Just come over to my place instead. No cabs, and it’s close to campus.”
“Fine.”
“And also—oh.” You’d been ready to argue further, but his swift agreement stopped you in your tracks. “Okay.”
“You’re going to meet him again?” Bianca said incredulously. “Didn’t you already meet up twice this week? How much effort are you putting in this thing?”
You shrugged. “It’s going pretty smoothly, and I could use a good grade. Would make up for that horrible excuse of an exam for Global Business.”
“Fair.” Mariah voiced.
“It’s not fair, it’s interfering with girl talk.” Bianca whined, lightly pawing at your sleeves. “I wanna choose the pictures for your dating profileeee~”
“Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to live your single life through me.” You laughed. “You can swipe for me on dating apps next time.”
“Ohhhhh~” Bianca immediately let go. “Deal.”
Mariah held up a hand in greeting, her eyes not having lifted off her book during the entire conversation. “Have fun.”
“Byee.”
You had expected him to sit across from you at your table, as he usually did, maintaining a comfortable distance. But today, he had chosen to sit next to you, his presence a steady, silent weight at your side. His long legs stretched out slightly under the table.
Your heart thudded a little louder than you liked. You tried to keep your focus on the text in front of you, eyes scanning the words, but his proximity made it difficult. The warmth radiating from him was subtle, yet unmistakable, and the occasional brush of his sleeve against your arm sent tiny jolts of awareness through you.
Illumi, as always, seemed entirely unaffected. His eyes moved steadily over the pages of his book, his expression serene, as if the world around him didn’t exist. His fingers, long and elegant, flipped the pages with quiet precision.
You, on the other hand, felt acutely aware of every little detail—the slight creak of the chair as you shifted, the way your knee almost bumped against his when you adjusted your position, the soft rustle of fabric as you reached for your notebook. If he smelled this flusteredness you were experiencing and made mention of it, you’d jump off a bridge.
It’d been three hours already, and the project was good and done for today, but despite having finished, instead of leaving when you’d said you’d finish some other tasks, Illumi had pulled out a book and started reading next to you.
Distracted from your work, you looked up at him. “Is it any good?”
“Depends on your taste.” He showed you the title. ‘A Bandit’s Secret’ the cover read. “It’s a little full of itself.”
“In what way?”
“It’s good, but the writer knows it a little too well.” He sighed and immediately you felt like he was annoyed you’d interrupted him. Had reading next to you not been a sign he wanted to spend more time here with you? Perhaps you’d read too much into it. “The day he’ll get the Pullitzer will feel like a deja vu with how often he must’ve imagined it already.”
You laughed at that, and Illumi looked at you with a neutral face. Oh, had he not intended that as a joke? Whoops.
Trying to not make more of a fool of yourself, you turned back to your laptop, managing to handle the returning silence for a total of three minutes before you cracked.
“Did I say something wrong?” Your voice broke the silence, soft but deliberate, as you leaned back in your chair.
Illumi shut his book completely this time with a snap. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” You hesitated, squinting at him as though searching for a crack in his stoic armor. “You don’t have an expressive face, and the conversation fell silent, so I worried you got angry at something I did.”
Some people got embarrassed when you straight up tried to ask what was wrong, or they’d twirl around the subject, annoyed you couldn’t just tell what was happening. Some people somehow couldn’t accept that their scent didn’t just carry across the message, despite knowing you physically couldn’t be able to tell even if you wanted to.
Despite that, you preferred outright asking and working things out before things got into a big deal. You’d been once named and shamed for weeks for readily accepting a ‘i’m fine’ from a girl in school, happily talking about your weekend, while everyone around could apparently tell she was grieving and depressed, making you seem like an asshole for just ignoring that and talking about yourself.They all understood but that didn’t mean they didn’t judge you.
Because of incidents like that, you’d come to prefer asking outright. It was cleaner, even if some people bristled at the directness.
“You did not say anything wrong,” Illumi said finally.
“Okay,” you replied, experiencing some silent relief, “but be sure to tell me if I do. I don’t like it when I go home oblivious and weeks later I find out someone’s mad at me.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Used to a lot. Not so much now in college, luckily.” You picked up your pen again, rolling it between your fingers. “I don’t hang around alpha’s a lot, or new people in general.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me,” he said bluntly. “I’ll tell you if I feel you need to know something.”
That sounded like he might take some far-reaching liberties with what you needed to know, but fine. As long as the two of you could understand each other. You tilted your head, considering him, before nodding.
“Thanks,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I appreciate it.”
He didn’t open his book just yet. “Any plans for the weekend?”
A little surprised at his interest in something as menial as that, you recounted your plans, mentioning that you’d probably be spending it all with Bianca and Mariah, to make up for ditching them this evening.
“She’s gonna swipe for me on a dating app,.” Came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. That was a weird thing to tell him. Stop, stop, drop the subject. “it’s a whole thing. I think she has done more of the talking on those things than me.”
You didn’t drop the subject.
“Dating apps? What’s the use of that?”
Noooooo-
“...Dating?” You said slowly, pretty sure you were missing a point, before realizing what he probably meant. “Oh, you must not hear about it much, it’s mostly just beta’s trying to meet others like them. It’s not as simple to meet someone for people like me.” You pointed at your nose. “Can’t just tell if someone’s a good match.”
Why had you still not dropped the subject.
“So what’s it take instead?”
“Different for everyone, but most beta’s I know date a long time and decide like that.” You didn’t want to admit that in your lifetime you’d only spoken to a handful of beta’s, all people outside your age range. Your rural middle school once tried to make a hang-out group for beta’s, but you’d been the only girl, and hadn’t really been into playing call of duty, so it wasn’t a success. Still, it’d been a good initiative, since you still followed those guys on social media and they seemed to still be hanging out now and again. “Spending time together, dinners, that kind of thing. It’s very socially exhausting. I’ve tried a few times, but it’s frustrating seeing everyone else just know when we’re supposed to guess. Or at least, that’s how it seems for me.”
“Hm.” Illumi said, seeming to mull over your point. “I see.”
“So what’re your plans?” You said, eager to have the conversation shift away from your doomed love life. “Wait till some omega’s scent knocks you off your feet and go from there?”
“Something like that.” While you’d prattled on, it seemed Illumi was much better in dropping a subject, as he opened his book again. You were about to die from embarrassment at having overshared so much when he fixed you with a look. “Why are you embarrassed?”
You let your forehead hit the keys of your laptop. “...Nothing.”
Where are you?
You looked at your phone again, trying to remember if there’d been plans you’d forgotten. The assignment was over and done with, and if the work you’d seen other groups hand in was anything to go by, the two of you’d passed with flying colours. After checking your agenda and coming up empty, you decided to bite the bullet and just ask.
I’m back home for the holiday. Did we make plans?
You saw the text bubble pop up and disappear a few times.
I’m closeby. Can I pick you up at seven?
You blinked as you stared at the text. He was here? Up north? Had he also gone to visit family? A part of you that immediately wanted to text him a paragraph full of questions is silenced, knowing he’d only reply with ‘limit yourself to yes/no’ if you did that.
You thought to yourself for a bit. You’d gone home to spend time with family, but you’d been let loose today to do some social calls. Those would be done by seven, and curiosity as to what he was planning was kind of tipping the scales.
You walked to the kitchen, where your aunt stood pouring some tea for herself.
“Hey, a friend from uni is nearby and wants to meet up at seven, is that okay?”
She huffed. “Don’t have to ask me for permission. Who is it?”
“The weird alpha.”
“Ah.” Her eyebrows raised at that, and you could just tell she had some thoughts on the matter, but decided to drop them. “Well, don’t say no on my account, but if you need an out, be sure to call me and I’ll pretend to have given you a curfew.”
You scoffed. “I think I’m grown enough to just tell him to take me home.”
“...Are you?” She held out a cookie for you once you walked past her.
You stopped and genuinely considered it, taking the cookie she offered. “Probably.”
A few hours later, you stood outside the apartment complex, genuinely lost for words when a car stopped right in front of you. Not one with Illumi driving, mind you, but with a driver.
The car door swung open smoothly, almost silently, the kind of automated luxury that didn’t just suggest wealth but flaunted it. You hesitated for a split second, your eyebrows lifting in a mix of awe and unease. Steeling yourself, you climbed in, settling into the plush leather seat that practically enveloped you. Everything about the car—from the subtle hum of the air conditioning to the scent of new leather and faint cologne—spoke of extravagance.
Illumi was already seated next to you, his posture composed and rigid. His long black hair draped neatly over his shoulders, the sharp lines of his suit immaculate. His dark eyes flicked over you.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked.
You glanced down at yourself, picking at the hem of your oversized sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed Bowling Champion of ’78. The faded letters were slightly cracked, and the fabric smelled faintly of detergent and something musty.
Grinning, you leaned back against the seat. “I didn’t pack enough clothes, so I had to raid my old closet. Vintage, right?”
Illumi’s brow twitched ever so slightly. “Don’t look so happy about it,” he said, his voice sounding the same as usual, but his words carried the weight of disapproval. “You’re going to make a fool of yourself in the restaurant.”
“Oh, is that why you’re wearing a suit?” you shot back, your grin widening as you gestured vaguely at his tailored ensemble.
“Yes,” he replied, deadpan, as if the answer were obvious.
“Maybe you should’ve told me the dress code for the place then.” You snickered to yourself. “I-”
“Yes, yes, I’m paying, don’t worry about it.”
Wooow…
“Fuck, man. I was gonna say I would’ve dressed up nicer.” You felt the familiar twinge of irritation rise in your chest. Not for the first time spending time with Illumi, you felt utterly mortified, but you bit your tongue. You knew it was just… him. It wasn’t worth the fight, and honestly, you’d probably lose anyway. “What got you in this area?” you asked instead, changing the subject.
“Work,” Illumi said simply.
“Work?”
“I am helping with the family business.”
“What do they do?”
“...Business.” He said after a moment of deliberation. You sensed he didn’t want to talk about it, so you decided to change the subject, feeling proud of yourself for reading his reply so well.
“And you decided to bother your poor little classmate as soon as you were done?” you teased, leaning your head against the headrest.
“Am I? Bothering you?”
“No, just curious,” you admitted with a shrug, fiddling with the sleek panel of buttons along the car door. There were so many—each labeled with tiny, glowing symbols—that you didn’t even know what half of them did. The temptation to press them all was almost overwhelming.
“I was just surprised when you texted me.”
“I’ve texted you before,” Illumi said, and there was a faint trace of defensiveness in his tone.
“Yes, but never for something like this,” you countered, gesturing vaguely to the luxurious car and the promise of an equally extravagant meal. Then, realizing the conversation was veering into uncomfortable territory, you waved your own words away. “Never mind that. I appreciate the invite. Really.”
The car glided to a smooth stop. You glanced out the tinted window, half-expecting to see the restaurant, but instead, your door swung open with a soft hiss. You blinked, confused, as a woman in a sharp suit appeared in front of you. She moved with practiced efficiency, holding a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms. Without so much as a word, she extended the bundle to you, her expression professionally neutral.
“Uh—” you started, but she was already stepping back, retreating to the sidewalk like a phantom. The door shut softly behind her, enclosing you and Illumi in the car once again.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” You said, looking lost at Illumi.
Illumi didn’t even look fazed. “Wear it,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The dress code is non-optional. You won’t get in looking like that.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it, glancing down at your sweatshirt again. Okay, fine. Point taken. But still—
“...And your driver just had an extra set of clothes, ready?”
“Good personnel doesn’t need to be asked,”
He looked at his phone as he said so, making you realize just how little he thought of the driver’s efforts, like it was completely normal for something like this to be arranged without giving even a single indication. Bianca had once vacuumed your room, just because she’d already been going at it, and you’d been grateful for an entire week. You hoped the driver was paid well, at the very least. Dental, even.
You blinked at him, genuinely stunned. “Damn,” You blinked, looking again at the clothes. “You’re really rich, aren’t you.”
“That bothers you?”
“Well. No? I guess?” You shrugged, trying to regain the casual tone you’d been holding onto earlier. But it wasn’t as easy this time. This whole situation—being whisked away in a luxury car, handed designer clothes like it was nothing—was excessive in a way that made you feel uncomfortably out of place.
You’d reckoned he was well-off, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just a cabin with a boat for the holidays, this was a rented-out ski lodge abroad type rich.
Your confidence wavered as you tried not to dwell on it. A beta from uni, dressed like a walking thrift store sale rack, picked up from a one-bedroom house shared with four people living in it. You’d never been self-conscious about it before, but suddenly felt judged.
You forced a laugh, clutching the clothes against your chest. “I am gonna google you when I get home though,” you joked, feeling like a joke yourself, clueless on how to deal with him.
“Get changed,” he said simply, his tone dismissive as he leaned back in his seat, his focus shifting to the window.
“What? Not in here.”
“Where else? The windows are tinted.”
“Yeah, but you’re still in here,” you shot back, flustered. Your hands tightened around the neatly folded pile of clothes in your lap. It wasn’t just that he was here; it was that he was Illumi. His mere presence was disconcerting enough without the added layer of stripping down in front of him and there was no way he was seeing your mismatched bra that had a little hole in the side of the lace.
“I don’t see the problem,”
Your face heated. “That’s uncomfortable,” you said firmly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. You couldn’t believe you had to explain this to him. Did the guy really not understand why changing in front of someone—even someone as seemingly indifferent as him—was awkward? It was kind of insulting that he probably saw you as so undesirable, being a beta, that he thought absolutely nothing of it.
For a moment, he just stared at you.
You stared right back, refusing to back down. No way were you giving in on this.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Illumi broke first. “Fine,” he said, with a faint trace of annoyance.
He pressed one of the buttons on the sleek console beside him. Without missing a beat, the car slowed and glided to the curb. You barely had time to blink before Illumi opened the door and stepped out.
“I’ll be up front,” he said over his shoulder, his voice muffled as he closed the door behind him.
Left alone in the backseat, surrounded by the anonymity of tinted windows, you looked at the clothes and realized you couldn’t really get out of this now.
“What am I doing…” you muttered, shaking your head as you surveyed your impromptu dressing room. With its sleek, (in your mind) futuristic luxury, the car didn’t make the situation any less ridiculous.
You unfolded the clothes carefully, inspecting them. The dress was a deep, dark red, the kind of shade that felt simultaneously elegant and intimidating. It was mid-length, form-fitting but not overly so, and surprisingly, it looked like it might actually fit you. Stockings were included—stockings, of all things—along with a low-cut grey fur coat that was absolutely ostentatious.
The pièce de résistance, however, was the jewelry. A small bag sat in the center of the pile, holding a few shiny silver pieces that looked like they’d cost more than your rent. You sighed deeply, shaking your head again as you held up a necklace to inspect it.
“This is insane,” you muttered to yourself.
Quickly, you started changing, feeling both grateful and mildly paranoid about the privacy the tinted windows provided. The dress slid on easily, hugging your figure without being suffocating. The stockings were more of a challenge—halfway through wrangling them on, you cursed loud enough for them probably to hear you in the front seat—but you managed.
Finally, you shrugged on the fur coat, its weight settling over your shoulders like a silent declaration of wealth you didn’t actually have. The jewelry was the last touch: earrings, a bracelet, and the necklace, which you fastened carefully around your neck.
Looking at your sweatshirt and pants, you folded them and placed them next to you with a little bit too much empathy for the discarded clothing.
You’d liked the shirt, at the very least.
“I look like a prostitute.” You said, looking at yourself in a reflective storefront while walking down the sidewalk. All you were missing was the bold red lipstick.
Illumi very seriously looked you over as he led the way. “Well. I am paying for dinner.”
You laughed loudly and slapped his shoulder. “Fuck off.”
The restaurant had been unlike anything you had ever experienced. Its grandeur had overwhelmed you from the moment you had stepped inside. The towering ceilings, gilded chandeliers, and the soft hum of a string quartet had all contributed to the sense that you didn’t belong there.
You were glad Illumi had insisted on changing clothes, since you were sure you’d be shot like a lame horse if you’d walked here in the bowling sweatshirt.
Still, you’d have felt more like yourself.
Beside you, Illumi had moved with his usual composed elegance, utterly unbothered by the extravagance surrounding him.
Your table had been positioned near a massive floor-to-ceiling window that showcased the glittering city skyline. The twinkling lights outside had reflected in the crystal glasses and polished silverware on the table.
When the waiter had handed you a leather-bound menu, you had trailed the spine, making too loud comments wondering if it was real leather, making a couple across from you giggle behind their wine glasses.
“Don’t mind them.” Illumi had said, surely because your discomfort was tangible in the air.
The words on the menu had been foreign. Each dish had sounded more elaborate than the last, and the descriptions had only added to your confusion. You had glanced at Illumi nervously, hoping for some kind of guidance, but couldn’t manage to make eye contact.
Before you had gathered the courage to ask for help, he had closed his menu and spoken to the waiter in his usual calm, measured tone. His words had been efficient, a series of dish names that you couldn’t repeat if he asked you to. When the waiter had turned to you for confirmation, you nodded wordlessly, trusting Illumi to have chosen something appropriate.
When the food arrived, it was a collection of dishes that not only looked beautiful, but tasted like the cook had poured his heart and soul into every last bite. You’d probably been a bit too loud in your enjoyment of the food, but the waiter had given you a happy looking smile, so at least someone seemed to appreciate you.
“Do you enjoy it?” 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.
“This,” He muttered as he bottomed out once again and leaned down to place his weight on top of your body, the push into the mattress heavy and suffocating. “Is all the space we need between us.”
for fun this year @hypnoswrites and I both wrote Illumi fics for Valentines Day. no connection between the fics, just more dead fish eyes for love day this year :D
here's her fic~
Red Thread of Fate Soulmate AU with Illumi x reader
💕Happy Valentines Day💕
Warnings: assassination, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping
Word Count: 13.4k
Most days were rather dull for Illumi, he had to admit.
They largely consisted of the same limited activities: travel somewhere, accept a job, locate and kill a target and then be paid for doing so. Sometimes he met with the client if such a meeting was necessary for any reason, but most clients were satisfied with the transaction taking place through the butlers, so these days Illumi rarely needed to take part in a face to face meeting.
Sometimes days were different. Sometimes Chrollo required his services, which Illumi took, much to the annoyance of his father. Sometimes Hisoka decided to bother him, and Illumi would hold back on taking out his annoyance on the magician since it felt like getting rid of him at that moment would be a waste. Sometimes it was Illumi himself causing the detour in his routines, halting his work for something that he determined would be of use to him in the long run, such as the time he had spent taking the Hunter exam. But such things didn't happen often.
Aside from those instances and his frequent trips home before he went back out on a job, the routine largely stayed the same.
Travel. Kill. Payment. Again and again.
And while Illumi was in no way dissatisfied with his life was it was currently, it felt as though there was something missing.
Namely, his soulmate.
Like most who were capable of using nen, Illumi learned of the connection after he mastered gyo and subsequently found that invincible red thread around his finger. The explanation of what that thread meant was followed by strict instruction: that once the thread grew taut, it meant that his soulmate was nearby, and when that happened, he needed to find whoever it was on the other end of the thread and secure them. As with everything his parents told him, Illumi listened carefully and remembered their words, and not a day had gone by since then that he would check on the thread whenever he was away from home, wondering when the time would come that his soulmate was meant to meet him.
The meeting was something Illumi thought of often. For years following the day he learned of soulmates, he found himself gazing at that thread on his finger in the quiet moments during long hours of travel. The more time wore on, the more he wondered who was at the other end and why he hadn't yet met them. At first, when he was still in his training, he had expected that he would meet his soulmate once he had fully mastered nen. But that had been quite some time ago and no such thing had happened, thus his assumption had been false. So Illumi was left to wonder why it hadn't yet happened. Wondering why, after all of the time he spent traveling for jobs, the thread continued to lay slack and dead and refusing to lead him to that other person.
But patience was one of the qualities of a good assassin, and thus, Illumi waited. And until the day came where he would find the person that fate had decided belonged to him, he would continue with that same routine.
Travel. Kill. Payment.
Again and again, always working hard to do his best to uphold the Zoldyck family name, and always trusting that he would find his soulmate whenever fate would determine that the time was right.
It ended up being on an a day that was overcast, when the clouds were dark and looming overhead above him. When Illumi stepped out of his hotel to take care of the current job he had been hired for, he did what he had always done and glanced down at his left pinky finger, anticipating that it would be the same as always. But that was the day that the routine was broken as he realized that the thread around his finger was tight for the first time in his life.
When he saw that the thread was finally, finally taut, a surge of anticipation swelled within him.
For whatever reason, the time was now. While it was a mild inconvenience that he couldn't immediately go to his soulmate due to the fact that he was in the middle of a job, it made Illumi quicken his pace as he was eager to get it over quickly. With the large briefcase that the client had instructed that he take with him in hand, Illumi kept his eyes on the thread as made his way to the site where his first target was, watching as the thread grew tighter with each passing step, indicating that he was getting closer to where he would find the one at the other end of the thread.
Illumi expected that he would see them while he was on his way to his job. Perhaps passing by on the street or in a nearby shop. Based on how the thread seemed to be staying still on his soulmate's end, it appeared as though they were staying put. Again, he was spurred forward, a small smile appearing on the assassin's face as he thought of being able to take what was his, to have that connection he had heard spoken of so often from others.
He continued, getting closer and closer to the cafe where his first target was waiting and he still had yet to come across his soulmate. When it got to the point that the cafe was within viewing distance, Illumi began to wonder if they were in that same space as the target. An odd coincidence that his soulmate would be there, but perhaps that was fate playing its hand again. Even if his soulmate saw him with the target, it wouldn't matter. As long as nothing alarming happened between himself and the target in his soulmate's vicinity, it would be of little consequence.
But when he was finally across the street from the cafe and he caught sight of that person he had been waiting for, he froze.
Despite the clouds that had gathered over the heart of the city and their efforts to hide the sky above them, bits of blue and the bright light of the sun managed to break through every now and then. Such was the case when an opening in the clouds appeared just then, allowing forth a thin ray of sunlight that came down and settled on an area with a particular person sitting in the middle of it.
You.
You sat at one of the outdoor tables at the cafe, your index finger trailing across the plastic cup that held your sweet looking drink while the toe of your shoe tapped incessantly on the pavement beneath your seat. The slightly chill air that blew by caused you to shudder slightly, and you glanced behind yourself to look inside the cafe building, as though you were considering moving inside so you could be out of the cold. When you saw that no seats were available, you frowned to yourself and ultimately stayed where you were.
Still in that sunlight and with everything in the surrounding environment pointing to you. And as you sat beneath the spotlight that nature had created for you, Illumi watched intently from the other side of the crosswalk, taking in everything about you and only tearing his gaze away for a few scant seconds to stare down at his own left hand to make sure that what he thought he saw was correct: that the red thread which was attached to his pinky truly connected him to you.
No matter how many times he checked, there was no mistaking it. His eyes that followed the thread always brought him back to you and no one else.
His soulmate.
It should have been a good moment, as it was a moment he had been anticipating for a long time now. When Illumi saw you at last, saw your face for first time after imagining it for so long, it should have been a moment where he felt at peace upon witnessing his other half.
Instead those feelings of anticipation died immediately upon seeing you, and all Illumi felt in that moment was a mild confusion accompanied by immediate concern.
It didn't appear that he was the only one who was concerned.
Despite your attempts to appear casual, it was evident from your expression that you were nervous, and your gaze kept going to a long, thin parcel that sat upright in the seat next to you. From the way you glanced about, it was clear that you were waiting for someone. As if to further prove that point to him, you took another sip of your drink as you glanced at your phone, checking the time before you scanned the area that surrounded you.
It all matched up.
Concern turned into irritation – with whom exactly, Illumi wasn't sure yet. But someone was to blame for this, someone was responsible for this situation that felt like a horrid joke. This wasn't something that should've happened, not to him. Even though he found himself hoping that he was mistaken and the real target was within the cafe building behind you, taking up one of those seats you had wished to occupy, all of it simply matched up too well.
The time was 11:15.
The location was The Nest Cafe.
You were clearly waiting for someone to arrive.
And Illumi was certain that you were waiting for him.
It felt like too much of a coincidence that you would be there for any other reason. Not at this time and with that parcel in the seat next to you, not with the way you looked at the other people in the vicinity, subtly glancing up at those who walked by close to your table in anticipation of any one of them approaching you. And if that wasn't enough, your appearance matched with who he was told would be there waiting for him to perform the exchange.
Everything pointed to you being the one he needed to meet for his job. If that truly was the case, then that meant you were his target.
One of the those he had been hired to kill.
The assassin stared at you as his mind began to race. The disbelief of how such a thing could happen, how this much of a coincidence could occur consumed him. How you had landed yourself on the radar of Edgar Farley and how you had angered him to such a degree that he decided to spend extra for Illumi to torture you and your accomplices extensively before your existence was snuffed out.
Of all the things that could have happened, how in the world had he ended up taking on a job that required him to kill his own soulmate?
Illumi didn't notice that his grip had tightened too much on the handle of the briefcase until he heard it crack, and that sound was enough to snap him out of his all consuming thoughts. He needed to continue, he reminded himself. As a Zoldyck, he needed to complete the job for the name of his family, regardless of the unforeseen circumstances which involved you.
Of course, he wasn't going to kill you, which would mean he would need to come up with some sort of solution for the sixth body Farley was demanding.
Illumi let out a small, barely audible sigh as he gathered himself up internally.
He would figure it out. There was surely a solution that would allow him to have you and complete the job without any fuss. He had no doubts on that.
But for now, his focus needed to be on getting you somewhere out of sight.
With that, Illumi waited for the light at the crosswalk, and once it turned green, he began to make his way towards you, once more keeping his eyes on you and the thread as it grew shorter and shorter.
You noticed him quickly after he had crossed the street, and when you realized that he was staring straight at you, you turned your full attention to him, straightening yourself up in your seat when you saw that he was approaching you. When he stopped in front of you, it took you a moment before you spoke as you glanced down at the briefcase he held. Illumi saw the way your pulse quickened as the gears began to turn in your head, as you came to the assumption that he was the one you were waiting for.
Illumi spoke first, calling out your name in a questioning tone.
You nodded cautiously.
“Are you, uh-”
You faltered in the middle of your sentence, seemingly taken aback by the way he was looking at you.
Was the way he was staring at you that strange?
Regaining your voice, you tried again with “you're here for the…. Uh, the thing, right?”
…… That was how you were describing this?
“Yes,” he answered.
“Ah. Okay then.”
You got up from your seat, but then stopped as you looked down at your cup.
“Did… Did you want a drink, too?” you asked.
Illumi shook his head.
“I'd rather we head off.”
“Okay. That also works.”
You took one long, last sip before tossing the cup into the appropriate receptacle before hurrying back to the table to grab the parcel, tucking it beneath your arm as you looked back at him.
“The hotel is down that way. It isn't too long of a walk. A little bit less than seven minutes,” you told him.
Illumi nodded silently, then followed once you began to make your way down the sidewalk. Keeping his eyes on you, he found that while you were once again trying to hide it, you were clearly nervous. There was a jitteriness to your step, and your fingers kept playing with one of the edges of the parcel, slowly picking at it more and more with every moment that passed as you made the walk to the hotel.
You then stiffened as though a sudden thought had struck you, and you turned your head while you walked as you asked “sorry, I should've said something beforehand about us walking. It's not an issue, right? If it is, I can get us a taxi.”
“It's not an issue,” Illumi calmly replied.
“Oh, okay then. That's good.”
Your free hand then went up to nervously scratch at the back of your neck and you let out a shaky exhale that you must have thought he wouldn't be able to catch.
Why were you doing this if it made you so nervous?
It appeared that just being involved in this situation that was causing your distress. Perhaps you actually recognized how awful this plan was; the group you were part of appeared to be a foolish lot, with none of you seeming to truly know what you were doing. Illumi hoped you weren't the ringleader, as this get rich quick scheme was already pathetic, and he found himself disappointed that you were participating in it. He'd be even more disappointed if he knew you were the one to come up with it.
At least once he was done here, he wouldn't need to worry about you being able to do anything too foolish. The leash he would keep on you would be too tight for that.
You glanced over at him again, and he grew concerned when he saw your eyes furrow in worry upon meeting his gaze again.
Were you perceptive enough to realize that something was wrong?
That turned out to be unlikely, as when an elderly man who stood a few steps in front of you sneezed unexpectedly, you jumped, and the parcel nearly dropped from your hands. No, it didn't seem likely that you were aware of anything amiss; you were simply nervous about the situation as a whole.
Illumi frowned slightly as he watched you. Your nervousness was only an additional negative in this situation. Your lack of nen meant it would be harder for you to understand the connection, and if you weren't relaxed, you were guaranteed to not feel it in a timely manner.
As much as he hated to admit it, Illumi doubted that he would be able to ease your nerves and get you to trust him, and especially not in such a short time.
There was no choice but to take you by force. While that would cause issues that would be detrimental to the connection opening for you, it was better to go through with that. The time it would take for you to accept him would be longer, but that was the safest option he had.
The silence stretched over the two of you, though it didn't seem to do much to assuage your nervousness. As Illumi continued to follow you, his gaze once again went to the parcel being carried beneath your arm. That was the item that had been the source of this entire conflict, that the client desperately wanted back. Why Farley was willing to have him kill over a piece of art, Illumi couldn't fathom, though his own opinion hardly mattered in this instance.
But as he looked at the parcel, he found that something about it felt…. Off. From what he was told about the art he was to retrieve, the dimensions of what you carried didn't seem to match up with what had been described to him. He turned his gaze back to you, boring into the back of your skull as he grew suspicious over what exactly you were carrying. Things definitely didn't need to be complicated by you not having the painting in question.
He'd find out what was going on soon enough, he supposed.
The first bit of relief within you was seen when your shoulders loosened slightly as you looked beyond the path in front of you and caught sight of a hotel. While it was better than the average cesspit hotel with clientele that consisted of drug users and married spouses in the middle of an affair, the hotel was also considerably cheaper than the place Illumi had checked out of this morning. As he followed you in through the front doors, the assassin glanced about at the lobby. There were a fair amount of people milling around, all of whom seemed to be there from out of town for some kind of sporting event. No one bothered to even glance in your direction or his when you made a turn to the left and began to lead him down a hallway on the first floor.
Again, he wordlessly followed you as you made your way to a nearby stairway, and when you looked back at him again, you asked “are you cool if we take the stairs? With all those people around, I figure it's best that we avoid them if we can.”
“I have no issue with that,” he answered. As he followed you into the stairway, he spoke again, his voice echoing slightly against the barren walls as he asked “but why are you worried about people seeing us?”
“Ah, just…. You know. If we're stuck in a small space like an elevator, then people are more likely to take note of us. See us up close, and possibly say something to the police about us if something happens,” you said.
Illumi's eyes narrowed as he asked “are you expecting something to go wrong with the exchange?”
“N-no.”
“Then why the worry?”
“Just….. Just to be safe. Just in case,” you answered, “better to err on the side of caution, right? Neither of us want to be seen with something stolen, right?”
“I suppose.”
It was more than likely for the best that you were going out of your way to avoid the other guests at the hotel. Despite how you had seemed to calm down some once you arrived here, it appeared as though his questioning had made your nerves shoot up again, and he didn't need you drawing attention to the both of you in such a way.
The way you became nervous so easily was likely going to be a tough issue for him to tackle, however. After all, you would become an assassin like him once the two of you were married, and the fact that he could easily see you freezing up in the middle of a job didn't bode well.
That would need to be trained out of you.
But he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he needed to solve this current set of issues with you before he could consider your training. And at the moment, he felt as though a big issue was quickly being taken care of. With every step he took as he followed you up the several flights of stairs, he was getting closer to having you alone in a controlled space. That in and of itself was enough to give him a slight sense of relief.
It seemed as though you were of the same opinion, as once you made it to the hotel room in question and entered after Illumi had, you were quick to shut the door and flip the lock, breathing in deep before letting all out in a shaky sigh.
That time he chose to make a comment.
“You don't seem well,” he said.
You startled slightly, your eyes growing wide before you tried explain it away.
“I don't?” you asked, “I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, so maybe that's why. Sorry about that.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Illumi asked.
Once again, you seemed surprised at the question.
“Force of habit, I guess,” you eventually got out.
Stepping by him, you moved towards the center of the room, where a small couch and coffee table were sitting in front of the single bed. An item sitting atop the table caught his attention: one of those portable money counting machines. The transaction would be taking place there, then.
After placing the parcel on the far end of the couch, you turned to him after and you clapped your hands together in a clear attempt to change the topic, forcing yourself to smile at him as you did so as if to convince him that everything was fine. Perhaps it was a way to convince yourself as well.
“So, um,” you began, “I guess I'll start with counting the money.”
Hearing that surprised him a little.
“I don't get to see the painting first?” Illumi asked.
“Um….”
You seemed caught off-guard by that question, and you stammered for a few moments, glancing back at the parcel briefly as you tried to come up with a response. In the middle of that, you oddly took the time to look at the door of the closet that stood behind him, your gaze flitting over to it briefly before you looked at him and cleared your throat.
“Uh, I think I should count the money first,” you told him, “just to, you know, be safe.”
“You think I'm going to scam you?”
“N-no. But it's a lot of money, and we're – I'm taking a lot of risks here.”
Your gaze grew a bit more grim as you added “plus, I heard that the previous owner was something of a psychopath, so I really want to be careful, you know?”
Then why steal from him if you're worried about him retaliating?
As reasonable as it would have been to ask that, Illumi held his tongue.
“Plus, like, even if the painting was fake and I did try to grab the money and run, I don't think I'd get far, you know?” you continued.
“What makes you think that?”
“You look like you could catch me easily. So I think running would be really dumb on my part.”
After a brief pause, you then admitted “the way you've been staring at me has also been intense and you're kind of scary, so I really don't want to make you mad at me.”
Illumi blinked.
“I'm scary?” he repeated.
You blanched, as if you hadn't realized what exactly you had said until he had repeated it. Your panic began to grow again as you started to apologize.
“I'm sorry, that was really rude of me! I didn't mean to say that,” you insisted, “I just meant to say….. Meant to say that I'm not going to try anything shady. That I wouldn't do that to anyone, and definitely not you. I'm really sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you.”
Letting out a shaky breath, you continued “I was told that I needed to count the jenny first, so I'm just trying to do what I was told, you know?”
“….. I see.”
From the way you reacted to his response, it seemed as though you determined that you had said something wrong, as you were quick to then tell him “sorry, I'm not trying to make things difficult. I get why you need to be cautious, because you don't know me and eight billion is a lot to be handing off to a stranger. But I promise, as soon as I'm done I'll let you confirm that it's the real thing.”
There was a hint of desperation in your gaze as you then asked “does…. Does that sound good?”
Ending the charade now would have been prudent. If he did that, he would save himself some time, get the job over with quicker so he could focus fully on you. Knocking you out and calling up the butler that was waiting on standby for him to take you away while he figured out a replacement for you would be the best way to move forward.
But he still wasn't sure what was going on with the painting and he didn't want to sour your opinion of him by torturing you on your first meeting.
So instead, Illumi nodded.
“I understand,” he told you, “I'll wait, then.”
Though it was tinged with nervousness, the smile you gave him was one of genuine relief.
“Thank you,” you said.
Illumi said nothing, but he felt an odd sensation in his heart upon seeing you smile.
Keeping his face as that same blank mask he almost always wore, he settled down onto the chair that sat opposite of the couch. You sat as well, taking the briefcase that he had offered you and setting it on the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly when you opened it, as you likely had never seen that much jenny before in your life.
As you began to count, Illumi thought of what you had said moments ago, the things you had said about him. And as if somehow sensing what he was thinking, you looked up at him again, your eyebrows pinching in worry as you spoke up.
“I really am sorry for what I said, if it offended you,” you reiterated.
“It's fine. It doesn't matter,” he answered.
That was a lie. It mattered a lot. Especially upon realizing that his soulmate was unsettled by him to the point that they viewed him to be scary, of all things. But as he recalled the lovely expression that had been on your face when you had thanked him moments earlier, he decided that he could forgive you.
So again he held his tongue and merely observed you after the two of you had taken your seats, and he watched as you pulled out a notebook and a pen before gathering a stack of jenny and placing it into the money counter after. Shortly after, the silence in the room was broken by the sound of the rustling paper as the jenny was put through the machine and the small screen at the front displayed the total that quickly shot up as more of the money went through. Soon enough that particular stack was done, and you jotted down the number on the screen before setting the stack aside and grabbing another from the briefcase, repeating the process again.
The two of you would be here for a while.
As much as Illumi wished to have used this time to speak with you, it was clear that you wouldn't be receptive to it. You saw this as a business transaction. Any personal questions coming from him would likely only earn him more worried looks and apologies as you desperately tried not to offend him. So he sat in silence while he watched, keeping his eyes on you as you continued the monotonous task.
At the beginning you would glance up at him periodically, only to quickly avert your gaze when you saw him looking at you. Eventually you stopped doing that, and it seemed as though you were making a point to keep your focus only on your notebook, the money counter and the contents of the briefcase.
What exactly makes me so scary?
That question would need to wait until later, as much as that fact irked him.
With little else to do, Illumi glanced again at the parcel. Again, the dimensions didn't seem right to him. And as he remembered the way you had glanced over at the closet, a possible explanation began to form in his mind, but it was one he would likely need to wait for until you had finished what you were doing.
Now that his mind was again on the task at hand, he asked “how exactly did you come upon this piece?”
Tensing at the sound of his voice, you glanced up at him and then immediately averted your gaze.
“Um, I don't think I'm supposed to say anything about that. All that matters is that it's real, right?” you asked in reply.
“We're talking about a stolen art piece. We're both 'taking risks' for this, as you put it. I think I'm entitled to know how you got ahold of this,” he answered.
Your shoulders sank slightly as you appeared to concede.
“We, uh, we heard it was just sitting in storage, that no one had checked in on it in a while. So my roommate figured we could take it and no one would notice,” you quietly explained.
“It seems like he was right because it hasn't been reported missing yet,” you added.
“Your roommate?” Illumi repeated.
You froze. And then you seemed disappointed with yourself as you were forced to admit “my roommate knows a guy who works at that museum where it was stored.”
“Why aren't they here?”
“He's the one who thought of this and got everything set up. The other guys were the ones who took the painting. So this is the part I need to do.”
You quickly looked back to the money counter, once again scribbling down the number listed on the screen.
The more he learned, the more Illumi was convinced that whomever had been the mastermind of this plan – your roommate, evidently – they hadn't thought through it very well. As was usually the case for the theft of fine art. If the thief didn't have a buyer lined up beforehand, they typically had a hard time selling it off for any sort of profit. While exceptions for that rule existed, such as the Phantom Troupe whose notoriety had fans of theirs wanting to buy items that had been in their possession, a small group of first time criminals were never going to achieve such success. This entire interaction had been set up so you and others who thought about stealing from his client would learn a lesson. It was always going to end badly for your group.
The one thing Illumi could be thankful for was the fact that he had been selected to carry out the hit. It allowed him the control he needed to navigate the situation and guide it to an ending where the client was satisfied and you were still alive.
When the process of counting the eight billion finally ended and you confirmed that what was given to you was the correct amount, you shut the notebook, placed the jenny back within the briefcase and then looked to him, saying “everything looks good. I'll show you the painting now.”
Instead of handing him the parcel, you stood up and walked over to the closet that stood in front of the door, sliding it open before you reached inside. When you pulled your hand back out, you were holding another parcel.
He caught on immediately as he asked “is that the real painting?”
You looked back to him, and then nodded.
“Yeah. The one on the couch is a decoy,” you explained, “just in case.”
“Just in case?” he repeated.
“In case you thought it'd be better to take it from me when we were outside,” you said, “I figured since I'm not really intimidating at all, a potential buyer might think of stealing it and leave us with nothing, so I put the real one in here beforehand.”
When he didn't respond to that, your fingers tensed on the edge of the new parcel, looking away as you mumbled “I thought it was a good idea.”
“It certainly shows that you exercised more caution than I gave you credit for,” Illumi said.
“Thank – thank you?” you replied, uncertain if you should take his words to be insulting or not. Regardless of that, you stepped forward as you approached the coffee table once again, holding the parcel out to him to take.
You sat back down on the couch after, watching him as he undid the piece of twine that held the brown paper wrapped around the painting. You were eager to get this over with, as your hand was seated next to the handle of the briefcase, twitching every now and then as if you wanted to grab it and leave. In your mind, this ordeal was almost over, and you would soon be able to return home to your cohorts with your ill-gotten gains.
His attention was brought to the painting as he unwrapped it fully and pulled it up to inspect that it was the genuine article.
The painting was moderately sized and featured a scene that could likely be found on the cover of an average historical romance novel. At the center of the piece was a maiden upon a balcony, having just swung her legs over the railing as she sat atop it with her ankles peeking out beneath the skirt of her dress. A short distance beneath her was a knight upon his horse, reaching out to her as if beckoning her to take the leap, an assurance her that he would catch her. And in the background that featured a room that led to that balcony, a door had been forced open, with several men charging in, no doubt with the intent of grabbing the maiden before she could flee with her knight lover.
While the art of the painting was detailed and could be considered beautiful, and the piece certainly told a story, Illumi couldn't fathom how and why such a silly painting managed to cause so much trouble, much less why the owner was so incensed at it's theft that he was willing to pay so much for it's return. And if it had been that precious to him, why had Farley left it in that museum in the first place?
You leaned forward in your seat, scanning for any hint of change in his expression as he looked it over.
“Do you like it?” you asked.
“It's acceptable.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“You're spending eight billion and you just find it 'acceptable'?” you asked.
“All I care is that it's the genuine article,” he told you.
“Oh. Okay then.”
With a note of finality in your voice, you straightened up in your seat, your hand once more grasping the handle of the case as you said “so if you're satisfied, then we're done here, right? Transaction closed?”
Illumi nodded slowly.
“Yes, I suppose that's correct.”
“Okay then. Do you want to leave first, or should I? I'm fine if you want to go first, but I'm not sure how much time I should wait before leaving myself.”
“You aren't leaving,” he told you.
“…..”
The silence stretched out through the entirety of the room as you stared at him, your nerves slowly but steadily growing once again as you looked at him in confusion.
“But I need to take this back….?” you questioned.
“That isn't happening.”
“W-why?”
“Because I'm an assassin and I've been hired to kill you,” Illumi said, “therefore, I cannot allow you to leave this room with that case.”
You stared at him silently, your eyes widening in shock as his words sunk in. Your gaze went down to the floor as you began breathing heavily and you began to tremble. You accepted it. No questions about what he was talking about or if he was trying to joke around – you could tell he was serious.
Illumi was ready for you to do something in response. A normal reaction would likely be to run from him, either to escape out the door or the window. Both had their own pros and cons, though if it was Illumi in this situation, he would likely choose the window. Whether or not you would do the same remained to be seen. Though it was possible that you might choose to fight back, not that you would be able to do much against him. He had trained for as long as he had remembered, so no matter how strong you may potentially be, there was little chance that a civilian like yourself would be able to overpower him. The best you would be able to do would be to throw items in the room at him, and that would still be next to nothing.
He was overthinking things, because as he looked at you, he didn't see any ounce of fight in you. You were still gazing down at the floor, and while your breathing had slowed slightly, you were still in distress. If he were to guess, this must have been a worst case scenario for you, one that either the members of your group or you yourself had said couldn't possibly happen, that your luck wouldn't ever be so bad.
You even said that the client was a psychopath, so why you thought this wouldn't happen was still a mystery to him. At least he would make sure you wouldn't be making such terrible decisions in the future.
Illumi waited for you to act, already mapping out in his head what he would do in response to whatever you chose.
He waited.
And waited.
And Illumi felt confusion growing within him once more as you didn't act.
You weren't running.
Time was ticking by, and you stayed on that spot on the couch, only moving to slump backwards against the seat. Instead of attempting to save yourself from a man who just told you that he was an assassin, you stayed still, refusing to move at all. The exact opposite of running.
Illumi's brows furrowed as he asked “why aren't you running?”
You glanced up at him, surprised by his question.
“Why?” you repeated, “I guess…. I mean, what's the point? I'm in a room with you that has only one exit, and I'm pretty sure you'll catch me if I run. Actually, we had a conversation about that just a few minutes ago, didn't we? And you seemed to agree with me. So why should I bother making things worse for myself by running?”
He frowned, not liking the way you had given up so easily and accepted your fate.
“You won't even try to fight back?” he asked.
“Again, what's the point? I can tell just by looking that you're stronger than me. I don't wanna get into a fight that I know I'll lose,” you said.
Illumi blinked when you said that, hearing one of his own lessons that he had ingrained into his younger siblings coming from your lips catching him off guard momentarily. Despite not even knowing of him before this day, you already knew one of the lessons he had intended to teach you.
Within an instant, Illumi felt a bit more hopeful for you. While you seeming to accept your death was far from ideal, he was certain that he could make you unlearn that response.
You were his soulmate, after all. Teaching you would be easy.
“You do have a good point – I am stronger than you. As you are right now, you could never defeat me,” he told you.
You didn't react to his statement, instead continuing to stare down at the floor dejectedly.
“But it isn't good that you're giving up so easily. In the future, if you find yourself in this position again, you should find an escape route and remove yourself from the situation.”
At that, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him strangely.
“In the future?” you repeated, “what future? You said you were going to kill me.”
“I said that I was hired to kill you,” Illumi stated, “but that doesn't mean I'm going through with it.”
And with that, there was a bit of hope in your eyes, a bit of life breathed back into you as you straightened up, now watching and waiting intently for his every word as you now believed that there was a way out of this. Of course, there was, but it wouldn't be in the way you expected.
You gulped before you asked “you…. You're going to let me go?”
“No.”
Your shoulders sank again as Illumi continued with “I'm not killing you, but I also can't let you go. If I did that my client would find out and that would cause issues for myself and my family.”
“So then…. Then what? What happens to me? Why are you sparing me?” you asked.
“I need you alive,” he said.
“Why?”
“I'll explain that later.”
“Why?” you asked again, your voice growing a bit more fearful.
“Because I have no time to discuss it now,” he said plainly.
With that, he stood up and closed the distance between the two of you. You still didn't move when he approached, not even to scoot away to the other side of the couch. You simply sat there, cowering and fearful as you stared up at him.
“You said it was your roommate who put you up to this, correct?” he asked.
At that your eyes widened slightly before you frowned, only now realizing your slip up in having mentioned that fact.
“…. I shouldn't have said that, should I?” you asked.
Illumi nodded at you.
“In any other situation, that would have been a poor choice on your part,” he told you, “but it doesn't really matter all that much now. Your name as well as the others was already given to me. I was just made to go along with this so I could recover the painting.”
The assassin grabbed at your bag, opening it and rummaging through until he found your wallet. Shortly after he had your ID in hand, and he read the address that had been printed on the card.
“Is your roommate home right now?” he asked, not looking away from the card as he did so.
“….. I think so.”
“Will the others from your group be there?”
“I'm not sure.”
“I see.”
Illumi pocketed the card before looking back to you.
“… If I told you to trust me, I'd be demanding too much from you, wouldn't I?” he asked.
“…. A little bit, yeah,” you admitted.
Nodding at your answer, Illumi said to you “I appreciate you being honest with me.”
Then the assassin stood back up -
And with a quick strike of his hand at the back of your neck, you fell over on the couch as you were knocked unconscious.
Without missing a beat, Illumi pulled his cellphone from his pocket and went about dialing the number for the butler who was meant to pick him up once this part of the job was finished with. As expected, the call was picked up before the first ring had finished.
“I need you to come to the back of the Arcadia Hotel,” Illumi told the butler, not bothering with any sort of greeting or an explanation.
“Understood, Master Illumi. I'll be there within ten minutes,” they answered.
The call ended just as quickly as it had started, and Illumi looked back to you. Even in unconsciousness, you still appeared to be in distress as your brows were furrowed and you were frowning. Not even sleep could relieve you of your worries, and as he stared at you, Illumi felt an odd bit of anger rising in his chest. You were unprepared for such tasks like this one, yet those people – your roommate and whoever else was involved – had pushed you to do this regardless. They had been so irresponsible and careless that you had ended up on a hit list, and had it not been for Farley going to him specifically, someone else would have killed you.
You would have died easily had it not been for the strange coincidence of him being the one to take the job.
The thought of you dying made his anger worse, and for a brief moment, that rage seeped out, quickly filling the small space of the room and making the lights flicker from the force of it.
You didn't remain unaffected by it, either, as when you were hit with with the force of his anger, you shuddered in your sleep.
Within an instant, that anger petered out.
And without thinking, Illumi moved, hoisting you up into his arms and then settling back down onto the couch with you in his embrace. Your cheek rested against his chest while your pliant body molded against his in a comfortable fashion. An idle thought came to mind – with where your head was resting, were you able to hear his heartbeat that was next to your ear? Would you be able to tell such a thing as you were now?
That seemed to have broken Illumi out of his stupor as he blinked once again. Now truly taking in the sight of you on his lap, he realized he had acted on impulse, not really thinking about his actions when he had pulled you into his grasp. It felt strange. Physical acts like this one – to hold someone to himself – were not actions he was used to. Everyone within his family were inclined to keep physical contact to a minimum, and outside of his family, there was no one that he would allow to touch him, not without them paying for it after.
But with you, it had come naturally and with no hesitation on his part. One look at your face had driven him to hold you, as if to ease your distress while you slept. Such things that he was feeling for someone he hadn't even known an hour, and all because of a thread that you couldn't even see.
Illumi's hand went up to stroke your hair, his fingers trailing gingerly through the strands as he quietly murmured to himself “the soulmate bond is a strange thing indeed.”
Strange, that it would drive him to do something he had never once been inclined to do.
But at the same time, it felt good.
He stayed like that with you, holding you and caressing you gently. While the time passed by peacefully, the gloomy clouds that could still be seen outside the hotel room window parted, allowing the sun to filter in with a warm glow.
When Illumi's cellphone rang, it caught him off-guard. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he found himself surprised when he saw that the aforementioned ten minutes had passed, and the butler was no doubt calling him to inform him that he had arrived.
Had the time truly passed so quickly?
His mouth set in a small frown as he lifted you back into his arms, adjusting you before he stood up and carried you out of the room.
Under normal circumstances, the butler wouldn't have needed to call for him for any reason. Any other time, Illumi would have been waiting at the aforementioned spot long before his ride would have arrived. That he had gotten so distracted simply from holding you was somewhat worrying, and he hoped this sudden distracted attitude was a one-time thing due to him finding you.
The butler he had called for was standing at the ready when Illumi walked out through the employee only door of the hotel, and they bowed respectfully when they saw him. Their gaze narrowed ever so slightly when they saw you unconscious in his arms, but they said nothing, waiting for their master to speak first.
Illumi did just that once he had reached them, stopping before them to ask “what is my schedule for the next few days?”
“During the time you spent with the target, another request came in for your services, Master Illumi,” the butler said, “two days from now, in the Kakin Empire.”
“Give it to Milluki; I'm sure whatever it is, he can handle it,” Illumi told them.
“And if Master Milluki is not available…?”
“He's always available. He never leaves home unless someone makes him.”
The butler nodded and listened intently as the assassin continued “don't bring me any assignments for the next few days. I need my schedule completely clear.”
“For this person, Master Illumi?” the butler asked as they once more looked at your unconscious form.
Illumi stared back to them intently as he said “this is my soulmate. You'll show them respect.”
At that, the butler immediately understood, bowing their head as they answered “of course, Master Illumi. My apologies.”
“You'll look after them while I complete my current job,” Illumi said, “should they wake up before I return, you will tend to their needs while keeping them safe.”
“Of course, Master Illumi.”
The butler then moved to take you from Illumi's arms, but stopped when he gave them a long, hard stare.
“Open the door,” the assassin ordered.
Moving quickly, the butler did just that, opening the back door and holding it wide for him. Illumi then carried you into the car's interior and set you down onto one of the long seats, handling you gently as he did so. As he pulled back and began to step out of the vehicle, he found that he was remiss to leave you. But as he still had a job to complete, there was nothing to be done about it.
After exiting the car, he waited for the butler to close the door before turning to them one last time.
“Don't speak of the discovery of my soulmate to anyone,” he ordered, “I will let my family know in my own time.”
One last time, the butler nodded in understanding, and they waited until Illumi began to leave the area before they took their place back in the driver's seat and drove off. Illumi couldn't help but take one glance behind himself as you were driven away. Despite knowing that with the way you were laid out on the backseat and that he wouldn't be able to see you, something still caused his head to turn as he watched the car move further away, as he watched the thread from within the vehicle become more slack with every bit of distance put between the two of you.
When he returned to the hotel room to grab the painting was when he realized another mistake, an oversight on his part. Illumi froze after he entered, catching sight of something on the couch where the both of you had been sitting not so long ago:
The briefcase.
With the eight billion jenny.
The jenny that had been Farley's payment for the job, that he had intended to give to that butler so he didn't need to drag it with him when he killed the other targets. Yet it remained on the couch.
Illumi had been so concerned with getting you to safety, he had managed to forget it completely.
Pursing his lips, a small scowl made its way onto his face as he stepped forward, determining that he had no choice and that he would need to take both the briefcase and the painting when he went to the apartment where your roommate was. It was obnoxious, but he wasn't going to call back the butler.
Admitting that he had forgotten something would be far too embarrassing.
The car was driving along a lonely stretch of the two lane highway while the sun slowly descended to the earth, casting the sky in golden colors as it sank lower and lower. It had been a while now since they had left the boundaries of the city, and there was still some time before they would reach the intended destination. But with a freshly filled gas tank and a driver who was more than capable of withstanding the hours of driving that were left on the journey, Illumi doubted that there would be any delays from this point. They would arrive at one of the Zoldyck's many homes in due time, and then Illumi could get to know you.
He was currently staring at you, just as he had been at the start of the journey. After the hit job that took longer than expected to complete due to his targets being spread out and the added stress of finding someone to act as a replacement for you – all taken care of with a single needle and the disfigurement to the heads – Illumi had been eager to see you again. Though there had been a slight disappointment on his end when he entered the car and saw that you were still unconscious, he quickly overcame that when he took advantage of your current state in order to place you so that your head rested on his lap.
Just like in the hotel room earlier, it wasn't an action that he was accustomed to – he had never considered doing something like that for someone before this – but with you, it felt right. Natural.
And as he lightly brushed his knuckles against your cheek while you slept soundly under his watch, he found that he felt content. After years of waiting, of fruitlessly searching, he finally found you. Not under the best circumstances, that was for certain, but seeing how things had ultimately turned out, it was all worth the wait.
Though there did remain the matter of your reaction once you had awoken and how you would receive him once he told you the truth.
A small frown once more graced his lips. Teaching you nen and showing you that way would be the best way to prove it to you, though it would take some time. While he had no issue spending that time, he felt another pang of disappointment hit him. He liked you as you were now; pliant and accepting of his touch, as more than once when he had stroked you, you had leaned into him, subconsciously seeking him out. It felt nice, an acknowledgment of the connection that some deeper part of you surely recognized. That you would likely be resistant to him once you were awake was a shame, but one that was unlikely to be avoided.
Learning about you wouldn't come about quickly, he feared. It would take time to tear down the walls you would no doubt build around yourself. So getting to know what you were really like, the areas in which the two of you were similar and the ways in which you differed, and the way that he hoped that you would be loving with him, as was so often spoken of, all of that would only come in time.
With that in mind, Illumi was making an effort to cherish this moment on the journey, when he could caress you all he wanted without you making a fuss.
But not long after, it seemed as though that moment was coming to an end.
He noted when you began to stir awake, your eyebrows furrowing and your mouth turning into a frown as your consciousness slowly but surely returned to you. With your head still resting on his lap, Illumi watched you intently, keeping his hand on your hair. The reaction you would have when you woke up was bound to be a bad one. You would likely remember most of what had happened before he had knocked you out and you would respond with that same fear as before once you saw that you were laying in the confines of such a small space with a man who had told you he'd been hired to kill you.
Illumi anticipated how you might lash out at him, perhaps attack him if you thought you might be able to catch him off guard. Although, based on the way you had reacted back at the hotel room, it wasn't hard to imagine that you might beg him to let you go, perhaps even cry while doing so.
The mental image of you with tears in your eyes had a bad taste form at the back of Illumi's mouth as he found that the thought displeased him.
…. Hm. Just from the thought alone?
His eyes went back to the thread that connected him to you, and once more he felt a small amount of amazement at how powerful the connection was already. But with you not knowing nen, how long would it take for you to sense it?
The fluttering of your eyelids had Illumi's gaze snapping back to your face, and once more he watched intently as you were now waking up.
The look he could see in your eyes when they first opened was best described as being dazed. For a few moments, you were looking around the interior of the car, but sleep still had some hold on your mind as there was no reaction from you as you did so. Not until your gaze drifted upwards and you caught sight of Illumi looming over you. And even then it took a few moments of you gazing at him before your mind truly became awake.
Illumi watched as the dazed look in your eyes dissipated, the sleepiness being replaced with wide eyed shock and horror as you remembered him, your once slack jaw tightening and the breath now coming out of you harsh and fast through your nose, betraying your utter panic. You had your full attention on the assassin, staring up at him and not daring to move, even when you realized just where he had chosen to place your head during the time you were unconscious.
He didn't like the way you looked at him, but Illumi supposed that he shouldn't blame you too much for that reaction. He also supposed that he would need to be the one to start a dialogue between the two of you, as you seemed too terrified to speak.
Yet you managed to do something unexpected.
With your voice croaking out of your throat and your lips barely moving, you managed to get out a single “hi.”
Illumi blinked in surprise, but then chose to copy you as he responded with a similar “hello.”
He stayed quiet after, giving you the opportunity to speak on your own again.
You did just that. After your gaze went back to your surroundings, you looked him in the eyes again as you mumbled out “we're in a car.”
“We are,” Illumi agreed.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Why else would we be in a car?”
“Ah, right. Sorry. That was a stupid question.”
You were having an easier time speaking, though the wild look of panic in your eyes had yet to go away.
“Can I…. Can I ask where we're going?” you then said, your gaze now on what little you could see through the tinted windows.
“Somewhere safe.”
“…. Safe for who?”
“Safe for us both.”
You blinked.
“What does that mean?” you asked.
Illumi raised an eyebrow as he replied “I should think you would understand what that means. I don't believe I've said anything confusing.”
“I mean, well……”
You glanced away again before saying “it just feels like you're being a little vague with what you're saying. Plus, you could be lying to me.”
Illumi cocked his head as he asked “why do you think I'm lying?”
“You weren't being very truthful earlier,” you reluctantly answered.
He frowned at that.
“You're saying that I lied to you?” he asked.
You nodded.
“When did I lie?”
“With the whole exchange,” you mumbled, “you were pretending to be a buyer.”
“I never claimed to be. You only asked if I was there for 'the thing',” he pointed out.
“But you're an assassin.”
“I never said that I wasn't.”
“You lied by omission.”
Illumi's eyebrows raised slightly.
“Not mentioning something counts as lying?”
“….. Yeah.”
That answer had come out more mumbled, as though you weren't willing to admit that he was right.
It was rather cute, but commenting on that fact was unlikely to be received well in that moment.
As you had quieted down, he took the opportunity to speak as he said “regardless of if I was lying or not earlier, I'm telling the truth when I say that I intend to keep both of us safe. I hope you believe me on that. It's the least you could do after the trouble you've caused for me today.”
You looked up at him in confusion as you repeated “trouble?”
Illumi nodded, repeating the word “trouble. With you getting on that hit list, you put me in an awkward situation.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
“Oh. Sorry, I guess.”
You hadn't relaxed much since waking up, but it seemed to be a good sign that your voice wasn't shaking quite as much anymore.
“I never imagined I'd manage to fuck up badly enough to make things difficult for an assassin,” you added.
Under normal circumstances, Illumi would have considered such a reaction – such words – to be odd, especially coming from someone who knew that he had been hired to kill them. But as he thought on it more, perhaps it wasn't so strange. You were his soulmate, and while you had spent the majority of the car ride unconscious, perhaps the physical contact made with him keeping your head on his lap had been enough to awaken the connection subconsciously.
To test that, Illumi reached a hand towards your cheek, eager to see what your reaction would be. When you did nothing other than stare at his palm before it made contact with your skin, he felt as though he was proven correct. When he began to softly stroke your cheek and he felt you stiffen slightly before relaxing in his touch, the assassin couldn't help but smile.
This was going even better than he hoped.
Finally responding to your last statement, Illumi told you “it's alright. Everything managed to work work out regardless.”
“That's good, I guess.”
You gulped before taking in another breath, and then you spoke up again.
“Not that your lap isn't….. Comfortable, but are you okay if I sit up? Continuing the conversation like this feels awkward,” you said.
Despite not wanting to grant that request after enjoying the time he'd had with you in that position, Illumi pulled his arms away and leaned back slightly as he answered “of course.”
That you sat up immediately and scooted just a few inches away was again displeasing to Illumi, but he told himself that it was good that was all you were doing. That you were being so reasonable was a very good thing for himself, as well as for you.
Looking about the car once more, this time while sitting up, your gaze lingered briefly on the butler in the front seat, as though you hadn't noticed them before. Whatever you made of their presence was unknown as you tore your gaze away to look again at Illumi.
“Can I ask more questions or do you want me to shut up?” you asked.
“You may ask as many questions as you like,” Illumi told you, “I will answer to the best of my ability.”
“Ah. Okay. Um…”
Your fingers played with the hem of your shirt while you formulated your question, something Illumi found his gaze drawn to. He remembered the way in which you had toyed with the paper of the decoy parcel, and it seemed to him that you had a habit of fidgeting whenever you were nervous.
“You said…. You said you were hired to kill me, right?” you asked.
Illumi nodded.
“And you…. Didn't?”
“You're alive right now, aren't you?”
“I mean, I think so,” you said, “this would be one weird afterlife to end up in.”
“I just – I don't want to sound ungrateful,” you added, “but I have to admit that I'm really confused about why I'm still alive. I really thought I was going to die earlier – you said you'd been hired to kill me, so I don't get why you didn't go through with that.”
“It's because I can't kill you,” Illumi answered.
You picked up on his choice of wording as you repeated “Can't? Not 'won't'?”
“Exactly. I can't.”
“Why?”
Without wasting a breath, Illumi said “because we're soulmates.”
Upon hearing that response, you didn't reply. You stared up at him blankly, blinking every now and then as though you were still processing his words. Seconds ticked by as you stayed like that, and Illumi stayed quiet in turn. As he had been telling himself before, he should anticipate a reaction of disbelief from you. Based on your current temperament, you likely wouldn't lash out, though if you were to do so, it would be from desperation and panic.
“Soulmates?” you repeated, “is that similar to love at first sight or something? You saw me and felt I was the one?”
“No. When I say we're soulmates, I mean that the two of us are literally soulmates.”
Illumi lifted up his left hand as he told you “there's a thread that spans the space between the both of us, that connects the two of us together. We're meant to be with one another.”
You looked to his hand and then to your own.
“I'm…. I'm not sure I see a thread,” you said.
“That's because you aren't able to yet, but it's there.”
“…… Oh.”
Illumi blinked at your lackluster reaction, wondering if that really was all you had to say about that.
But you next response was what truly surprised him, as after taking a moment to seemingly mull it over, you let out a small response that simply consisted of a single word.
“Okay.”
Illumi blinked again and he stared at you, uncertain if he had really heard you say what he thought you said. Even the butler who had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange glanced back with a puzzled expression on their face.
Upon seeing his reaction, your eyebrows furrowed and your anxiety began to build again.
“Was…. Should I not have said that?” you asked, “were you really joking when you said that?”
Your question snapped Illumi out of his slight stupor.
“I wasn't joking,” Illumi clarified, “I'm telling the truth. You're my soulmate.”
Upon hearing him again, you nodded slightly as you let out a soft breath. And then you said it again.
“Okay.”
…. You were accepting it that easily?
Illumi wasn't sure what to say, and that in of itself was strange for him.
He must have been looking at you strangely again because your nerves only continued to grow.
“Did I say something wrong? You don't seem very happy,” you said.
“… I'm a little surprised,” Illumi admitted, “I thought it would take more to convince you on account of you being unable to see the thread yourself, at least at this moment in time.”
“Ah, I guess that is a little weird,” you said, scratching the back of your neck as you added “but if that's what you say is the truth, then I'll believe you.”
“You'll believe me?” Illumi repeated.
“Y-yeah. I mean, if you kill people for a living and you chose not to kill me, then you must have had a good reason not to, right? And if you say that it's because we're soulmates, then I'll trust that that's the truth. You told me to believe in you, right?”
Remembering his words from earlier, he nodded in agreement as he confirmed “I did say that.”
You nodded in turn as you said “so I believe you.”
It looked as though you were going to say something further after reiterating that last point, but when you opened your mouth, you seemed to reconsider whatever you had planned on saying. So you shut your mouth and remained silent while you went back to fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, though you made an effort to relax yourself as you leaned against the back of the seat.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I'm fine,” you said, “it's a bit much to take in, but I'll manage.”
You then spoke up once more as you asked “can I ask another question?”
“Of course.”
“What happened to my roommate and the others?”
“They're dead.”
You went quiet after Illumi's blunt response, and though he could see that you were once more attempting to keep your expression level, the panic in your eyes was easy to spot.
“Their bodies will have been handed over to the client by now, as well as the painting that your friends stole,” he said.
“…. But…. Does he know about me? Or did you not tell him?” you asked.
“I told you before: he was already aware of your involvement. He knew all of you, and he could have disposed of you on his own. He went out of his way to choose me because he wanted you four to suffer,” Illumi answered, “but not to worry. I found a solution in your case. Farley has no idea that you aren't dead. Even if the unlikely happens and he comes across you, he wouldn't dare do anything to you, not if he wants to risk bringing down the wrath of the Zoldyck family upon him. Once we are married and you have my name, he'll be none the wiser.”
Unfortunately, it didn't appear that you truly heard him, as when he told you that you could have been disposed of earlier, a look of dread passed over you and sweat started to bead on your neck. When your breathing grew harsher, he grew concerned once more. And when you suddenly clamped both of your hands over your mouth, Illumi stopped speaking completely, his gaze narrowing in question.
“What is it?” he asked.
“….. Could we pull over?” you asked back, your voice muffled by your hands.
Upon hearing that, Illumi grew suspicious as he asked “why?”
“I'm gonna throw up.”
“…. Oh.”
Within seconds the car had pulled over to the side of the deserted road, and a few mere moments after that you were on your knees in the nearby grass, your arms holding yourself up as you violently emptied the contents of your stomach, gagging while tears began to fall down your cheeks.
Perhaps there had been something in that drink you had gotten at the cafe that didn't agree with you, Illumi thought to himself. Though regardless of the cause it wasn't an ideal look, especially not for someone who was going to marry into the Zoldyck family. But he found himself willing to forgive you for it. You would need to learn to toughen up but for the time being…. For the time being he would offer you some grace and refrain from commenting on it.
It also might ensure everything would go smoothly between the two of you if he treated you gently.
He then caught sight of the way the butler was looking at you. They were still at their place at the door, holding it open with a water bottle in hand that was clearly intended for you. But as they gazed at the state you were in, there was an obvious look of disgust in their eyes. As they watched you while you were on your knees and retching, it was clear that they thought little of you, clear that they felt you were unworthy of the position within the family that they served.
A rush of anger swelled within the assassin when he saw that look.
The butler noticed instantly when Illumi fixed his death glare upon them, and they were quick to bow their head in submission, wordlessly apologizing to him for their transgression.
Neither said anything, though the butler did visibly tense when Illumi approached him. Instead of disciplinary action, the assassin simply snatched the bottled water from the butler's hand before making his way to your side. Once your vomiting spell had come to an end and you were merely left gasping and coughing, he had knelt down beside you, holding the water out for you.
“Drink. Vomiting leads to dehydration,” he told you.
You took the bottle without question, using it first to wash out the taste in your mouth before gulping down half of the contents in several long gulps. When you pulled the bottle away to breathe out through your mouth in what sounded like relief, Illumi placed his hand on your back and rubbed it soothingly.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked after a moment.
It took you a moment to respond to his question, but you eventually nodded 'yes'.
“That's good.”
Illumi's hand settled on your shoulder as he then asked “do you think you can get back into the car?”
That time, the moment you took to answer was even longer than the last one, but once more you gave a nod in response.
“Sorry for making you stop,” you answered as you pulled yourself to your feet, “I figured you didn't want vomit covering your nice seats.”
“It wouldn't have mattered. Such things can either be cleaned or replaced,” Illumi answered.
He tilted his head to the side as he asked “do you need me to carry you?”
Once more you froze for a brief second, but then you shook your head and gave him a small smile as you answered “the car isn't that far away. I'll be fine walking.”
“Thank you for offering, though,” you quickly added.
“Of course.”
Though secretly, Illumi wished you had said 'yes'.
It was made up for soon after once you were both sitting in the car's interior once more. When Illumi sat down next to you, close enough that his arm was brushing against yours, you didn't make any move to get away from him, instead allowing him to remain close.
As the car started up again and began to drive off, you spoke up to ask “does anyone else know about this?”
“That you were my target?” he asked.
You nodded.
“Only you, myself and the butler. And they won't inform anyone,” Illumi told you confidently.
“But doesn't the client know me?” you asked.
“The matter for the client has been settled. I very much doubt he will remember your name or your face come tomorrow.”
“So as long as I stay with you, I'll be safe,” you said, seeming to state that fact out loud more to yourself.
Illumi replied anyway, saying “of course. Protecting one's soulmate is only natural.”
You nodded in understanding again while you fiddled with the water bottle, picking at the plastic labeling with your fingernails.
You weren't completely at ease then, Illumi determined. Despite what you had told him, there was something that was making you nervous, and he found himself thinking that perhaps it was him. You were the one who had said he was scary, after all.
It was a shame that you would lie and say the things you thought he wanted to hear, but once again he told himself that this was still better than what he had been expecting. Even if you weren't being truthful, you were being compliant, and that made things easier for him, as opening the connection for you would be less difficult if you weren't fighting him.
He wanted to talk with you more, learn more about you and get to know how you truly felt about all of this-
But as had now become a pattern, what you did next surprised him.
You leaned against him, the tension in your body slowly leaving while he felt the weight of your cheek resting on his shoulder.
Illumi blinked, looking down at you with his lips parted slightly as he felt a warmth blooming in his chest from the contact. Just as it had those times before, the feeling of you against him was strangely intoxicating. But unlike earlier, this time you were conscious for this moment, and not only that, you had been the one to initiate it.
He noted the way your eyes flitted about and how your expression grew in worry upon seeing his reaction. It seemed as though you were going to pull away.
He was fast to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you in closer.
You stiffened slightly, but eventually relaxed as you shifted to a more comfortable position, resting your head against him once again, though there was still a hint of that tension in you.
“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice low.
“….. It's a little scary that you could've killed me,” you told him.
“Ah, I suppose it was,” he admitted.
Illumi leaned back into the seat while continuing “it was the last thing I had ever expected. To think, that my client would hire me to kill my own soulmate. How are odds like that even possible?”
You stayed quiet after that, but when he glanced back down at you, he saw the gears in your head turning.
“…. Maybe you were supposed to get me as a target,” you then said.
“Of course I was supposed to; Farley hired me specifically,” he told you.
“No, I mean….”
You turned in your seat to face him fully, which came as an annoyance to him as you pulled away from him slightly. You then clarified “with us being soulmates, we were supposed to come together eventually, right? Maybe… Maybe my getting mixed up in that and you being hired was meant to be. Maybe if that hadn't happened, we never would have met. Like fate.”
Illumi blinked.
Then he gazed up while he grasped his chin thoughtfully as he considered your words.
“I hadn't thought of that,” he admitted.
“Really?”
“No. I was far too focused on getting out of the situation to consider that,” he admitted, “but with the unlikeliness of it all, that may very well be the only explanation.”
Illumi looked back to you, smiling as he said, “I think you're right.”
You smiled in response.
It was the second time you had done so, and once again, it was tinged, tainted somewhat, with that hint of fear. It confirmed to him that you were saying what you thought he wanted you to, making an effort to play nice with him. But even if your words had been born out of that, they rang more true than you thought.
You would come to that realization at a different time.
Illumi pulled you in again, and you didn't resist as he did so. With you comfortably resting against him once more, he found that he felt at peace. He finally had what he had been searching for – his illusive soulmate, brought to him under the most unexpected circumstances, but still sitting safely in his arms.
While you weren't as receptive to his words as you were portraying yourself to be, Illumi was certain that he could change that.
And he was certain that would take no time at all.
warnings: non-con, smut, bullying, childhood friends to lovers, boss-employee relationship, breeding kink, obsession, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, butler reader, illumi being a psycho, minor character death, reader tries to cope
word count: 3.1k
i started watching a couple episodes of hxh but couldn't push through, so i dropped it. but then, i got to read 'guessing game' by hypnoswrites, and it was so freaking good it convinced me to go back and finish hxh and i did lmaooo. and damn, illumi is really that cool. so i gotta write about him. as usual, english isn't my first language. if you see a mistake or something weird here and there, it's me fighting for my life. enjoy!
Like bugs when a rock was lifted, everyone around you suddenly scattered when they saw someone approaching, and in no time, they were all gone. Heading in your direction was a boy with short black hair and eyes that were even blacker. You didn't know him; you bet your friends didn't as well, but there was something about him and his lifeless eyes that screamed 'bad news,' and that was probably why everybody were so quick to leave.
Only you stood there as he walked closer, not because you were curious or brave or that you cared that the boy's feelings would be hurt if you left too. You were seven years old, and that was the first time you met Illumi Zoldyck, and you were scared shitless you physically couldn't move.
"Oh, you're not going with them?" he asked.
He looked to be around your age and was a tad shorter than you. Still, just hearing his voice sent shivers up your spine.
Your legs violently shook as you stammered, "Hu—huh?"
"Good," he said with a soft but chilling smile. "I choose you."
"Wh—whatever for?" you asked, feeling like crying all of a sudden.
"To play with me," he said. "Now, do you like hide and seek?"
Hide and seek was all fun and games until you had to play it for six hours straight with no rest and with a playmate like Illumi, who always found you within minutes whenever it was your turn to hide. Even so, he never seemed to get bored and would demand another round, preferably with you as the hider.
"Again," he said after he found you hiding behind a bush.
He always said that—again—making you feel like the game would go on forever, and after three hours of playing, being found over and over again and still having to keep going, you feared it might actually not end. There were numerous spots to hide in the vast public park you were playing at, but Illumi was too good at this. He was unbeatable.
"You are very bad at this."
He hadn't even seen you yet when he said that, and you thought you had chosen a very promising spot this time. It was only when you climbed down from the tree and turned to him that he locked eyes with you and unemotionally said, "Again."
"Again."
"Again."
"Again."
"Huh," he muttered.
This time, he found you at a bus stop near the park, and from the way the bus card was clutched tightly in your hands, you didn't think you had to say anything for Illumi to have a clear understanding that you were leaving.
"I'm tired," you said. "Let's call it a day."
"Sure. It's already late anyway." He looked towards the sun that was starting to set, and then he turned to look at you with that small, creepy smile he'd been giving you way too many times today. "I'll see you tomorrow."
To you, that sounded like a threat. But what could a boy do if you decided to hole up in your home all day? Drag you out? It wasn't until the following morning when you heard your mom call you to come downstairs that you knew he could actually do that.
"You didn't tell me you made a new friend. Illumi here said you promised to meet him at the park to play," your mom said in a chiding tone. "Why are you still in your pajamas?"
Funnily enough, that was the first time you knew his name. His last name, however, wasn't revealed to you and your family until months later, sending your parents into a state of shock when Illumi casually mentioned it while having dinner at your home one night.
Illumi Zoldyck.
You'd been playing with the eldest son of the most dangerous assassin family in the world, and you didn't even know it. And by that time, it was too late to change anything. There was nothing you could do but lower your head, accept your fate, and play any game he was in the mood for, whether it was hide and seek, board games, or whatever random, fun ideas he came up with.
The fun ideas were the worst. Sometimes, it was just you following him around like a shadow because he ordered you not to lose sight of him. If you did, you'd get punished. That was his definition of fun.
Locking you in the sleek, black car his family sent to pick him up was one of the punishments. He'd tell you to get in first, and then he'd follow and sit beside you in the back seat before telling the chauffeur to drive without telling them where he wanted to go. After he made sure you texted your parents that you'd be home late, watching you like a hawk as you typed each word and tapped send, your phone would then be confiscated for the rest of the endless ride.
This meant hours in silence, as you'd rather die than make small talk with Illumi to kill time. And sleeping was out of the question. If he caught you closing your eyes for a little too long, he'd poke you in the waist to startle you out of your attempt.
To keep you up and present. His word, not yours.
If not a car ride, he'd make you watch him hurt something—or someone—often with his weird-looking needles he carried with him everywhere. He'd stick them into his targets, animals and humans alike, and they would cry, drop to the ground, and thrash agonizingly. Only when he pulled the needles out did the pain seem to stop.
He did that to your ex-friends, the ones who fled the moment they saw him and left you to face him alone, saying something about having to complete several missions in order to be allowed to come out of his house and play, and them not wanting to cooperate totally wasted his time.
"Good thing I had her," he said, cocking his head to the side as he observed the writhing bodies on the ground before turning to you. "Good thing she stayed."
You did, and even after fifteen years had passed, you were still with him.
You didn't know it at the time what knowing Illumi would entail, didn't know you'd lose your parents in a car accident just a few years later. Tragic deaths caused by bad weather and slippery road, making them lose control of the vehicle and plunge off the cliff. That was what you were told.
Thereafter, you were hired as a butler by the Zoldyck family, and since then, your new home had been the Kukuroo Mountain. Since then, Illumi had become an even bigger part in your life.
As your master and teacher, he taught you to use nen, to utilize your weak aura and make it stronger. He trained you hard and well enough to work with him, to assist him, heal him, but never well enough to hide from him, never that. His lessons were deliberate, crafted just for you. For some reason, you'd never get to learn how to leave this man.
You had tried to use Zetsu to conceal your aura, so he wouldn't sense you, but the moment you put one foot in front of the other with the intention to leave, he always knew—exactly what you were thinking, exactly where you were.
When it came to hide and seek, Illumi never lost. And although you both didn't play it anymore, it didn't feel like the game had ended at all. For a long while, you had wondered why he'd want to keep you so close to him, or to be precise, why he never grew out of his childish obsession of having you as his one and only, carefully-selected playmate.
The answer came to you one winter night as you watched him sleep, his body nestled against yours under the blanket. Eighteen and constantly questioning your life choices, or lack thereof, you had an epiphany.
You were the only friend he had.
The one he left in the forest on more than one occasion when it was your turn to be the seeker and yet the same one he had asked his mother if he could have share his room. You might call him 'Master Illumi' and do whatever he commanded, but then again, it was you who tended to his wounds while listening to him vent about his day. It was you who played with his hair until he fell asleep.
He had beautiful hair, jet-black, silky, and not short anymore as he'd decided to grow it out. He loved it when you ran your fingers through it. At such times, when he closed his eyes and breathed in and out evenly, welcoming your touch, it was almost like he had ceased being a cold-blooded assassin and had turned into a normal man who sought not violence but warmth. And for a moment, you were safe from his antics, cruel and sadistic antics that had later become something more perverted than evil as you both grew older.
You were nineteen when he threw his needles at you mid-sparring. It wasn't the first time he used them on you, but it was the first time you didn't remember anything after they pierced your skin. Normally, you'd just be paralyzed; you'd still see things that happened around you even though you couldn't move a muscle. But that time, everything went black, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying against Illumi's naked chest in a bathtub and his long fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy.
You remembered trying to get up from the tub, but because you were still disoriented and he was much stronger, you kept getting yanked back against his chest. When you were still enough, he lifted one of your legs and rested it over the edge of the tub, and then he got back to work, fucking your pussy until you came right there on his deft fingers.
He'd been a perverted, touch-starved demon ever since, and it was ridiculous how stable he was with this kind of thing. Because now at twenty two, he still found a way to touch you at every opportunity. Time and time again, he'd grope you when no one was watching. Walking past each other in the hallway would result in him pressing his needle against your throat just to back you into the nearest empty room for a couple of kisses, and more times than you could count, those kisses would then turn into a full make-out session, and he'd end up sucking your neck a little too hard and leave bruises that would raise a few eyebrows.
On some nights when playing with his hair failed to lull him to sleep, it wasn't unusual for him to hold you close and rub his swollen manhood on you while whispering possessively in your ear, reminding you that you belonged to him and him only.
He had taken his time with you, like a predator playing with its pray. Because despite the lewd advances, he had never actually gone all the way, but at this point, you knew it was only a matter of time.
That wasn't to say you were ready when it actually happened.
You didn't know what had gotten into him, but things got a bit intense last night, and by the end of it, you were left battered and beyond used. One minute it was a harmless grinding. You were both lying on your sides, and Illumi was fucking your thighs from behind. His cock was rubbing against your pussy's lips with every thrust but never penetrating, and that was how things were supposed to be. Nothing could have prepared you for the way he pushed his cock all the way inside you in the next unguarded moment. The action was sudden and absolute, as if to tell you he demanded no argument, and all you had to do was take it.
"This is nice," he said in your ear. "You feel so good around me."
"Master Illumi," you gasped and heard him huff a laugh.
"Yes?" he murmured.
"Am I—"
"Am I what?"
He began to move, slowly at first, but it didn't take long before he was pounding hard into you. Both of your naked bodies intertwined, so close, as though they were about to merge into one. In the midst of the intimacy, a series of questions rang deafeningly in your mind.
What if this changed everything? What if this was more serious than you thought? What if this was your life from now on? What if fifteen years were not enough to satisfy his twisted fixation? He had taken your parents from you. An accident? You knew Illumi too well to believe that lie. He killed them, and now he was fucking you, taking your body even though he already had your freedom. What was next, you life? Well, he already had that, too.
You felt tears prick your eyes as you asked, "Am I not your friend?"
"Of course you are," he answered after a short pause. "But don't you get it?"
He grabbed your face and forced you to turn your head to look at him.
"You were meant to be more."
Your thoughts were interrupted when the car came to a stop in front of what appeared to be an abandoned house. Turning your head to the driver's side, you found Illumi behind the wheel, staring straight ahead down the road at a low-rise hotel with an illuminated sign of its name at the top. He wore green today, looking as regal as ever and a tad more content than usual.
All you could think about as you took in his side profile was how sore your pussy was and that it was all because of him. The rest of the night was quickly replayed in your mind, and in all shameful honesty, it was mostly just you being fucked all over the room after that little conversation between you and him.
You remembered trying to fight him when he wouldn't let you rest after dumping his cum inside you for the third time. Annoyed and exhausted, you snapped and tried to strangle him with your nen rope, and for that, you'd learned a very important lesson.
Illumi didn't fight back or even dodge; he let it happen. He merely watched as you tightened the hold around his neck, his face turning redder and redder from the gradual increase of pressure, but never once did he utter a sound. You felt it in your heart that he would let you do it, that this was it, the chance to be free of him, but at the same time, you knew Illumi wouldn't fight a battle he wasn't sure he could win.
And he was right, as always, because he won.
The moment you let go of the rope, he immediately flipped you onto your back, shoved his still-throbbing cock in, and fucked you limp. He made sure you came on it too, and considering you had just tried to kill him, coming so hard your cunt pulsed around his dick was total a disgrace to your pride.
"I'm supervising this time," Illumi said, snatching you out of your memory. His gaze was now shifted to you. "You're on your own."
"You're coming with me, right?"
"I'll wait here."
It wasn't as if you had never been assigned a mission before, but it was the first time you had to complete it alone. The fact that Illumi was going to let you step out of this car, walk to that hotel the target was staying in, kill them, all without him watching your every move, told you more about what he was thinking than words could ever do.
He knew now you would never leave.
But you wanted to, you swore.
He knew last night changed everything.
And you wished it hadn't!
He knew you cared.
Because despite everything, he was your friend, too.
"Do you want me to fuck you in this car," he said and suddenly leaned across the center console towards you, "right here, right now?"
You blinked, eyes wide and face suddenly very warm, and quietly shook your head.
"Then stop looking at me like that."
He said that, but instead of backing away, he placed one hand on your thigh and then slowly dragged it up your body, unhurriedly, like you both had all the time in the world and there wasn't a job waiting to be finished. You held your breath, waiting to see where Illumi was heading with his little touch. When he stopped at your breast and gingerly kneaded it, you finally let yourself breathe and arch against his hand.
"Master Illumi," you whined, wishing whatever switch inside him wouldn't be flipped, so he would keep being gentle to you.
It was almost tolerable like this. This was okay.
"Calling me Master like I haven't spent all night breeding you."
He said against your lips and then he gave them a peck, once, twice, so uncharacteristically sweetly, yet so… him.
"It was good. No wonder Father kept knocking Mother up." He breathed the words out. "I want to do it again, wanna put my babies in you."
Illumi had always been a straightforward person, and he could say the most outrageous things, and you wouldn't be fazed. But now, you felt your face burn just from listening to those last few words that sounded suspiciously like a promise.
"I—I gotta go," you said before withdrawing yourself from his touch.
He hummed his assent and let you go without a fuss; his pitch-black eyes told you he'd wait for you to come back to him, that he knew you'd come back to him, that you'd better not disappoint him by thinking this was a chance to do something stupid.
Like running away from him and the life he had planned for you.
You closed the car door and began to walk, alone, accompanied by no one but the quietness of the night. But despite the illusion of freedom, you knew you were still shackled, tied to the man who had robbed you of the life you were supposed to live, bound by his will to possess you in every way imaginable. Yet you marched on, inhaling deeply and appreciating the solitude that you knew would not last.
you confess to jade with one goal: to get rejected. things do not go according to plan.
tags/warnings: jade leech x reader (romantic), gn!reader, reader is yuu, swearing, set at the end of NRC year 1, confession crack, first date, reader is miraculously/momentarily a god at Dance Dance Revolution, not proofread cuz i’m lazy
a/n: so i DOUBLY made a liar of myself: i said i’d write a bunch a few weeks ago, didn’t; and then said i wouldn’t write for a while, then did. life’s still kicking my ass and i have midterms this week but i’m neglecting my responsibilities in favour of writing fanfic :D this one was actually meant to be the beginning of a wip request, but it was so long that i split it off and expanded it. that’s maybe half the reason it's so winding yet virtually plotless ;-; anyways so this is basically a prologue to that wip, but i’ll make it so that you can read either one as standalone :)
you can read the follow-up fic here :D
DO NOT FEED THIS TO AI.
word count: 3.2k
dividers by @/cafekitsune!
“I’m gonna do it,” you whisper.
“Don’t do it,” your entire first-year friend group whispers back, ears picking up on your stupidity even beneath the drone of Crowley’s long and winding year-end speech. They plead with you now more out of resignation than hope of persuasion. That ship has already sailed, and everyone knows it.
You eye the figure three rows ahead, clad in ceremonial uniform yet identifiable thanks to their towering height.
“I have to…” you sigh dramatically.
The ‘it’ in question that you shouldn’t do: confessing to Jade Leech, a sharp-toothed and sharper-witted eel with sketchy intentions and tendencies. It's a terrible decision that you’re unfortunately already firm on, but to be fair, this decision has been thoroughly deliberated. Your main reasons are as follows:
#1: You have a stupid crush on Jade Leech, arguably one of the worst people to have feelings for. Jade Leech is the type of person to leverage any crush for his benefit, let alone a crush on him. And confessing is the quickest way to get rid of your pesky feelings, something you’re very eager to do.
#2: After this, summer break will begin and school will be out of session. ‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’, as they say, and your feelings will absolutely compound if you don’t confess now. The break works in your favour though, as you won’t have to deal with repercussions until September comes back around. Best case scenario, everyone will forget by the time you return to school. Worst case scenario, you’ll at least get two months free of awkwardness and teasing. Which leads to:
#3: Jade will 100%, absolutely, undoubtedly reject you. He’s the type of person who only makes choices that benefit him, and you have nothing to offer. And though humiliation sucks, a one-and-done micro-moment of mortifying rejection is a small price to pay for emotional freedom.
It’s not that you want to confess to Jade Leech. It’s that you have to.
So with that airtight reasoning in mind as the ceremony finally comes to a close, you rush through the sea of eager students, your destination not a where but a whom.
The moment he’s within reach, you grab his sleeve. “Jade.”
He freezes; the crowd doesn’t. Even Floyd and Azul vanish in the flow of people. Still, though students shove past you ceaselessly, you stand strong.
“Prefect?”
You realize you’re cooked when Jade turns to face you. His eyes are wide in shock—adorably so—and surprise is a rare expression to see on Jade. It’s affecting you more than you’d like to admit.
“Um, could I talk with you?” you ask sheepishly, just as someone shoves you from behind. Luckily, you manage to right yourself before crashing straight into Jade, sparing yourself the extra embarrassment. “Preferably somewhere less busy?”
His expression morphs back into his usual: a coy, composed smile with eyes too scrutinizing for anyone’s comfort.
“Of course.” You repress a smitten grin at the sound of his voice. Soon, you won’t have to do that consciously anymore, and that thought is exhilarating. “Let’s be on our way, then. Stay close to me, Prefect.”
And you obey, never once dropping your grasp of his sleeve so as to not lose him.
It’s in the courtyard, beneath the apple tree, that Jade finally stops and you release his sleeve. With most students staying in the hallways and subjecting themselves to traffic jams by foot, only a sprinkling of smarter students pass through.
“What is it you’d like to tell me?” Jade asks, heterochromic eyes glimmering in the dappled sunlight. For a second, you almost forget that you’re here to be rejected.
Besides him, the scene isn’t picture-perfect: trampled apple blossoms decay beneath your feet, a brawl has broken out in the hall nearby, and you’re coated in sweat from being smushed in the crowd earlier. It’s pathetic and imperfect, which makes it perfect for your purpose.
You take a deep breath and brace for impact.
“Um…” you start, looking anywhere but his perfect face. “Well, y’know…”
Jade doesn’t rush you, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. He’s perfectly patient.
“You probably know this already, but—oh Sevens, I’m regretting this even now—so I… ah, fuck it.
“I have a crush on you,” you blurt.
…
…
…
“Do it quickly, please,” you add once the silence stretches five seconds too long for your liking.
“...Do what quickly?”
Jade’s seeming ignorance simultaneously baffles and infuriates you enough to make you look back up at him. The cunning smirk that you expect is nowhere to be found. In its place: pure, genuine confusion. Which confuses you.
“Uh… reject me?”
“Did you not just confess that you liked me?” he questions slowly. “Why do you want me to reject you?”
“Why wouldn’t you reject me?” you counter. “Just get it over with.”
And with that, the confusion washes from his face, and the composed smile you’d been expecting in the first place reappears.
“And if I were to decline? What would you do then?”
“Then I’d be fucked!” you think aloud accidentally.
The cutest chuckle leaks from his lips and rattles your heart in your chest. You slap your hand over Jade’s mouth before he can inflict more emotional damage on you.
“Oya oya?” you hear muffled against your palm, Jade’s eyes crinkling with mirth. “Quite forward of you~”
With your other hand, you hold an authoritative finger in his face. “Stop it. Quit being charming and cute. Just turn me down, please.”
As you feel his lips pull into a sharp grin, your hand flinches away on the off chance that he bites you à la Floyd. But Jade is quicker, catching your retracting hand in his own.
“No.” He says it firmly, a stark contrast with how gently he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “I’ll see you soon, Prefect.”
Jade leaves you with a pat on the head, a rejected rejection, and a mess of thoughts and feelings. Somehow, in all your overoptimistic deliberation, you’d neglected to take into account your crush’s stubbornness and affinity for playing the long game.
Kicking at the wilted apple blooms under your soles reveals the small mushrooms sprouting underneath.
Fuck.
Deuce is the first of your friends to find out how unsuccessful you were in your mission, him and his mom having very generously offered you and Grim a place to stay for the summer.
“You’re cooked,” Deuce helpfully comments while you’re settling into the spare room. Grim, on the other hand, has already crashed on the floor. “Jade’s totally stringing you along!”
You groan your entire soul out your throat. “I know.”
“Just DM him and reject him yourself!”
“mMMmmmm…” you whine. “Fiiiine…” You unlock your phone for the first time since passing through the mirror at NRC and open the Magicam app. For all the mental and emotional turmoil that Jade put you through today, you don’t expect him to spare you the satisfaction of replying to your DMs right away.
Well, it's not the first time you've been wrong about him.
Jade messaged you first. 42 minutes ago, to be exact.
Good evening, dear Prefect :) Where would you like to go for our first date?
You place your phone face-down on the dresser and place yourself face-down on the floor.
You lie there for a good minute before Deuce’s concern catches up to him. “Uh, Prefect…? You good?”
You flop about like a fish. “uUurGghhhHhh.”
“Wait, is he blackmailing you? If he is, I’ll teach him a lesson.” Bless Deuce’s sweet delinquent soul. “Just tell me. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not that,” you groan into the hardwood before lifting your head. “It’s worse. He’s asking me on a date.”
“WHAT?!” Deuce practically screams. “He’s totally playing you! Or else he’s gonna bring you up a mountain and we’ll never find your body! Tell him no!”
“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “Okay.”
Jade, I'm gonna have to reject your rejection of my rejection. Sorry for bothering you. Have a good summer break 👍
“Done,” you update. “I think he’s literally in the ocean so he’s probably gonna leave me on sent—oh Sevens he read it!”
Deuce leaps across the room to see your screen.
“Oh fuck, he’s typing!” you shriek, causing your friend to glance around warily and Grim to flip over in his sleep. “Oh shit, oh fuck.”
You shove your phone into Deuce’s hands. “W-What? What do you want me to do?” he sputters.
“Just—! If he sends something bad,” you instruct, “don't tell me what it is, just block him.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
You wait in charged silence for what feels like an eternity. Then:
“Prefect?” Deuce treads carefully.
“…what.”
“What counts as ‘bad’?” And slowly, he turns the screen toward you.
It’s a single sentence.
Even if I want to date you as well?
Yeah, that's bad.
Really bad.
Your first date is at a summer fair in a coastal town of the Kingdom of Roses.
You try to bail on Jade, really, you do! Or well, you try to convince yourself to bail on him.
He’s taking advantage of your naïveté for his amusement, whispers your brain as you agree on a time and place.
Tell him you don’t like sleazy schemers like him, it advises while you thoughtfully pick out your cutest outfit.
Say you got food poisoning and can’t meet him; the thought rattles through your mind on the 1-hour bus ride to the date spot.
Even as you arrive at your destination, your self-preservation endures. Even at the sight of Jade in a casual t-shirt and jeans, checking his phone for messages from you, It’s not too late to turn around!
Unfortunately though, your heart has been a whole lot louder than your mind lately. That fact becomes especially clear when Jade spots you: his eyes gain a twinkle to them as they meet yours, effectively shutting down every blaring alarm in your head.
“Hello, Prefect. You look lovely.”
“Um, thanks,” you respond choppily. “So do you.”
And because you’re in the palm of his hand and he knows it, Jade holds out said palm for you to take. “Shall we?”
It’s your Cinderella moment; of course you take it. If you’re this deep into a bad decision, you might as well go all in and enjoy yourself before the clock strikes twelve.
The date is… really nice.
You make pleasant conversation. About your hobbies, about your summer plans, about the shenanigans of the past school year. You tell him about the summer job you got to earn your keep at Deuce’s, and Jade tells you about the mesocosm he’d made with flora from Sage’s Island. He’s voluble when it comes to his interests, and you’re equally receptive when your guard is down. Together, you’re peak yappers.
“Are you hungry?” Jade asks when you (try to) subtly eye the food stalls.
You chuckle bashfully. “Just a little. It smells really good.”
“Good. I’m quite hungry myself,” he replies. “If you don’t mind finding us a seat, I’ll be back in a moment.”
And so you plop yourself down at a clean table for two, and wait for your date to return. With little else to do, you pull out your phone for the first time since meeting up. The notifications you’re met with—both the nature and the quantity—give you whiplash.
96 missed calls, 114 texts from Deuce, 201 from Ace, 1049 from your first-year group chat and counting. All spread across the past two hours, all with the gist of: ‘ARE YOU STILL ALIVE???’
You simply open your camera app, stick out your tongue and shut your eyes in a play-dead face, and snap a selfie. Into the group chat it goes!
baymax!: Prefect! Hi!
ass: oh tahnk sevens he hasnt killed them yet
doos: Are you in danger????? Do you need help????????
🍎: damn i lowk thought deuce was lying about you going out with jade lmao
You: no deuce i’m chilling dw he’s actually super sweet
got that DAWG in him: You don’t know what he’s thinking. Call us if you feel something’s off
“WAKASAMAAA”: DO NOT let him take you to a secondary location.
You: guys i’m fine lol
[ass started a video call]
You: bruh what do you want
ass: just pick up dude
ass: gotta make sure
When you do pick up, everyone’s already there. “Hiii~” you greet.
Your friends collectively sigh in relief. And then they start drilling you with questions.
“WHY???”
“Did he make you sign an NDA? Or some other life-binding contract?”
“He hasn’t poisoned you or anything, right? Don’t eat anything he gives you!”
“Guys, it’s fine,” you laugh. “He’s getting us food now.”
“Don’t let your guard down! That’s how he’ll get you.”
“Oh Sevens, they’re cooked. He’s stringing them along.”
“You sure have a lot of faith in me, huh?” you sigh. “It’s just one date, guys. We’re not dating.”
“Is that so?” Jade’s voice croons from behind you. You scream. Your friends scream. Jade chuckles, laying out a feast-worthy spread of street food onto the table.
Your stomach drops at the sheer amount of stuff he bought. “Jade—this is so much. How much did this cost?”
“It’s my treat,” he assures you quietly, while your friends yell at you through the screen not to fall into his loan shark trap. “Don’t worry about it.”
“PASS US TO THE EEL,” Ace articulates loudly, but Jade gently takes the phone from your hand himself. “Listen here, Leech,” the redhead threatens. “If you do anything to the Prefect—”
“You’ll be sleeping with the fishes,” Deuce finishes, “and not literally.”
“Of course,” Jade smiles politely, and you groan in pure mortification. “Rest assured that I have no ill intentions with the Prefect. I’ll do nothing against their will.”
“That means nothing! It’s you, so they’re gonna be willing either way!”
“ACE!” you scold, snatching your phone back from Jade. “Appreciate the concern guys, but I’m fine. BYE.” You hang up and bury your face in your hands, quietly screaming. Jade laughs, whether at your friends’ passion or your mortification or both, you’re not 100% sure.
“Your friends care very deeply about you,” he giggles, finally taking the seat across from you.
“Yeah. Um, just ignore everything they said. They’re really spirited,” you plead. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”
“No need to apologize,” Jade reassures you. “I find it very endearing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
A particularly loud growl cuts you off before you can refute him again. From a stomach. Your stomach.
“Please, dig in,” Jade invites, unfazed. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
Despite everything, your embarrassment quickly dissipates as you two work through the buffet, exchanging reviews for each dish as you go. Even when you’ve eaten your fill, Jade is still ravenous. It’s impressive how a cute boy like him can have such a boundless appetite and daintily pat his mouth with a napkin like he didn’t just effortlessly Kirby-inhale three times as much as you did.
It’s annoyingly charming.
Bellies full, you slip back into easy conversation, and before you know it, the sun has nearly fully set. Lingering copper sunlight skips across the rippling surface of the sea, tinting the town with warmth (as if your rose-tinted glasses weren’t enough).
“The last bus back to Clock Town leaves in 40 minutes,” Jade alerts you. “Would you like to check out the rest of the stalls before we part ways?”
“Sure, let’s do that!” You slip your hand into the crook of Jade’s elbow as he offers it, the gentleman. “We still haven’t seen the vendors or the game stalls.”
You browse the pop-up vendors selling magical trinkets, handmade charms, jewellery, all sorts of wares, but nothing catches your eye nor Jade’s. And as you walk through the area of game stalls, you begin to think that you might have the same luck here, too.
Except a gasp from Jade stops you in your tracks. Like you, he’s equally frozen to the spot, but his gaze is trained on one particular game stall: what looks to be… Dance Dance Revolution? Well, to be more specific, it’s not the game that entrances him, but the prize.
It’s a jumbo mushroom plush. Like, you-sized-level jumbo.
“Wanna try?” you ask him.
It takes a moment for Jade to come back to his senses. “Ah, no, no need.” But the stiffness in his posture betrays his reluctance.
“C’mon,” you coax, tapping your fingers on his elbow. “Let’s do it.”
Unfortunately for Jade, his two years of experience with legs never prepared him for the impossible gauntlet that is Dance Dance Revolution. Five seconds into the game, it becomes clear to everyone that Jade’s dream of winning the mushroom is nothing more than that: a mere fantasy.
Well, not if you can help it. The second he steps off the platform, you’re up. Failure is not a possibility, let alone an option.
Your legs move unlike ever before. Even as you’d run for your life from overblot monsters, your legs never had this speed. Even as you were training for your VDC audition, your legs never had this level of coordination and precision. The omnipotent Spirit of Dance Dance Revolution has possessed your body.
And so, naturally, you win the game. The stall owner’s jaw is dropped, the passersby are applauding, and your date stares at you with so much wonder that you chuckle a little.
Jade is so adorably awestruck when you pass the mushroom to him, you almost forget how bad of an idea he is. Well, either way, at the moment, he’s perfectly harmless with both his arms wrapped around the giant stuffed stalk.
“Thank you,” he whispers, more tenderly than you’d ever thought possible for him.
“It’s my pleasure. You’re the one who bought me an all-you-can-eat buffet earlier, anyways.”
“Fufufu, I’d told you it was my treat,” he hums. “There was no need to repay me.”
“It’s alright, I’d rather not leave with debt anyways.” You do, after all, know that being indebted to the trio from Octavinelle is bad news, regardless of how sweet Jade seems. “Speaking of, my bus leaves in 10 minutes, so I should probably get going.”
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop, then.”
And so, as your bus approaches in the distance, your Cinderella moment comes to a close. Both of you got this date out of your systems, so now Jade’ll find you boring and leave you alone, and now you can die knowing what it’s like to go on a date with Jade Leech. All’s well that ends well, right?
Except, you find yourself thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad to miss your bus if it meant spending a little more time with Jade. The next bus comes at 6 in the morning; you know that would be a seriously bad idea. But you also think that if Jade asked you to, you’d still do it.
So in a last-ditch attempt to save your soul, you ask again, “Can you reject me now?”
He laughs. “No.”
“Hm. Worth a shot.”
“Instead, actually…” Jade starts, his hold tightening around the mushroom, “would you be interested in doing this again sometime?”
Rook has always pursued beauty, and he sees everything. But has he ever been seen?
Guys I think this is my magnum opus
Rook Hunt knows.
He’s always known. It isn’t a mystery or a slow realization—it’s been as plain to him as the sky above. People find him weird. Unsettling, even. He sees it in their sidelong glances, in the stiffening of their shoulders when his shadow stretches a little too close, in the hesitation before they answer his questions.
Rook has always been acutely aware that his form of admiration—raw, poetic, unfiltered—is too intense for most people. A word too many, an observation too sharp, and suddenly what he sees as praise becomes a warning in their minds.
He’s eccentric, people say. Too much, too strange, too loud in a way that whispers louder than the wind. But these opinions have never truly bothered him. Why should they? He enjoys the strange edges of the world. Where others see cracks, he finds beauty. Where others dismiss a thing as mundane or odd, Rook sees brilliance that demands appreciation.
And he will appreciate it. He refuses to live a life silenced by the fear of judgment. No, non! He will not reduce himself to palatable fragments. C’est ridicule! His every expression of admiration is a song, a soliloquy. Why should he hold back when he finds someone magnifique? Why water down compliments to a tasteless gruel when he could present a banquet of adoration?
Still, it has its costs. He knows that, too.
It’s not easy to be the odd one out—the boy in the feathered hat, lurking in the shadows not out of shame but with fascination. He sees beauty in everything, but beauty rarely returns the favor.
The people he admires most often keep their distance. His enthusiasm makes them uncomfortable, and he can feel the subtle shift in their tone when they speak to him—half polite, half wary, as if they don’t know what to make of him.
He is strange, and strange things are lonely.
That’s not to say Rook isn’t happy in his own way. He is. He has his hunts, his bows, his poetic musings. He can walk under the moon and call it his lover. He finds joy in solitude, and he has long since made peace with the thought that his admiration will rarely be returned.
Ah, but to live an unloved life is still a life worth living, non?
Yes, it is. But.
But then you come along.
The moment Rook Hunt sees you sitting in the courtyard, casually munching on your snack, he stops dead in his tracks. Something inside him shifts—no, sings—as he observes you, unguarded and at ease beneath the afternoon sun.
You aren’t conventionally beautiful. Non, pas du tout. Your features don’t fit the polished ideal found in portraits or poems, the kind that makes others stop and marvel. But beauty, true beauty, has never been so simple for Rook. No, no, no. To him, beauty lies in life’s overlooked moments—the glint of amusement in an eye, the curve of a real smile, the way a person occupies space without apology or artifice. And you… oh, mon dieu, you are fascinating. You exist not like a spark that demands attention but like a warm hearth: quiet, inviting, and so terribly rare.
He lingers at a distance, watching you offer your snack to anyone who passes, a gesture of care so unassuming it feels like magic. With each kind word, each cheerful smile you give to your friends, his admiration grows—uncontainable, overwhelming.
It grips him, this compulsion to speak, to sing your praises aloud. Of course, he knows how people react to him—how they find his earnestness unsettling, how his florid language is often met with discomfort. But he doesn’t care. How could he care when there’s someone like you in the world?
He must tell you. If he doesn’t, it will feel like sacrilege.
And so, he strides toward you, heart pounding with the thrill of imminent expression, knowing—knowing—he’ll scare you off, that you’ll recoil like so many others before. But this is who he is. He cannot suppress it.
“Ah! Such generosity! Such radiance!” he exclaims, sweeping one hand over his heart in a grand flourish as he appears before you. “To sit here so calmly, offering your bounty to others—mon dieu, it is a marvel! A light in the mundane! I find myself utterly spellbound.”
He expects the usual—perhaps an awkward laugh, maybe a hasty excuse to leave, or that look people give him, the one that says: Ah. It’s you. But he cannot stop now. Even if you flee, his admiration demands to be shown.
“Such grace in the way you greet the world! Such warmth, such beauty!” He leans in, voice softening into something more reverent. “Do you realize the gift you give, simply by being?”
And yet… you do not flinch. You don’t stammer, or shift uncomfortably, or glance around for a way out. Instead, you meet his gaze with a smile—soft, genuine, unbothered.
"Thanks,” you say, as if he’s merely complimented the weather. “That’s really sweet of you.”
Sweet of me? Rook’s breath catches. Sweet? You think him sweet? It’s such an innocent word, so lacking in judgment or wariness, that it nearly undoes him.
And then—mon dieu, mon coeur!—you tilt your head slightly and add, “I like your hat. It suits you.”
His heart trips over itself, fumbling in surprise. Compliments toward him are rare things, and certainly not ones so… easy. So natural. There’s no mockery in your voice, no edge of caution. Just honesty. Genuine admiration, directed at him.
He can feel his pulse thrumming through his entire body, a strange, heady mix of disbelief and joy. His carefully curated poise—years of presenting himself as unflappable—teeters precariously. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t know what to say.
Then, as if the universe hasn’t gifted him enough miracles for one day, you pat the bench beside you. “Wanna sit?”
He stares, stunned. This isn’t just an offer of company. It’s an invitation. A quiet gesture that says: You are welcome here. Stay if you want.
Rook lowers himself onto the bench, the movement careful, as though the spell of the moment might break if he’s too sudden. And before he can even catch his breath, you offer him a piece of your snack with that same warm, open smile.
“I’ve got extra,” you say casually.
Mon dieu. He accepts the food, holding it like a precious gift. "Merci, mon ami," he murmurs, a rare softness in his voice. His usual theatrics fade, replaced by something quieter, something more real. In this moment, he is not the Hunter, not the ever-watching observer of beauty—he is simply a person, grateful to have been seen.
The world shifts around him, as it always does in the presence of beauty. But today, it feels different. Today, for the first time in what feels like forever, he is the one invited to stay.
Rook watches you from the treeline, hidden in the shadows as only a hunter can be. The forest is quiet, save for the soft brush of the wind through the leaves and the faint hum of your voice—gentle, carefree, a song without words. You sit cross-legged at the edge of the forest, paintbrush in hand, completely absorbed in your work.
He’s seen many artists in his time. Some work with grand, sweeping gestures, others with sharp, frantic strokes, chasing perfection like it might slip away. But you? Ah, mon ange, you are different. There’s no urgency in your movements, only presence—fully immersed in each moment, yet untroubled by mistakes.
He notices the way your brow furrows slightly when a brushstroke goes astray, how your lips twitch in a smile when the colors blend just right. Each flick of your wrist, each dip into the palette, feels like a dance, and Rook finds himself swaying in time with it, captivated.
Then, as if the universe conspires to charm him further, a small rabbit hops from the underbrush, drawn to the quiet kindness that seems to radiate from you. You pause your work, placing the brush aside to gently stroke its fur, whispering something soft and sweet before letting it bound away.
The sight strikes him with the force of an arrow straight to the heart. Enchanted. Captivated. Irrevocably lost.
And just like before, the itch in his chest grows unbearable—this need to express, to convey in words what blooms inside him. Rook Hunt has never been shy about his passions, and the urge to approach you, to spill his admiration at your feet, is nearly overwhelming.
But before he can speak, you look up—and you smile at him.
Not startled. Not wary. Just... warm, like he’s an old friend who belongs there, beside you. As though his presence is neither strange nor inconvenient. It catches him off guard, this unassuming acceptance. That simple smile undoes him in a way that even the grandest spectacle never could.
In that moment, Rook knows—ah, oui, mon coeur!—he is smitten. Not just with your quiet artistry or your kindness to creatures, but with the way you see the world. The way you seem to see him without judgment.
You gesture to the space beside you on the grass, an open invitation. He accepts with a rare, uncharacteristic quietness, folding himself gracefully into place next to you.
There are no flourishes now, no grand pronouncements. He is content, for once, to simply sit in silence, to be in the presence of something beautiful without the need to name it aloud. He listens to the soft scratching of your brush on canvas, the hum of your tune under your breath. It’s a kind of peace he rarely allows himself—the peace of simply being.
Time flows differently here, in this small, private world the two of you occupy. He forgets the need to perform, to chase beauty through words and declarations. He simply is.
And then, as if to grant him yet another gift, you turn the canvas around.
It takes him a moment to understand what he’s seeing. His own face stares back at him—not a mirror reflection, but something far more intimate. There’s no exaggeration, no caricature, only the version of himself as you see him. There’s warmth in the eyes, a softness in the lines. It is not the hunter, not the performer. It is simply Rook.
For a moment, he can’t speak. The brushstrokes, the colors, the subtle details—they all tell him, I see you.
And for the first time in a very long while, Rook Hunt feels truly seen.
"Magnifique," he breathes at last, voice soft with awe. But this time, it’s not for the art. It’s for you.
You smile, a quiet laugh in your throat, and offer him the brush. "Your turn, if you want."
He takes it carefully, fingers brushing yours as he does. There’s no need to speak further. Not now. Not when this moment, this quiet understanding between you, is more eloquent than any words he could conjure.
And as the sun dips lower in the sky, Rook Hunt paints. And for once, he paints not to capture beauty, but simply to share a moment with someone who finally sees him.
Rook finds beauty in everything.
In the brightness of joy, in the trembling flicker of fear, in the raw depths of misery. Even in tears, he sees something resplendent, something worthy of admiration. But today—ah, mon dieu—something is different.
You sit alone in the classroom, tears streaking silently down your face, your body slumped in defeat. And for the first time, Rook's heart trembles in a way he cannot define. You are still beautiful—he can see that clearly—but the sight of your sorrow grips him, not in awe, but in a peculiar pain he isn't used to. A pang in his chest that tightens with each tear you shed.
He has long accepted that people do not seek him for comfort. His presence, so often strange and unsettling to others, is rarely the balm that soothes wounds. Yet he cannot stand by and watch this—cannot let your sorrow unfold without trying, at least, to offer something. Even if it’s only the quiet company of someone who understands the ache of heartbreak too well.
So he steps forward, his usual poetic flourish tempered by a softness, a quiet yearning to help. You startle at his approach, wide-eyed and surprised, but instead of shrinking away, instead of masking your pain with false pleasantries, you do something Rook never expected.
You ask him for a hug.
It’s simple, so simple, and yet it undoes him. There’s no hesitation, no wary glances or awkward excuses. Just you, with tear-stained cheeks and trembling hands, reaching out for him.
“Please,” you say, voice small but steady.
Rook's breath catches. He moves without thinking, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that surprises even him. He holds you close, feeling your warmth, the quiet sobs you try to stifle against his chest. He says nothing, for once letting the silence speak for itself.
And in that moment, as your tears soak into his uniform and your fingers clutch at his coat, Rook knows. Ah, oui—he knows now with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt.
His heart, so often in pursuit of beauty, has found its ruler.
You're perceptive. You’ve always been the type to notice things, the small details, the subtle shifts in people’s behavior, the things they try to hide. But for all your awareness, Rook Hunt remains an enigma.
He is too much. Too loud in his praise, too sharp in his observations, too intense in everything he does. People shy away from him, unsettled by his fervor, his dangerous precision. But where others find discomfort, you find yourself intrigued. There’s something more behind that mask of boundless admiration, behind those poetic words and that sharp, unblinking gaze.
So when he approaches you, as he often does with his bold energy and unwavering smile, you welcome it. You wait for the moment you can unravel the mystery that is Rook Hunt, to understand what lies beneath that overwhelming exterior. But somewhere along the way, in the midst of trying to see through him, something changes. He has become something precious, something irreplaceable to you.
And one day, when life has hit harder than usual—when the weight of it all pushes you down, and tears fall freely—you don’t have the energy to hide. You sit alone, breaking quietly, unaware of the world around you. But Rook notices. Of course he does.
He approaches, his usual dramatic flair muted by something softer, more careful. This time, he doesn’t wait for an invitation. He kneels beside you, a steady presence, and before you know it, his arms are around you. There’s no hesitation, no need for words, just the warmth of him, holding you close when you need it most.
And in that moment, through the haze of your grief, it becomes clear. You can feel it in the way your heart stirs at his touch, in the safety you find in his embrace.
Your heart has chosen him, declared him its ruler, and there is no going back.
You’re standing on the balcony, admiring the stars, lost in their distant glow when—thud. A shadow drops from above, landing lightly beside you on the second-floor balcony as if gravity is nothing more than a mild suggestion.
Your heart races despite yourself, but you know exactly who it is before even looking. You turn to see Rook grinning at you like he hadn’t just jumped from the roof in a completely casual manner.
“Bonsoir, mon trésor!” Rook exclaims, adjusting his hat dramatically, as if he didn’t just cause your heart to leap out of your chest.
You raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You know, Rook, most people take the stairs. It’s, you know, safer?”
He gasps, hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ah, but where would be the beauty in safety, mon cher? The thrill of the unknown, the leap of faith, it’s magnifique!”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “One of these days, you’re going to miscalculate and break something.”
“Ah! If it were to happen in your presence, then it would be a wound most worthy,” he declares, placing a hand on his chest as if preparing for some grand tragedy.
“Is this where I’m supposed to be flattered?” you tease, giving him a playful nudge.
Rook sighs, then suddenly—unexpectedly—he drops to one knee before you, taking your hand in his as he gazes up at you, his eyes shimmering in the starlight. The playfulness fades into something more sincere, more intense.
“My heart,” he begins, his voice soft yet filled with fervor, “it yearns for you. Every beat, every breath is consumed by thoughts of you, mon amour. You have become the keeper of my soul, and I—” he presses your hand to his chest—“am forever yours.”
You blink, caught between amusement and warmth, your smile softening. “Rook, you know, you could’ve just asked me out like a normal person.”
“Mon trésor,” he says dramatically, “there is nothing ‘normal’ about love! It is wild, untamed, and as vast as the stars above.”
You laugh, a soft, breathless sound, and you find yourself leaning in. “Alright, Rook. Under the stars then,” you whisper, brushing your lips softly against his.
For once, Rook is silent—save for the way his breath hitches—before he kisses you back, tender and sweet beneath the endless sky. When you pull away, you smile down at him, your hand still in his.
“I guess that makes me your keeper now, huh?” you say with a grin.
“And I am honored,” Rook replies, standing up to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with nothing but adoration. “For my heart could not have chosen a better ruler.”
this is a little character study on rook and I just like him a normal amount I swear
You really want the parfait that's exclusive to couples. So you you do what anyone would do, pretend a random stranger in the café is your partner of course.
Rollo week d4!
Rollo Flamme just wants to drink his coffee in peace.
But peace is apparently too much to ask for, because before he can even get halfway through his cup, you plop down into the chair across from him without so much as a warning.
“Hey, sweetheart. I missed you,” you say breezily, flashing a quick smile before spinning around to flag down the waiter.
Rollo freezes, staring at you like you just announced you were engaged. “Excuse me?”
The waiter arrives, and you point cheerfully to the menu. “One couple’s parfait, please!”
The waiter beams. “Ah, yes! It’s always so nice to see young love.” He gives a little bow before walking off.
Rollo blinks. Twice. Slowly.
“...What?”
You turn back to him, smiling like you didn’t just drop an emotional nuke on the poor guy. “Don’t freak out, but I really wanted that parfait, and it’s only for couples. So… here we are.”
His mouth opens. Then closes. He stares at you like you're a puzzle he has zero interest in solving. “You thought the logical solution was to pretend I’m your boyfriend?”
You shrug. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
His expression is the perfect picture of disbelief. “Do you do this often? Sit with strangers and declare yourself in a relationship for dessert?”
“Not usually,” you admit. “But today felt special.”
Rollo pinches the bridge of his nose like he's developing a migraine. "This... this has to be a joke. Or some elaborate scheme."
“If I was scheming, I’d at least buy you dinner first,” you say with a grin.
He gives you a long, assessing look. “Do you have any shame?”
“Not when parfaits are involved.” You lean back in your chair, perfectly at ease, as if sitting at a stranger's table and declaring romantic intentions is something you do every other Tuesday. “Anyway, it’s not like you were busy. You were just drinking coffee and brooding or something. Seemed like you could use the company.”
“I was not brooding.” His frown deepens, proving your point.
You prop your chin on your hand, smirking. “Sure you weren’t.”
He exhales sharply, clearly regretting every life choice that brought him to this moment. "Why me, of all people? Why not... literally anyone else?"
“Because you looked lonely,” you say simply. “And a little pissed off, honestly. I thought it’d be fun.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s an odd definition of fun.”
Before you can respond, the waiter returns, carrying a gorgeous, towering parfait topped with fresh fruit, whipped cream, and a drizzle of chocolate. He places it in front of you with a flourish.
“For the lovely couple.”
“Thanks!” you chirp, grabbing a spoon. You gesture toward the other spoon. “Want some?”
Rollo crosses his arms. “No.”
You scoop up a bite anyway. “Suit yourself. Your loss.”
He watches you eat the parfait like it’s a personal affront to his dignity. “You do realize this is ridiculous.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you say, popping a piece of strawberry into your mouth. “But at least now you have a weird story to tell people.”
“Assuming I survive this encounter.”
You snort. “Relax. I’m not that bad.”
“That’s a bold statement from someone who just invented a relationship for dessert,” he deadpans.
You grin, not the least bit fazed by his sarcasm. “You’re kinda funny, you know that?”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Well, you are.” You take another bite of parfait, eyeing him thoughtfully. “So, do you have a name, or should I keep calling you ‘sweetheart’?”
Rollo sighs, as though resigning himself to whatever strange fate he’s stumbled into. “Rollo.”
“Rollo,” you repeat, tasting the name. Then you introduce yourself. “Nice. Now we’re not strangers anymore.”
“That’s… not how that works.”
“Sure it is,” you say, giving him a playful wink. “We’re practically best friends at this point. Or soulmates. Whichever you prefer.”
He groans. “Why am I still sitting here?”
“Because you’re having the time of your life,” you say smugly.
He opens his mouth to protest—but then shuts it with a frustrated huff. The worst part is, you can tell he’s not quite as annoyed as he pretends to be. There’s the tiniest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips, and you know you’ve won.
“So,” you say casually, “since we’re obviously a couple now, you wanna exchange numbers? Y’know, to keep the ruse going.”
Rollo gives you a flat look. “This is absurd.”
“Is that a yes?”
He stares at you for a moment longer, like he’s seriously debating whether or not to walk away. But then, to your surprise, he pulls out his phone.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he mutters, typing in your number with the air of someone signing a bad contract.
You grin. “Because you secretly think I’m charming.”
“I think you’re a menace.”
“Same thing.”
The waiter passes by again, smiling warmly at the two of you. “Enjoying your date?”
Rollo looks like he’s about to combust on the spot, but you just laugh. “We sure are.”
Once the waiter is out of earshot, Rollo glares at you. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are, giving me your number,” you say, flashing a victorious smile. “Looks like I win.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition if you try hard enough.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a flicker of reluctant amusement in his expression. You can tell he’s not nearly as irritated as he pretends to be.
As you finish off the last bite of parfait, Rollo leans back in his chair, watching you with a mixture of exasperation and bewilderment. “You’re not going to leave me alone now, are you?”
“Not a chance.” You shoot him a grin. “Get used to it, boyfriend.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose but doesn’t argue. And for the first time since you sat down, he looks like he might actually be having fun.
You return home after a long work trip. Rollo is happy to have you back
Rollo Week Day 3!
You sigh as you step off the carriage, the wheels creaking one last time as it rolls away into the quiet, flower-lined streets of the City of Flowers. The familiar aroma of roses and freshly baked pastries fills the air, and despite the heaviness in your limbs from the long journey, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Home. After weeks of business trips, endless meetings, and poorly made hotel tea (honestly, was it that hard to steep for three minutes?), you’ve finally returned to the place you belong.
Your bag feels like it weighs a ton as you drag it up the front steps of your home. The door swings open easily, and you’re immediately enveloped by warmth and the soft glow of candles, their flickering light casting familiar shadows on the walls. You drop your luggage right by the door with a thud. Unpacking? That’s a problem for future you.
Right now, there’s only one thing on your mind.
Or rather, one person.
Before you can even kick off your shoes, there’s a soft cough behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
“You’re late.”
You turn slowly, biting back a smile. Standing there in the doorway to the living room is Rollo Flamme, arms crossed, his ever-present frown etched firmly into place. He’s the same as always—his uniform perfectly crisp, his red armband exactly where it should be, his hair styled just so. But his eyes? Those usually cold, calculating eyes are just a bit softer now, filled with something you can’t quite name. Not yet, anyway.
“I’m late because I’ve been working,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you try to sound exasperated. “You know, work? That thing I have to do to help fund our lavish lifestyle?”
Rollo’s frown deepens, as if the mere mention of work is an affront to his dignity. “That does not excuse tardiness. You said you would be back by midday, not at this absurd hour.”
“And you’ve been keeping track of the exact time I was supposed to return because...?” You take a step closer, enjoying the way his posture stiffens. “Maybe because you’ve been waiting for me?”
Rollo’s mouth twitches, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I simply—” He clears his throat, looking away for a brief moment as if gathering his composure. “I dislike unpredictability. It disrupts order.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, smirking. “And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”
His eyes snap back to yours, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something unguarded, a hint of softness breaking through the usual mask of stern disapproval.
“You presume too much,” he says, but his voice lacks its usual bite.
Without thinking, you close the distance between you and pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. You feel him freeze, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened to him. For a second, you wonder if he’s going to push you away, or make some remark about “appropriate displays of affection.”
But instead, there’s a beat of silence before you feel his hands—tentative at first—gently come to rest on your back. His embrace is awkward, as if he’s still getting used to the idea of this, but it’s Rollo’s version of vulnerable. And that? That’s more than enough.
"I missed you," you murmur, leaning into the hug and resting your head against his shoulder. You can feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than usual, and the warmth of his body seeping into yours.
There's a soft sigh from him—barely audible, but enough for you to notice. "I... suppose it has been quieter in your absence." His words are carefully chosen, as always, but you can hear the subtle admission behind them.
"You mean 'lonely'?" you tease, though your voice is softer than before.
"Do not be absurd," he huffs, his arms tightening around you just the slightest bit. “The quiet has been... productive.”
“Sure, sure,” you say, grinning against his shoulder. "Productive. No late-night pacing around, checking the clock, wondering where I am?"
Rollo makes a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I am not some... emotionally unstable fool."
"And yet, here you are," you say, leaning back just enough to look at him. His face is still calm, still composed, but there’s a softness in his eyes that he can't quite hide. You know him too well by now. He was absolutely waiting for you. Probably fretting over the tiniest delay.
"You overestimate your importance," he says, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrays him.
"I completely believe that," you say, grinning. “You’re clearly doing fine without me.”
His eyes narrow slightly. "If you insist on being smug, I may reconsider the tea I prepared for your return."
You blink, surprised. "Wait, tea? You made tea for me?"
Rollo straightens, clearing his throat as he composes himself. “It is standard hospitality for someone returning from a journey. Nothing more.”
Your heart melts just a little. Rollo, with all his pomp and stiff formality, had made you tea. It’s a small gesture, but from him? It feels huge.
“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?” you say, teasing but fond. You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can protest.
His face goes crimson in an instant. "T-this is entirely unnecessary!" he sputters, backing away as if you’ve just unleashed some forbidden magic. “There is no need for... such displays.”
"Uh-huh," you say, amused. “And yet, you didn’t pull away.”
Rollo glares at you, though the pink in his cheeks betrays any attempt at real anger. “That is entirely beside the point.”
“Sure, sure,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “Now, about that tea?”
He sighs, clearly exasperated, but turns to head toward the kitchen. "Follow me," he mutters, and you can hear the resigned affection in his voice.
You trail behind him, admiring the familiar sight of your home, now warm and welcoming after your long trip. The thought that Rollo had been waiting for you, fussing over tea and your late return, fills your heart with warmth.
In the kitchen, a small tea set is already laid out on the table, the delicate steam curling from the cups. The scene is so domestic, so un-Rollo, and yet, it’s perfect.
As he pours the tea, he glances at you, his expression softer now, the frown mostly gone. "Welcome home," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smile, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "It's good to be home."
The two of you sit together, sipping tea in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain and the gentle hum of the evening outside. It’s peaceful, perfect, and for the first time in weeks, you feel truly at ease.
And as Rollo glances at you from the corner of his eye, trying (and failing) to hide the smallest of smiles, you realize something. This—sitting here with him, drinking tea after a long journey—is what home really feels like.
You, Rollo's self-proclaimed bestfriend, have been trying to set him up with someone for the past few weeks. If all your plans fail, maybe you should do it yourself?
Rollo Week Day 2!
You’re absolutely convinced that one of these days, Mount Rollo is going to erupt—metaphorically speaking. The man is a storm in human form, and if anyone needs to loosen up, it’s him. As his self-declared bestie, you’ve decided it’s your personal mission to fix this. And what better way to prevent a volcanic explosion than by finding him the perfect date?
Date 1: The Perfectionist
For the first attempt, you decide to set him up with someone equally serious—a meticulous scholar who practically breathes textbooks, just like Rollo. You arrange a nice little lunch at a quiet, book-filled café. The ambiance is perfect: walls stacked with old books, the soft clink of teacups, and an academic atmosphere. You figure they’ll be intellectual soulmates.
Everything goes well—until they start debating. What begins as a pleasant discussion about historical architecture quickly escalates into a competition of who knows more obscure facts.
Rollo’s frown deepens as his date continuously tries to one-up him. By the time their coffee arrives, they’ve gone through no fewer than five intense debates about the most esoteric details of 14th-century bricklaying techniques.
You check on them an hour later, only to see Rollo sitting there, arms crossed, looking like he’s ready to punch a library in the face. His date is still babbling on about the aesthetic superiority of Gothic buttresses.
When you catch him outside after the disastrous date, Rollo sighs heavily and mutters, “I’ve had more stimulating conversations with my textbooks.”
“Well, they can’t all be winners!” you laugh awkwardly.
Date 2: The Overenthusiast
Clearly, the last one was too intense. You decide to go for a different approach—a cheerful, bubbly person who’s passionate about spontaneous adventures. Maybe someone who will drag Rollo out of his stoic shell with some boundless enthusiasm and positivity.
The date starts off on a hike, and Rollo already looks skeptical as they begin rattling off suggestions for future extreme sports they should try together. “Skydiving’s on my bucket list,” they say, oblivious to Rollo’s growing dread. “Oh! And I’ve always wanted to try base jumping.”
“I don’t have wings,” Rollo deadpans.
Things only go downhill from there. His date suggests bungee jumping off a nearby cliff, just to spice things up. Rollo’s jaw tightens like he’s physically restraining himself from yelling, and by the end of the hike, he looks like he’s been through some kind of personal hell.
As they part ways, Rollo gives you a flat look. “I don’t understand how you come up with these people.”
You just shrug, trying to hold back your laughter. “Maybe you just need to learn how to let loose!”
His scowl deepens, and you’re already mentally planning Date #3.
Date 3: The Tortured Artist
Next up, you think Rollo needs someone with a creative soul—an artist with a vision, someone who’ll talk about the beauty of life and inspire him with their philosophical musings. You manage to track down someone who’s always talking about their next big project and their deep thoughts on the human condition.
Things start off okay, but midway through dinner, they begin rambling about the chaotic beauty of life. “You see, Rollo, destruction is just a form of rebirth. Every time something breaks, it’s just… making way for something new.”
Rollo stares at them like they’ve grown a second head. “I believe in structure and order,” he says stiffly.
The artist looks unfazed, waving their hand dramatically. “But chaos is art!”
By the time the night is over, Rollo looks like he’s aged ten years. When he returns to you, he mutters, “They suggested we burn down the restaurant. For ‘art.’”
You burst into laughter. “Okay, maybe not the creative type either.”
Rollo glares. “Stop trying to torture me.”
Date 4: The Free Spirit
Alright, maybe what Rollo needs is someone who’s completely carefree—a person with no boundaries or restrictions, someone who doesn’t sweat the small stuff. You set him up with a free-spirited individual who lives life with a “no rules” philosophy. They suggest meeting at a park for a casual walk, and at first, it seems like things are going fine.
Then they start suggesting that they should start a protest about “the man keeping us down” and skipping stones at a restricted pond area because, “rules are just social constructs, man.”
Rollo’s eye twitches as they start skipping stones like it’s no big deal. “You realize you’re breaking the law, correct?”
“It’s just a pond,” they wave him off. “Live a little!”
The date doesn’t last much longer. As soon as they part ways, Rollo gives you the most exhausted look you’ve ever seen. “Why do you do this to me?”
You grin, feeling only slightly guilty. “You said you needed to loosen up.”
“I’m going to throw you into that pond next time,” he mutters, but you can see the faintest smirk on his lips.
Date 5: The Socialite
This time, you think you’ve cracked the code. Someone social and charming, who knows how to navigate high society. You arrange a dinner with an outgoing socialite who can hold their own in any conversation.
Except, they spend the entire date talking about all the high-profile parties they attend, the famous people they’ve met, and their networking skills. Rollo is clearly unimpressed, barely saying a word as they drop name after name, and by the end of the night, he looks like he’s had all the life drained out of him.
“They talked more about themselves than any lesson I’ve ever attended,” he mutters to you afterward.
“Wasn’t that fun?” you tease, trying not to laugh.
Rollo just glares at you, muttering something about “irreparable damage.”
After the fifth disaster, you both sit in the café (again), your chin resting in your hands as you ponder your failure. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a matchmaker…”
“I’ve been telling you that since the first date,” Rollo replies dryly, sipping his tea.
You stare at the cup, lost in thought, then blink. "What if I just find someone more like...me?" Your eyes light up. "Of course! How did I not think of that before—"
"I think I’ve figured that out myself," Rollo cuts in. His tone is so dry, you almost miss the little sarcastic jab in it. He raises an eyebrow. “Why not just date me yourself, then? You’re the only one I can stand at this point.”
You pause mid-sip, blinking. “...What?”
He shakes his head, clearly joking, lips curling into a faint smirk. “You’re already committed to this ridiculous mission. Why not be my date, if you're so determined?”
Rollo’s tone is light, and you can tell he’s not being serious, but something clicks in your mind. You blink at him like he’s just handed you the Holy Grail. Slowly, you lower your teacup. “Wait...that’s...brilliant.”
It’s Rollo’s turn to blink. “What?”
You snap your fingers. “I’ll do it! I’ll date you!”
The smirk falls from his face as he processes your words. “What? No—wait—I wasn’t—” His usual composure slips for a moment, a flicker of shock in his eyes. “You’re serious?”
“Obviously,” you grin, completely oblivious to his shock. “I mean, I’ve been spending all this time trying to find someone else, but why would I need to? We get along great, I know your quirks, you know mine—this is perfect!”
Rollo is still processing, his mouth slightly open, like you’ve just told him the world is flat. “I wasn’t actually expecting you to—”
“So,” you interrupt, leaning in with a smug smile, “where are you taking me on our first date?”
Rollo groans, rubbing his temple. “You’re impossible.”
The date with Rollo is… interesting. You two plan a simple walk through the city, but it doesn’t take long for things to go off track. Rollo tries to impress you by leading you through what he calls a "shortcut"—a long, winding, and completely unfamiliar street that gets you both hopelessly lost.
"Is this your plan?" you tease, nudging him as he checks the map on his phone. "Get lost together so I’ll have to rely on your company?"
Rollo gives you a flat look. "No, this is my plan going terribly wrong."
But despite the mishap, the date is surprisingly fun. You tease him relentlessly about his poor sense of direction, and he grumbles about how you’ve ruined his peace, but there’s an underlying warmth to his words. It’s clear that, despite the banter, he’s enjoying himself.
After wandering around for what feels like hours, you finally find your way back to a quaint little café. You suggest stopping for a drink, and Rollo, surprisingly, agrees.
The conversation flows naturally, filled with lighthearted teasing and small smiles. Rollo, despite his usual stern demeanor, seems at ease with you, even allowing himself a small chuckle when you accidentally spill sugar all over the table.
As the evening winds down and he walks you home, there’s a comfortable silence between you two. At your ...your doorstep, you hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to end the night. Rollo stands there, watching you expectantly, clearly not used to situations like this.
“So,” you say softly, “thanks for, uh, getting us lost today.”
Rollo raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” you grin, stepping closer. “It was fun anyway.”
You lean in, brushing your lips softly against his in a quick kiss. When you pull back, Rollo is staring at you, frozen in place like he’s processing what just happened.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little shy despite the chaos of the night.
Rollo blinks, his usual serious expression faltering as a slight blush creeps into his cheeks. “...Yes,” he says, almost as if he’s surprised by his own response.
You smile at him, the warmth from the kiss still lingering, and before you can walk away, Rollo suddenly grabs your wrist, pulling you back gently. He leans in, pressing a lingering, softer kiss to your lips, as if trying to make sure this time is real.
When he pulls away, he mutters, “I suppose I should thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being insufferable enough to try this.”
You laugh softly, a lightness settling in your chest. “I aim to please.”
As you head inside, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Mount Rollo isn’t going to erupt after all. In fact, it seems you’ve found a way to calm the storm for good.
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