Unclaimed, Unnamed
Title: Unclaimed, Unnamed
Pairing: Ellis x OC
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: omegaverse, non-traditional omegaverse if you squint really hard, one night stands, identity confusion, mentions of pills and alcohol, angst, emotional vulnerability, mature content
Suzuko collects flings like jewels, never keeping them. Then comes Ellis—twilight-eyed, easy laughter, impossible to forget. Not love, not yet. But something she can’t let go.
ⅰ
The bar glowed low and golden, all glass and mirrors, music pulsing like a slow heartbeat. Suzuko was a creature of shadow and light here—pale as bone, gold hair catching the dim lamps, amber eyes drinking in the dark. She sat at the counter with her mocktail: lemon, clean and sharp, the glass straw catching against her lips. No ice, no decoration. She liked her edges neat.
Men stared. Alphas, mostly, prowling in their sharp suits and cheap cologne. They thought they knew what to do with her, what to offer. None of them mattered.
She didn’t even look up when someone slid into the seat beside her. Broad-shouldered, taller than most, but easy in his posture. Not looming, not pressing. His drink clinked down—something amber and burning—and his voice cut through the haze without trying too hard.
“You look like you’re pretending to enjoy yourself.”
Suzuko turned, gaze slow, deliberate. He had dark curls, untamed, catching glimmers of violet where the light hit. Twilight-colored eyes, the kind that seemed like they’d seen too much and cared too little. Not Alpha-pretty, but Alpha-confident.
“Maybe I am,” she said, crisp, clipped. Her words always carried teeth. “Why do you care?”
He smirked. “Don’t. Just curious.”
She studied him, letting silence stretch until it was sharp. His shoulders were wide, his frame solid, nothing delicate in the way he took up space. He looked like an Alpha. Moved like one, too—steady, unrushed, as if the world already belonged to him. Exactly her type for one thing only.
“Curiosity is a waste of time,” she said finally, sipping her lemon drink. “You either act, or you don’t.”
His smile curved wider, lazy. “Then act. Or don’t.”
Suzuko tilted her head, measuring. Usually she picked men, Alphas, by how fast they took the bait. By how quickly their need swallowed them. This one… he didn’t chase. He waited. As if her answer mattered less than the moment itself.
That was different.
“Let’s go,” she said at last, sliding from her seat, the hem of her black dress slicing her figure like a blade.
He didn’t blink. Just stood, tall and unhurried, and followed her into the night.
ⅱ
The hotel suite was sharp lines and polished surfaces, just like all the others. Suzuko always booked the same type: high floor, corner room, the kind of sterile luxury that was expensive enough to mean nothing. White sheets, black marble, chrome details. These rooms blurred together like a string of faceless partners—stage, performance, blackout curtain.
Her heels clicked against the marble as she crossed inside, the sound crisp and final. She didn’t bother with the view. The city could burn or glow; she wasn’t here for it.
Ellis followed, slower, taking in the suite with a kind of calm detachment. He didn’t look dazzled, didn’t sneer either. Just seemed to absorb it. That nonchalance pulled at her nerves in ways she didn’t care to examine.
“You’re not going to stand there gawking, are you?” she said, sharp as glass.
A crooked smile touched his lips. “Was waiting. You seem like the type who likes control.”
Her answer was the rustle of fabric as she let her dress slip down her frame, pooling at her feet in a dark puddle. The hotel lights caught the glitter of her jewelry: gold collier snug against her throat, cuffs at her wrists, an anklet flashing as she shifted her weight. Moonstone drops gleamed faintly, pale fire against her skin. Her armor. Her boundary.
Ellis didn’t lunge like others. He leaned, steady, his black shirt stretching against his frame. And there—a glint. A gold chain slipped from beneath his collar, catching light as he moved. A long pendant, not ornamental but worn, scuffed with time. The metal brushed against his chest as he reached for her, the shape of something kept close rather than flaunted.
Suzuko’s gaze caught on it before she pulled it higher, pressing her nails lightly against the cotton of his shirt. “Sentimental?” she asked, voice half-cutting, half-curious.
“Maybe,” he said easily. “You don’t strike me as the type, though.”
“I’m not.” The words came out too quickly.
Then his mouth was on hers, firm, deliberate—not Alpha-possession, not hunger gnawing at the edges. His kiss had weight without greed, a patience that unsettled her more than dominance ever had. The pendant brushed faintly against her collarbone as his chest pressed to hers, gold against gold, but so different from her gleaming armor.
Her body bent toward him, surprised at her own urgency. Every Alpha she’d ever touched had been fire consuming oxygen. Ellis was something else entirely. Not a blaze, but a gravity that pulled her in despite her resistance.
And later, when her jewelry still clung to her skin under his hands, when the sheets tangled pale around them, Suzuko found herself remembering not the hotel’s sterile lines but the faint swing of that gold pendant — like a reminder he wasn’t here to take anything from her. Only to meet her, where she burned.
ⅲ
Suzuko woke with the precision of habit, though the sheets were tangled around her like a net. Her head never fogged—she never drank, never let herself blur. Control was everything. The morning light crept pale and intrusive through the sheer curtains, making her squint. She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tumbling like molten gold, amber eyes sensitive against the sharp edge of sun.
Ellis was sprawled on his stomach, one arm crooked under the pillow. The necklace had slipped free from his collarbone during the night, pendant glinting faintly against skin as pale as hers. The sight startled her. He looked … peaceful. Not conquered, not smug, not demanding. Just at ease, as if this sterile suite were a familiar place to rest.
Her throat clicked dry. She reached for her clutch on the bedside table, snapped it open, and shook a pill into her palm. Swallowed it with the water bottle she always set beside her bed. A ritual, seamless.
“Morning.”
The word drifted out, rough with sleep but calm, almost lazy. Ellis had rolled to his side, watching her through half-lidded eyes. His voice didn’t carry the clipped sharpness of alphas she’d known—no smugness at having had her. Just an easy warmth.
Suzuko tilted her chin. “You’re awake.”
“Hard not to be, with all that noise,” he teased, voice dragging on the vowels.
She ignored the quip, tucking the pill case back into her clutch. But when she glanced up, Ellis wasn’t watching her face. He was watching her hand, the bottle, the label she hadn’t thought twice about. His eyes sharpened.
“…Those aren’t Alpha pills.”
The words dropped like a stone.
Suzuko froze. Her heart thudded once, hard. She forced her features to stay cool, distant. “What of it?”
Ellis’ lips parted, not in shock but something softer—like realization falling into place. He pushed himself up, necklace swinging forward with the motion, pendant catching in the weak morning light. “You’re… Omega.”
Her breath clipped short. “And you’re not?” she snapped, sharper than intended.
He blinked, then—to her astonishment—laughed. A low, unbothered sound, like he truly found it funny. “That’s rich. I thought you were Alpha. All this—” he gestured lightly at her jewelry, her poise, the way she sat upright in bed as if commanding a stage “—screamed it. Confidence. Power. Untouchable.”
Suzuko’s nails dug into the sheet, knuckles white. “And you—” she bit, voice like glass “—walk into a bar with that build, that presence, acting like you own the air. Of course I thought you were Alpha.”
For a moment, the words hung between them like unsheathed blades. And then Ellis tilted his head back against the headboard, smile slanting crooked. “Guess we’re both bad at reading the script.”
She hated the twist in her stomach at that—the urge to laugh with him, to let the absurdity soften her edges. Instead she crossed her arms, bracelets biting into her skin. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Doesn’t have to.” His tone was maddeningly easy. “But admit it—last night hit different.”
Suzuko glared, but the memory of his steady hands, his patient kiss, the swing of his necklace against her collarbone … all of it flooded heat through her chest. She looked away.
“You talk too much,” she muttered.
Ellis smirked, settling back into the pillows, casual as the dawn itself. “And you like it.”
She hated that he wasn’t wrong.
ⅳ
The suite again. Always the suite—white sheets, dark marble, her gold shining like a shield.
But it blurred.
Ellis’ laugh in the half-light, low and unhurried, like he had time when she never allowed herself any. The necklace pendant grazing her sternum as he leaned down. Her nails skimming his back, sharp but not cutting. His hand settling against her waist, steady, not claiming—a contrast so stark it made her breath hitch.
Another night: her bracelets slipping halfway down her arm as he pulled her wrist above her head, lips brushing her knuckles before sliding lower. His casual grin as she rolled her eyes at him, feigning boredom, when inside the tension was sharp enough to splinter.
She remembered shadows thrown across the wall, tangled bodies in motion, the taste of sweat and something sweet she couldn’t place. The sound of her own voice breaking sharp edges into softer notes.
Sometimes, he murmured things she couldn’t hold on to in the haze—not declarations, never that, but fragments: “You deserve better nights than lonely ones.” Or: “You don’t have to keep the armor on with me.” Words dissolving into her skin before she could push them away.
The memories folded over one another, indistinct, blurred, yet clear in their repetition: she kept coming back. He kept being there.
The hotel suite never changed, but something in her had.
ⅴ
The city looked different in daylight. Suzuko rarely saw it this way—not from sidewalks cluttered with bakeries and tiny shops, tucked into streets that the rich never bothered to map in their minds. She walked beside Ellis, her sunglasses oversized, her stride as sharp as ever. Still, she couldn’t help noticing the way sunlight dappled across his dark curls, catching the purple sheen as if it were painted there by the sky itself.
“This way,” he said, voice lazy but sure, tugging her down a narrow side street. His necklace swung with the motion, pendant flashing gold. He looked nothing like her usual companions, too casual in his black shirt and worn jacket, but his presence was steady, grounding.
The café was small, the kind of place where tables were packed close and the walls smelled like yeast and sugar. Shelves brimmed with bread loaves in every shape, baskets lined with croissants and rolls dusted with flour. Suzuko hesitated at the threshold, her golden accessories gleaming too brightly for this dim little corner of the world.
Ellis noticed. “Relax,” he said, pushing open the door for her with an easy grin. “They don’t bite. Unless you ask.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she followed. The bell chimed overhead, soft and homely. A world away from chandeliers and silk sheets.
Ellis ordered without looking at a menu—a plate of rye bread for balance, something glazed and golden from the display, and a little dish of cranberry jam. He added hot milk with honey for himself, spoken with the certainty of a ritual.
Suzuko lingered, her tone precise when she finally spoke: “Lemon custard. And lemon tea. Plain.”
At the table, she sat with her back straight, fingers resting against the rim of her cup as though it were a prop. Ellis, by contrast, slouched comfortably, tearing into a piece of bread with his hands. He looked utterly at home.
“So,” he said, chewing slowly. “First time here?”
Suzuko’s brow arched. “Do I look like someone who spends her afternoons in … bakeries?”
He smirked, brushing a crumb from his lip. “You look like someone who could use one.”
The retort came fast, sharp—but she didn’t say it. Instead, she stared at the rows of bread on the counter, people laughing softly at other tables, the way the air felt thick with warmth and familiarity. Something caught in her throat.
“I don’t do this,” she said finally, words clipped.
Ellis tilted his head. “Do what?”
Her nails clicked against her cup. “This. Daylight. Cafés. Sitting across from someone. It’s not—” She broke off, the sharp edge faltering for just a second. Her bracelets clinked softly when she folded her arms. “Strangers always stay strangers. No strings.”
Ellis leaned back, eyes warm but not heavy. “And you still came with me.”
She met his gaze, amber eyes burning but unsteady. “…For the bread.”
He grinned. “Sure.”
And somehow, the bread really was good.
ⅵ
Her face in a mirror, bare without earrings.
She hardly recognized herself without the armor—pale skin, too much gold in her hair, too much softness in her mouth. It felt indecent, like standing without clothes.
His laughter echoing in her apartment stairwell.
Warm, careless, rolling down the narrow space like it belonged there. She had never heard laughter in that stairwell before. Never let anyone inside. The sound didn’t leave, even after he did.
A soft curse as she tripped on a step, caught by steady hands.
Her ankle had twisted—ridiculous, humiliating. She never stumbled. She never allowed herself to. And yet Ellis caught her easily, steadying her with a quiet, “Got you.”
The way her pulse leapt when he didn’t let go right away.
She should have pulled back. Should have brushed it off with sharp words, something to reassert her control. But instead, her body betrayed her, standing still, breathing shallow, heat blooming in her chest.
These were moments that didn’t fit her rules.
Rules that had always kept her safe, untouchable, golden and bright on her own terms. Yet now—little fractures had begun to thread through the surface, weaving Ellis into spaces she never allowed anyone to occupy.
And she hated how much she didn’t want to stop it.
ⅶ
Suzuko’s apartment had never hosted anyone but her.
Not the possessive alphas she discarded, not the admirers who begged. No stranger had ever crossed its threshold—until Ellis.
He stepped inside, glancing at the black chandeliers, the stripped-down elegance of the place. “It’s very you,” he said, voice low, casual.
“Sharp and clean?” she asked, unclasping her heels with a deft flick.
His pendant caught the chandelier’s glow as he leaned against the wall, smiling. “Sharp, yeah. But the kind of sharp that dares you to touch it.”
Her lips curved. “Careful. You might cut yourself.”
The bedroom opened like a secret, silk sheets in shades of shadow and light. Suzuko stood before him, fingers moving to the clasps at her wrist, sliding each golden bracelet free. One by one, they rang soft as they dropped onto the bedside table.
Ellis’s gaze followed every piece. The collier, the earrings, the rings—her armor stripped away. “You never took them off before,” he murmured.
Her hands lingered at the chain of her necklace, the moonstone drop catching the light like a drop of ice. She unclasped it slowly, deliberately, and set it down last. “I felt like it,” she said, sharp, like daring him to question her. “I’m home. No reason to hide.”
Ellis stepped closer, heat radiating from his body, the faint honeyed scent of his skin brushing against her. “You’re not hiding,” he said softly. “You’re letting me see.”
The words pressed under her skin, electric. She tilted her chin, eyes narrowing. “Careful with your words. I don’t do confessions.”
“Good.” His lips brushed her jaw, easy but sure. “Neither do I.”
Her breath hitched—rare, sharp. His hands were warm against her hips, not possessive, not demanding. Just steady.
She dragged him toward the bed, silk sheets cool against her back when she pulled him down with her. The pendant at his chest pressed to her collarbone, golden and unyielding, even as his mouth found hers.
For once, Suzuko didn’t shove it aside.
ⅷ
The city glittered below, all fractured gold and white, lights scattered like jewels across the dark. From her balcony, Suzuko leaned against the railing, silk nightgown clinging to her body like spilled shadow. No jewelry weighed on her throat, her wrists, her ankles. She felt bare, lighter than she should have, the night air licking at her pale skin.
She squinted against the brightness of the city, amber eyes narrowing. Always too much light. She had always been the sun in name, in image, but nights like these reminded her why she loved the moon instead. The moon didn’t blind. The moon let her breathe.
The glass door clicked softly behind her. Ellis stepped out, hair mussed from sleep, his presence easy as ever. He leaned beside her at the railing, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.
“You don’t sleep much, do you?” he asked, voice casual, almost amused.
“I don’t need to,” Suzuko said crisply, though her eyes stayed on the horizon. “The night belongs to me.”
Ellis chuckled, low and warm. “Guess that makes sense. You’re sun-colored, but you’ve got the moon’s habits.”
She shot him a sideways look, sharp and cutting—but found him watching her without fear, without question, only quiet wonder. As though her contradictions made sense. As though she wasn’t a puzzle to solve, but something to sit beside.
Her chest tightened, unexpectedly.
“You’re different,” she said at last, each word distinct, measured. “We’re… different. This isn’t what people want to see.”
Ellis shrugged, easy. “People see what they wanna see. I see you. That’s enough.”
Suzuko turned back to the city. The golden lights blurred for a moment, then steadied again. She breathed in the cool air, let it fill her chest.
“I won’t call it love,” she said, firm, sharp-edged. “Don’t expect me to.”
Ellis didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch, comfortable. Then: “Didn’t ask you to.”
Their shoulders brushed again, steady, warm. Suzuko let it linger.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—she never cared to. The future was a fickle thing, a promise she had no interest in keeping. All she knew was the weight of the nightgown clinging to her skin, the absence of jewelry at her throat, and the quiet presence of Ellis beside her.
For now, that was enough.
For now, she wouldn’t let go.
And the moon hung overhead, silent witness to a truth she’d never put into words.