A/B/O Japanese mafia idea. Yukio, your childhood friend (son of the head of the mafia), and you (son of the leader's closest subordinate) grow up together and become really close, since there are no other children your age in the clan (him being a few years older). But as both of you get older and Yukio's responsibilities as the heir of the clan grow, he starts to notice how the rest of the clan looks at your relationship. They don't hide their disdain or the whispers of such a 'disgraceful' thing. Why would the only heir of the clan be so close to the son of a simple subordinate? Things just get worse when he presents as an alpha.
So Yukio starts to drift away, convinced that creating some distance from you is the best for the clan. But you don't want to lose your best friend, so you keep insisting. Again, and again, and again, one failed attempt after another, to the point where he starts to see you as a nuisance. So, right before your official initiation to the clan, you decide you will try one last time. You decide that, if he rejects you again, you will just give up. Things don't go as well as you planned, though; stress from a failed heir test and how close he is to his rut have Yukio on the verge of a breakdown. The conversation quickly escalates into a fight, one he tries to walk away from, again. But then you grab his arm to try to make him stay for a little longer, to make him listen to you for just a second.
Neither of you expected him to answer with a command.
The syllables resonate in your ears, angry and dominant, pulling something in your chest that shoots heat throughout your whole body, a sickly sweet scent enveloping both of you.
That's how you presented as an omega. That was your first heat, too: triggered by the rejection of the alpha you consider closest to you.
Yukio loses all sense of reason, tackling you to the ground and holding you in his arms as if he is scared you'll disappear. You don't fight back, mind too foggy to understand what is going on. You feel yourself purring, convinced you are being accepted by your alpha. The sound goes straight to Yukio's head, his instinct as an alpha eager to please the omega in heat nuzzling against his neck. All you feel are his teeth on your gland, biting hard enough to break the skin. Bliss washes all over you, too far gone to hear the yelling of the clan members trying to separate you from Yukio. Everything after that is kind of a blur. You remember the feeling of panic when someone ripped you away from your alpha's grip. You remember his loud growling and the blood on his fangs while two other subordinates struggled to drag him away. You remember how painful and lonely the next three days of your heat felt. But the memories felt like covered in fog, making them easier to ignore.
You are called by the leader when your heat is over. Of course you are. Yukio is there, too. He doesn't look at you when you enter, not even when you sit beside him on the floor, facing the head of the clan. You ignore the pain in your nape and what feels like being stabbed, knowing it's mere instinct because of the bond, trying to convince yourself it's just instinct.
Then the head speaks, asking what you two will decide to do about this situation. Your alph—Yukio doesn't hesitate to take the lead, saying he doesn't want this—he doesn't want you. "As the heir," he insists, "I need a strong mate who is backed up by a strong family, perhaps the female alpha of the X clan, who could also win us an alliance. I refuse to tie myself with an omega, much less one of our subordinates."
His father doesn't interrupt him; he just looks at you when his son is done. You smile, bow at your leader, and walk out of the room without uttering a single word.
A few days later, it is announced that some subordinates will be relocated to different parts of Japan to supervise the zones of the clan's territory that had been overlooked in the last few years. You are between them. Yukio doesn't comment about it.
Fast forward, a few years later, Yukio is on the last part of his training as the heir, getting ready to take over the clan, when there is an attempt against his life while he is sleeping. He barely makes it out alive, his lessons in fighting and self-defense proving useful, but the culprit—now dead—ends up being nothing but a pawn, and the person who wants the heir of the clan dead is still alive and free. So the leader, paranoid of losing his only son, assigns Yukio a bodyguard: one of his most skilled subordinates when it comes to getting rid of threats. Knowing his son and certain he would be against it, he also declares that said bodyguard will be solely under the head's command, and any orders from Yukio can be overlooked as long as the word of the leader is being followed.
Yukio isn't allowed to see the information file of his bodyguard until the day of the meeting. Seeing "recessive omega" as this man's secondary gender takes him by surprise, but then he spots the name. The folder almost falls to the floor, skeptical eyes stare at you when you enter the room, leaving Yukio stunned.
You look different. Taller, stronger, composed. Your eyes are colder, your features sharper. Your posture neither tense nor relaxed; just ready to act if necessary. You are the incarnated image of what a perfect subordinate should look like, one who wouldn't hesitate to draw blood if their leader commanded it.
But the weirdest thing—what has his alpha instincts panicked and makes him feel restless—was that he couldn't feel the connection of the bond. How? Why? The omega collar around your neck—useless, in his opinion. You are a marked omega, so why would you need it?—keeps your mark hidden. But he is not going to bring the topic up, so he swallowed his curiosity.
You start to work as his bodyguard. Besides your official duties, there is no interaction between the two of you. You never talk to him unless it is necessary, and when you do, you keep the conversation strictly professional. Yukio feels his chest tighten whenever you are close—which is almost all the time—but it doesn't seem to affect you at all.
It is a random day, when you are cleaning some equipment, that Yukio manages to take a closer look at your nape. The collar covers where the mark is supposed to be, but the skin around your gland—what the collar doesn't hide—looks darker. Scarred tissue covers most of it. His hand moves before he can stop himself, brushing the skin with his fingers, making you flinch. He retracts his hand and takes a step back.
"What happened to you?"
Your startled expression does not last, your face going back to its usual composed mask. You look at him for a few seconds before you grab the next pistol to resume your cleaning. Yukio doesn't insist, certain that he won't get an answer, but then you talk, your voice as casual as if commenting on the weather.
"I couldn't break the bond, so I just got rid of the gland."
He doesn't really know how to process that.
So I really like this idea, and I might write a longer version of this. I want to make it some kind of friends to strangers to enemies to lovers or something, but we'll see.
── A long road trip starts off early in the morning, where you’re politely sitting in the passenger’s seat of your older boyfriend’s truck.
♡ : reader x older boyfriend, light fluff, no smut, everybody is 20+ in the story, fem reader, self-insert, no mention of names.
Your hand lifts, shielding your eyes from the sunrise, the orange hue sickeningly prominent in the open fields surrounding you. He’s humming lowly to himself, a hand wrapped around the steering wheel, another lazily resting on your thigh.
You’ve been on the road for just about three hours, leaving early in the morning, the sun only peeking out from the horizon now. It’s already warm, a thick, humid heat seeping in through your boyfriend’s cracked window. You can tell it’s going to be a long drive.
“Ya’ bored already?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as his eyes flick over to you, his hand pinching the soft skin on your thigh. “Better get used to it,” he adds dryly, his thumb finding the hem of your loose jean shorts.
You roll your eyes, hips shifting against the leather seats, an uncomfortable noise breaking the silence as your skin rubs against the fabric. He chuckles and shakes his head, his tongue running along the front of his teeth.
“I’m thirsty,” you complain softly, turning your body slightly, allowing the seatbelt to slip off your shoulder swiftly. “We didn’t even eat breakfast,” you add, shifting yourself, a small foot resting against the rough denim of his jeans in his lap.
“Diner up the road,” he mentions with a nod towards the empty road ahead of you. “You’re gonna get somethin’ that’ll make ya’ sick the rest of the ride, huh?”
You roll your eyes; his sly comments are always right. He knew you well, like the back of his hand, and his hand was now moving to the arch of your foot, his thumb rubbing your ankle through the cotton socks.
“I’ll get… pancakes, or something? I’m sure they have a lot,” you shrug, feeling his large hand rubbing against your ankle still, and he seems to be unimpressed with your idea.
“Don’t be gettin’ all carsick on me now, okay?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, his head turning once again to glance at you as your body is positioned awkwardly, but you still want to be close to him. Like always.
The diner comes into view, only a few cars filling the vacant lot. It must be a few workers, maybe a truck driver heading back onto their route, and your boyfriend swiftly parks beside them, putting the truck into park. He pats your bare calf, telling you to get out of the truck.
“Come on, little lady,” he mutters to you, his own hand reaching for his seatbelt as he unbuckles it, climbing out of the truck and onto the pavement. The heat is brazen, and the sound of cicadas buzzes loudly.
You slip on your white sneakers and quickly lace them up before jumping out of the truck, making a soft thud as you hit the ground. You join your boyfriend, who is waiting for you, an unlit cigarette perched between his lips, a hand digging into his pocket for a lighter.
“Really?” you ask softly as the two of you begin walking towards the entrance, knowing that he would have less than twenty seconds to smoke that cigarette, but he just raises his eyebrows.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” he asks, his free hand grabbing your smaller one, and he gives it a little squeeze, maybe even a warning. You smile to yourself, heading towards the large open sign on the door.
He swiftly opens the door for you, tossing his less than half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. He gives you a small smack on your behind as you walk in ahead of him, and he earns a glare from you, and he’s acting oblivious. He’s never been too shy to act this way in public; if anything, he only acts this way in public.
An older woman stands at the front, with big hoop earrings and a slicked-back ponytail that shows too much of the grey hair she forgot to dye. She holds a menu, her acrylic nails tapping against it as she eyes the two of you – it’s more than staring, it’s an analysis, you think.
“Just for two?” she asks, her eyes glancing around the diner, trying to find a table for the two of you to sit at. “Booth okay?” she then adds on, and your boyfriend is nodding, and she’s already leading the way.
The two of you sit in a booth, and he’s sitting across from you, sighing heavily as he lifts a menu. His eyes squint as they read over the options, and you’re biting your lip gently, watching how focused he seems to be. He nudges your ankle with his boot beneath the table, almost like he’s telling you to behave.
“What?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in a light confusion, and he’s about to lightly scold you until the waitress arrives at the end of the table, and a soft pen clicks.
“What can I get started for y’all?” she asks, her eyes gazing at you, and you freeze for a second, forgetting how to speak as you’re abruptly put on the spot.
“She’ll have… the stack of pancakes,” your boyfriend chimes in for you, casually nudging your ankle once again, his hand rubbing the scruff of his unshaved facial hair. “And.. for me, jus’ the.. Bacon and eggs, black coffee, too,” he orders, nodding at the waitress who wrote it all down far too quickly.
“Ya’ need to start usin’ your big girl voice, you know that?” your boyfriend tells you once the waitress is gone, and you’re staring down at the table, focusing on the wooden pattern. “Can’t be orderin’ for you like I’m your daddy or somethin’,”
You bite your tongue when he says that, and you want to crawl under the table with the way your cheeks have turned a soft pink. He notices, and he’s shaking his head, clearly unimpressed with the way you’re reacting to his sarcastic comment.
You rest your elbow on the table, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, and you’re gazing at him. He’s looking back at you, a crease forever between his eyebrows. He’s fidgeting with his Zippo lighter, a rough thumb constantly flicking it open and closed.
“You have a starin’ problem.” he comments dryly, his head turning as the waitress comes just in time with two of your plates, and she’s swiftly sliding them onto the table.
Your eyes widen at the portion, but you’re smiling more than ever; three large pancakes, covered in butter, and a pouring glass of fresh maple syrup. Your boyfriend knows he should’ve ordered you the thing with the least amount of sugar.
“Don’t know what I was thinkin’,” he mumbles more to himself than you, his large hand gripping the knife and fork as he cuts away at his eggs. “You’ll be bouncin’ off the walls by nine o’clock.”
“No, I won’t,” you retort, though your mouth is full of pancake and he’s glaring at you. He has always had a thing with manners, making you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’; it was his little knack, and you noticed it.
He takes a long sip of his black coffee, the bitter flavour mixing with the already bitter taste of cigarettes. He’s eyeing you, watching you take careful bites of the pancake, and he occasionally warns you to slow down. He finishes before you, despite your speed.
You're on your last bite, and the waitress comes by, slyly taking the two finished plates from you, and your boyfriend is nodding, requesting the bill politely. He looks back at you, the mug held to his lips, and he’s finishing up the last drops of coffee.
“Only six more hours,” he comments as he places the empty ceramic on the table, and you’re groaning, your head tipped back in an exhausted frustration. You don’t know how long you’re going to last, all stuck in the warm truck, no air conditioning.
“Ya’ father-daughter date going well?” a woman’s voice suddenly chimes in, and it’s the waitress with the bill, and her hands are on her hips. You look away from her and narrow your eyes at your boyfriend from across the table.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, his hand fishing out a few crumpled bills from the pocket of his jeans and tossing them onto the table. “Keep tha’ change,” he adds, nodding for you to start leaving the booth.
You leave just as quickly as he does, and he’s shaking his head, just as embarrassed as you are. You’ve never found your gap to be too big, not at all, but it’s an occurrence that happens too often, and you never knew how to handle it. Neither does your boyfriend.
“See what happens when you make me order stuff for ya’?” he tells you as you walk towards the truck, pausing to put a cigarette between his lips again. “I baby you, an’ people think you’re my daughter,” he adds, lighting the end, blowing out the first inhale.
“How is that my fault?” you ask, swinging the passenger door open and climbing in; you immediately slip off your white sneakers for extra comfort. “You always do it without me asking.”
“Yeah, cause if I didn’t, you’d be starin’ at the waitress like a deer in headlights,” he mutters as the door swings open, and he’s settling back into the driver’s side. “Savin’ ya’ the embarrassment of it all,” he adds.
You scoff, and the engine starts up again, a soft roar in the quiet around the vehicle. You adjust your position in the seat, arms crossing over each other. You watch him back out of the spot, easily maneuvering the steering wheel, his hand against the back of your headrest. It slowly goes back to its usual spot: your thigh.
“Always wearin’ the shortest shorts I’ve seen,” he comments, his chest close to the steering wheel as he looks both ways before pulling out onto the road. “Wonderin’ why men can’t keep their eyes off of ya’.”
“What else am I supposed to wear?” you ask, a hand reaching forward to fiddle with the controls of the radio – it all seems to be static, you’re much too far away from any radio station around here.
“Nothin’, nothin’,” he defends, lifting his hand like he’s guilty. “Jus’.. if it distracts me, I can’t imagine how others feel,” he pats your bare thigh at his words, letting his hand slip a little more up the hem of the denim.
You laugh a little, breathing out softly as your thighs lightly squeeze together, letting them clasp around your boyfriend’s hand. He’s touchy; he always has been.
“Not here..” you practically whisper as you shake your head, already feeling his hand sliding up just a bit further up your shorts, finding the light fabric of your underwear. You’re shaking your head still.
“Mmm, okay,” he hums quietly, letting his hand slide out from beneath, carefully letting the palm of it rest back on your thigh. “I’ll find somewhere else.”
Lone Wolf Assassin MaleOmega!Reader x Feral Alpha Cleric: Part 1
CWs: omegaverse, male omega reader who is also a pervert and a voyeur, reader has a dick, eventual mpreg (vote for specifics at the end!), mutual masturbation, frotting, scent kink, fantasy setting, fantasy violence/darker themes later on. reader is a bit rude but justifiably so, nesting-ish.
Omegas typically don’t have very sharp fangs.
You stood in front of a mirror, mouth open wide as you ran the metal file across your canines. A cacophony of noise roared below you, the tavern growing livelier with every passing hour; patrons cheering, bows pulling along the strings of violins, and glass mugs clanking together all melted into a chaotic symphony.
Years ago, you yearned to be part of the revelry, to dance and drink among others without caring about your natural instincts. Yet with age came wisdom, and while the attention seemed like a nice idea, you had long learned being surrounded by so many scents would be nauseating.
The crowd below roared, and the music grew louder; a feeble attempt to drown out the sounds of a brawl breaking out.
Being an omega, that alone wasn’t an issue. An omega traveling without a pack however, was viewed much differently.
No one would sell you alone a weapon. They’d sell it to you if an alpha was breathing down your neck, but not to you alone. Hell, some cities wouldn’t even let omegas walk the street alone at night, no matter how well-armed they were. Even in the more relaxed cities you encountered on your travels, you knew no one would take you seriously if they realized your disposition.
That, and the whole Disease causing only omegas to go feral in the middle of the night. That was also a bit concerning.
So, you sharpened your teeth, and prayed the city guardsmen didn’t look at you too closely. They never did, but that never made the experience less nerve-wracking.
You stared back at your reflection, the mirror cloudy with a single crack on the side; its age starting to show. You opened your mouth wide, surveying your work.
That’ll do, you thought.
A stranger burst through the door, face bloodied and bruised as the noise swelled.
You recoiled, dropping the metal file and quickly grabbing the dagger off your belt. “Who the hell are you?”
The man was taller, with amber-colored skin, messy black hair down to his chin, and a thin beard on his face. He wore some type of robes and a hood, perhaps those of a priest or healer. At one point they might’ve been white. Now, they were discolored and weathered with time. He smelled strongly of tobacco; so much so you couldn’t discern if the scent came from his pheromones, or if he was just a heavy smoker.
One thing was immediately obvious; he was an alpha. Free to wander the world alone, and partake in all it had to offer.
The man let out a sigh, holding his hands up; a weak sign of surrender. “Just… give me a second,” he mumbled before walking further into the room, setting down a bag onto the bed.
Your bed. The one you had paid for, every single time you returned from a job.
You stood right in front of the bed, blocking his access to the bag he had so haphazardly set down. “I don’t care if you’re bleeding. Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?”
He sighed, the bleeding gash across his face appearing like nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Lady out front told me they were outta rooms, said I could spend the night here. Said the person in here might need an extra hand with a job anyways.”
…what?
You scowled, saying nothing before sheathing your dagger and walking out the room, slamming the door behind you.
You couldn’t help but be enraged; not just the man in your room, but the innkeeper too.
Who does she think he is? We had a deal. I’ve worked hundreds of jobs damn well on my own, why would she think-
As you walked towards the stairs, the putrid scent of dozens of different pheromones flooded your nostrils, all sorts of scents blending together.
Fuck.
A wave of nausea hit you instantly, far more intense than usual. Typically, you could manage a trip downstairs despite the nighttime crowds, carefully weaving between patrons to avoid the most intense scents. Now, taking another step seemed impossible; the heightened sense of smell could only mean one thing.
Your heat was approaching.
No, no, no. I’m not dealing with this right now. No. Fuck this. Begrudgingly, you turned around and headed back to your room, defeated by your own biology.
You stormed inside, only to find the stranger’s bag was still on your bed. While blood still stained his face, the wound had already disappeared in the short time you were gone.
He looked over at you, a slight smile on his face. “Someone’s not happy.”
You frowned, his cocky attitude the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.
If he could fix that so quickly, then this should be fine.
You walked back up to him, balled up your fist, and struck him across the face.
The force of your blow staggered him back, the man wincing in pain as he held onto the bed-frame bannister for support. He slowly pulled his hand away, revealing a small trickle of blood leaking from his nose as he stared back at you in shock.
You wasted no time. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can find someone else’s room to take over, because I am not-”
He wiped the blood away from his nose, his face making it clear you had broken it. He held his hands along each side of his nose, and with one swift crack, he shifted the bones back into place, letting out little more than a grunt.
…oh, shit. It was near impossible to hide your surprise.
He took a moment to catch his breath. “Alright, fine…I’ll cut the shit. Old lady downstairs has a new job for you up North she said, and with all this talk of a Disease going around just in omegas-”
You held your hand up to stop him, hoping he didn’t notice how much it was shaking. “Shut up.” You turned around, checking to make sure the door behind you was shut and locked. “She told you?”
“Yep.”
Your heart sank. For years, nearly a decade, the old innkeeper had helped you. She had supplied you with expensive suppressant spells, helped you conceal your status when your pack cast you out, helped you get a job (albeit a dangerous one), and most importantly, helped you learn to trust again after your entire world fell apart.
…Why? Why would she do this to me?
Denial was far easier than acceptance. “No, she…she wouldn’t do that. Please don’t tell anyone. Please, I’m sorry I hit you, I’m sorry I-”
“I’m not gonna’ tell nobody,” he spat, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Just, relax, alright? And don’t hit me again.”
“How can I? How can I relax when-”
“Our situations aren’t all that different, alright? Neither of us have a pack, you’re an omega, and I’ve got the Disease-”
You paused. “Wait, wait, stop. Stop. If you’ve got the Disease, then you’re also an omega?”
“No. But it was all the same symptoms, least from what I had heard. Suppose I’m one of a kind.”
The stories you had heard in passing sounded terrifying; omegas going feral, as if their Beastblood had overtaken them. They’d mindlessly attack everyone who wasn’t their mate or children, even other members of their pack. Their fangs would grow, their bodies shifting and contorting to take the form of a werewolf, before going on a chaotic killing spree.
In some stories you had heard, they’d attack anyone.
“…so you’re an alpha, then?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
…he must be able to smell me. If I’m this close to my heat, he has to know.
Your worries were soon quelled as he continued. “But ever since I had my…outburst, I suppose we’ll call it, my sense of smell has been all fucked up. I can’t smell anything, at least not like how I used to.”
Oh. Well that’s convenient.
You slowly nodded your head, hoping he didn’t notice how relieved you were. “I see. I…I’m sorry about that. How could you have gotten the Disease, if you aren’t an omega?” No matter how convenient it was for you, losing their sense of smell might as well have been like losing a limb for someone with Beastblood.
He shrugged, “great question. No one knows. But, the lady downstairs says she knows someone who could help. Or at least, help me get my sense of smell back.”
“Really?” You hadn’t heard of any type of cure.
He nodded. “They say there’s a man up North studying it. He claims to be an omega who once had it. Course, all his studies are done under observation; everyone’s worried about when he’ll snap. But the lady downstairs got me in contact with him.”
North- where your job was. You still didn’t know what this job was, or even if it really existed, only hearing about it from this stranger.
You let out a sigh. “Let me get this straight. The lady downstairs has a job for me up North, but they’re incredibly strict about omegas coming and going because of the Disease going around.”
“Yep.”
“And you need to go up North because you have that Disease, despite being an alpha.”
“Mmhmm.”
He was meant to accompany you. You let out a groan; you didn’t need a chaperone. You looked him up and down. You had killed men far larger than him before, time after time. If anything, he’d get in the way.
He easily sensed your frustration. “Look, all either of us need to do is get to the city, get out, then we go our separate ways. I get it, you usually work alone, or whatever.”
“And what does you need me for?” You asked, still skeptical. “What do you get out of this?”
“Protection.”
You let out a laugh. No sane alpha would willingly recruit an omega to be their protector. When his expression stayed the same, you realized he wasn’t joking. “…you’re serious?”
He nodded. “I’m told you’re good with a bow. I can defend myself, but it’s a long trip. I figure we can help each other.”
“Oh yeah?” You scoffed, “and what do you do?”
“I’m a healer,” he answered plainly. “Figured that was obvious from,” he vaguely gestured to his face, his earlier wounds gone. “You know.”
…that does make sense. But if the Disease makes omegas go feral, then how the Hell does it affect him? That gash must’ve come from somewhere…
“So…the Disease,” you hummed as you started to pace around the room. “What does it do to you, outside of your sense of smell being gone? Are you going feral?”
He let out an awkward laugh, “of course not.”
“Does it have anything to do with what happened earlier?”
The man was quiet, looking towards the door. “Uh…no. That’s different.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” you spat. “How do I know that you aren’t going to kill me in my sleep?! Hell, how do I know you’re not going to give it to me?”
“I can’t. At least, that’s what I’ve found in my own research. No one knows how it spreads-”
“Lovely,” you scoffed. “I get a chaperone, and you get a test subject,” you rolled your eyes.
“We know how it doesn’t spread through the air, and so far, no infected omega has given it to their mates, so that rules a few other things out. Could be blood, could be some curse from the Gods, could be some sort of insect, who knows? But I can confidently say traveling with me doesn’t carry any risk of infection. You have my word.”
You folded your arms, still unsatisfied with his answer. “You never told me your plan for not mauling me in my sleep.”
“That…” he sighed. “Earlier, down there, that wasn’t related to the Disease.”
“What was it, then?”
“Just me being an asshole.”
Unfortunately, he got a smile out of you, but it didn’t last long. “Still. If you go-”
“Then you’re capable of killing me. Least, that’s what the old lady says. Obviously it’s not ideal, but…But nothing close to that has happened. I didn’t even think alphas could get the Disease, so maybe it affects us differently.”
You weren’t willing to trust him so easily, crossing your arms. “Hmph. Is there really no other room available? Do you have to be here?”
“I can check, but…”
You grabbed his bag and set it on the wooden floor. You could’ve been much meaner, but managed to show restraint. “I paid for the room, so I get the bed.” You began rearranging the pillows and blankets to form a nest out of habit.
Wait. I can’t let him know I’m approaching my heat.
He didn’t seem to notice, paying you no mind as he walked towards the side of the bed, laying down and using the bag as a pillow. “Fair enough.”
You nodded your head, hiding your relief. “Good. Now I’m going to bed. Try not to kill me in your sleep.”
He smiled, “no promises.”
Ugh.
———————
As the night progressed, so did your impending heat.
Even in the early stages, you could feel tiny amounts of slick between your legs. You pulled the blanket over you, hoping your new companion to the right of you wouldn’t see.
Yet even if he couldn’t smell you…you could smell him.
It was a biological instinct, a desire you had no way of turning off. He had taken off the tobacco-scented robes, revealing a scent unlike any you had ever encountered; sweet, yet smoky, like caramel left for too long on a stove.
You kept your body turned away from him, clutching one of the many pillows in an attempt to keep yourself distracted.
No matter how long you shut your eyes, you just couldn’t fall asleep.
Ever so slowly, you turned towards him, watching him sleep beside the bed. He had taken off the mages robes he had worn initially, the clothing underneath a lightweight tunic and pants.
You watched as his chest rose and fell, a peaceful look on his face as he slept.
…he is nice to look at.
You looked him up and down, and you quickly wished you hadn’t, feeling your cock grow hard between your legs.
Strained against the cotton fabric of the man’s pants was the outline of his hard cock, fully erect. Even if the man’s mind wasn’t aware of your heat, his body knew exactly what was going on.
You stared at it for longer than you’d care to admit.
He’s asleep. Maybe if I just…maybe if I cum, I’ll be able to fall asleep. Just to clear my head.
You ensured your body was fully obscured by the blanket, beads of sweat rolling down your body. Your hand trailed down, and you slipped your pants down just far enough for your cock to spring free, precum staining the blanket.
Shit.
You continued, stroking yourself back and forth, biting your lip to hide ragged breaths.
You looked back at him, your mouth watering. If circumstances were different, then maybe…
No. You were approaching your heat. Hooking up with a stranger right now would be more than just foolish; it’d be downright idiotic.
You gripped your cock tighter, stroking even faster as more precum beaded at the tip. His robes were within your reach, surely they would contain more of his scent.
You turned onto your side, facing him as you practically fucked your own hand. The smell only brought you closer and closer to release, and it soon felt as if your body had overtaken your mind.
You grabbed the robes from off the floor, shoving your face into them and inhaling deeply. The scent was almost enough to bring you to orgasm, your face growing hot as the smell of his pheromones and sweat flooded your mind.
It didn’t matter that you had just met this man. It didn’t matter that he was right beside you. In that moment, you were nothing more than a helpless animal, desperate for release.
Yet all it took was a single creak of the floorboards to take you out of your fantasies. You gasped, dropping the robes onto the floor, frozen.
There, the man whose name you hadn’t even learned yet, was staring back at you.
You quickly moved to cover yourself.
It’s dark, maybe he didn’t-
“Don’t let me stop you,” said the man, his voice low. “Go on.”
The command sent a shiver down your spine, rendering you speechless. “I…” you stuttered, sweat forming at your brow. Never before had you felt so embarrassed.
“Would you rather I be offended?” The alpha asked with a smile, sitting up straighter. “Because I can be.”
I’m supposed to travel with this man tomorrow. And now he’s seen me pleasuring myself to him.
“I…” you trailed off. There was no hiding it. You weren’t just pleasuring yourself, you were pleasuring yourself to him.
“I understand you paid for this room. That the circumstances are far from ideal. But…” he rested his arms on the side of the bed, “you seem like you could use some company.”
His body knows I’m in heat. But he doesn’t. So long as things don’t go too far…
Before you could give it anymore thought, you nodded your head.
He stood up, walking to your bedside and slipping in beside you. Even if he didn’t touch you, you could feel his warmth beside you.
The stranger let out a sigh that turned to a moan. You turned around, and there he was, flat on his back, stroking himself off. You were mesmerized by the sight of his cock, eyes tracing each vein as you watched his hand move back and forth.
“I thought I was dreaming,” he rasped. “Waking up to see someone jacking off to my clothes. You looked so desperate.”
Hesitantly, you started to touch yourself once more, mimicking his movements. “I don’t sleep with strangers,” you blurted out.
“Never said anything about that,” he smiled. “We’re just…blowing off steam before the trip ahead. That’s all.”
You nodded, unconsciously moving closer to him. You rested your head against his shoulder, the smell once again sending your mind in a haze. His cock left you in a trance, your hole wet with slick.
No. Just this. Just this, then I go to bed, and we never speak of it again.
Your breaths were in sync, moaning as you both pleasured yourselves. You bucked your hips back and forth, so lost in pleasure you didn’t realize how close you were to him, his beard scratching against your face.
He too turned onto his side, facing you. His cock was nearly touching yours. His hand snaked downward, grabbing your cock and pressing it against his own. He wrapped his hand around both cocks, thrusting forward.
You couldn’t help yourself, leaning into kiss him as he fucked against your cock, his balls pressing against you. His hands moved towards your back, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer.
Please don’t touch there, I won’t be able to handle it, you thought.
Yet he respected your wishes, your hole untouched as each other’s precum glided against both of your cocks. His tongue pushed against yours, both of you muffling the other’s moans as you embraced.
Your hole ached, you wanted nothing more to be filled. You felt yourself getting close, and when you looked down, you saw the alpha’s knot begin to swell.
Just the mere sight of it was enough to bring you to the edge before you came. He pulled away, stroking himself quickly before joining you, each of you painting the other’s cock with your cum.
You pulled apart from each other. You knew the relief would only be temporary, but it was welcomed nonetheless. That was at least, until you came to your senses.
“I…” the man sputtered between breaths. “I suppose I should tell you my name. Since we’ll be spending so much time together.”
Right. Fuck.
Part 2
i dont know what's gotten into me lately but I love writing readers who are just a little bit of assholes. its fun.
but yeah uhhhh ive been thinking abt high fantasy omegaverse for a bit now, esp after this oneshot, so i got an idea and decided to run with it! plus, this gives me a break from characters that started on this blog, then became my main project, because boy i am I. a little burnt out as i approach the end of the first draft. so something with new(ish) characters could be cool
there WILL be mpreg . like im going in with mpreg in mind. so theres also that. in my other stories, i kinda tried to shoehorn that plotline in and they fell apart, but here i have a PLAN so im feeling GOOD
but yea :D thanks for reading! also vote on this im indecisive. Like I know I already said hole but I didn’t say WHICH hole there could be a bonus hole who knows the world is our oyester . But yeah! THANK U FOR READING
What flavor of omegaverse are we feeling
Omega males have both
Omega males have only dicks (maybe a cloaca to avoid butthole baby)
Secret body horror third option (reader has both, but only sometimes)
Warnings: 🔞 Explicit sexual content, strong language, possessive behavior, public sex implications (not shown), mild D/s dynamics, rough play (biting/grinding/scratching), emotional intensity. This is a fictional fantasy do not imitate with real life partners without communication and consent.
Author’s Note:
Well. Fans self. That escalated quickly.
Look, we all knew Ilya Rozanov was trouble the second he walked into that rink with his smoldering Russian gaze and that smirk that says “I will ruin you in the best way.” But honey? He didn’t come to play. He came to win and by win, I mean you. If you made it this far without fanning yourself or needing a cold shower… congrats. You're stronger than me. Because damn these two? They burn hot enough to melt steel and also probably phone. 🔥 Was it wild? Yes.
Was it messy? Absolutely.
So feelings are scary but love wins anyway? You bet your sweet ass. So go ahead, read that last scene while pretending you're not flushed like me.
xoxo - I am Still recovering from writing these ❤️
It's the annual charity ball that one of the hockey players and just so happens to be a very good friend of yours, Scott hunter. Most hockey players attend from different regions and countries. To Ilya, he saw it as an excuse for the elite and well off to gather together beneath glittering chandeliers and expensive lights to flaunt their wealth,drink expensive champagne and bid on donations. Ilya knows it's nothing more than a show,a chance for rich men and women to pat themselves on the back for good deeds while cameras flash and press scrambles for the best interviews.
Ilya stands near the edge of the ballroom, a glass of untouched champagne in his hand, jaw tight as he watches the glittering farce unfold.The room is all sharp tuxedos and designer gowns, laughter too loud and smiles too practiced. He hates this. Hates how it feels like everyone’s playing a part,everyone except him.
But even worse?He can’t stop thinking about that night. The way you arched beneath him. The way you whispered his name like it meant something real. The way you asked him to stay…And he left.Regret claws at his ribs with every breath. He’d texted you,once, then again but your silence cut deeper than any words could’ve.You didn’t answer.
Because he walked away when he should’ve stayed.Because fear tasted like blood in the back of his throat.Because saying yes would mean admitting that what they had wasn't just lust or rivalry or some dangerous game that you’d both been playing.
It was something bigger.
Something that terrified him more than losing on ice ever could. He’d not known love really, until you. And now here she is,across the room in a deep red dress that hugs her curves,the kind of look that makes men forget their own names and she hasn't so much as glanced in his direction all evening.
Good.
Better this way…
Then Scott Hunter the ever charming hockey team mate who organises these events. With a larger than life grin fixed on his face pulls her into frame with Shane,talking to a group of wealthy donors from Scott's charity foundation,handsome,silverhaired men who lean just a little too close when they speak to her,buying time under polite smiles. It’s then we he overhears a particular conversation that makes him want to throw up.
“So Y/N is there someone special in your life? Or are we allowed to dream?”
Laughter follows,but not hers,not really. She hesitates,a flicker in her eyes before giving one soft “not right now” before another man chimes in.
“Then I'd be honored to take Miss Hollander out for dinner sometime.”
They're laughing again,pushing gently,expectantly,and she doesn’t say no because how do you reject generosity without sounding cold? The world narrows around him as those words ring in his ears. Not right now. And she fucking said yes.
He can feel the blood thumping in his head,the heat of jealousy turning to ice at the thought of anyone else taking you to dinner, touching you, hearing that soft laugh he knows is only for him. He's on the verge of just crossing the room, dragging you away,to hell with cameras and media, when a hand clamps down on his shoulder.It's his father,looking every inch the part in an expensive black suit. Hiding his illness, you’d never tell. Ilya starts, snapped out of his anger fueled fugue as he meets his father's gaze, cool and assessing, as always.
"Father," he murmurs, voice rougher than he intends.
His father gives him a sharp look. "You seem… tense, son."
Ilya tightens his grip on the champagne flute.
"Just bored of all this," he mutters, eyes flickering back to you across the room, surrounded by that group of men.
His father follows his gaze.
Then pauses.
A beat too long.
"You know her?" His voice drops, low with warning.Ilya doesn't answer at first. He can’t. Because just then, you laugh soft and warm,tilting your head as one of those men leans in a little too close, his hand brushing the small of your back like he has the right. Something inside Ilya snaps.
"Only casually from games," he lies through clenched teeth. "Hollander’s sister."
His father studies him for another long moment before a knowing smirk curls at the edge of his lips,a look that says you’re full of shit,without saying it at all.
"Come," he says smoothly."You will introduce me."
Ilya's stomach drops.
“Father—”
“Now.”
His father leads the way across the room,through the crowd of glittering lights and smiling faces, like he does this every day. Ilya follows,a muscle ticking in his jaw, feeling like he's walking into a trap. As they reach the other side, he makes the introductions, his voice as cool as an ice rink.
"Father, this is Shane Hollander's sister, Y/N. Y/N, this is my father, Grigori Rozanov." completely blanking the man next to her.
And Grigori,of course, takes your hand with a charming smile.
"A pleasure."
The man next to her, a son of one of the donors with a tailored tux and confidence too thick for the room, shifts slightly at the interruption,his hand still lingering near her lower back.
"Actually," he says smoothly, voice polite but edged "we were in the middle of a conversation."
Ilya doesn't look at him.Doesn't acknowledge him at all.Instead,he steps forward until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you,closing space like he has every right.
"And now she’s in a new one."
The tone is calm. Deadly.His father raises an eyebrow,but says nothing.Then she finally looks up.
Our eyes meet for the first time all night,dark,furious,restrained and something flutters in them,hurt? anger more likely knowing Y/n.Then she turns back to your father and offers a small smile,"It is an honor to meet you Mr.Rozanov."
"Y/N, is it?" His father says, his voice smooth as aged vodka. He holds your hand a second longer than necessary, eyes sharp with quiet calculation. "My son speaks of the Hollander boy often. Never mentioned you, are you yourself in the area."
Ilya’s jaw locks so tight he feels a vein pulse in his temple.And she still can’t look at him. "Yes, sir." She smiles politely." I'm a figure skater. Actually, I'll be competing in the upcoming season."
His father’s smile deepens, that strange glint in his eyes. "Impressive," he says, "the next Olympics, no doubt?"
She nods, and Ilya can practically feel her pride.
"I hope so," she says simply, but the way her shoulders straighten, chin lifting a little higher, is answer enough. "The qualifying competitions will begin in the next few months."
A spark of genuine interest flashes across his father’s face. Which with his illness, was music to his eyes and ears.
"A serious competitor then," he murmurs, his gaze flickering over her, calculating.She meets his gaze without flinching, and for a brief moment, Ilya sees a hint of the fire he knows so well in her eyes. "Yes, sir," she replies quietly, holding his gaze like she's holding her ground.
He laughs softly,a sound like gravel and smoke, not that ilya heard it often anymore. "I admire that. Determination is a rare trait. Especially for someone so young, maybe you could get to know my son and teach him a few things."
A flicker of something flares through her eyes, something like hurt or anger, but she masks it flawlessly.
"I'm sure I'm no match for your son," she says dryly. "But thank you for the time Mr.Rozanov."
A beat of silence settles like a blanket, and then his grin widens. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Hollander." He gives a slight bow. “But I won’t keep you from your… companion.” He gives the donor’s son a polite nod that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“he’s not her companion” Ilya mutters under his breathe, it makes him feel sick. And just like that,his father glides away into the crowd, leaving Ilya standing there like he’s been gut punched.Silence.Then you finally look at him.Eyes sharp.Lips tight.
Voice low enough only he can hear as you pass.
“What are you playing at?”
" what am i playing at?," he mutters, voice rough, barely holding himself together.
But you’re already moving away, heels clicking against marble,a line of fire in your wake. And that man,smug bastard falls into step beside you, hand sliding low on your back again like he owns the space.Ilya sees red.He doesn’t think.
Just moves.In two strides he’s behind them,closing the gap like a storm rolling in. The man says something soft and laughing,you don’t pull away fast enough,and that’s all it takes.Ilya grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around hard.
“Don’t touch her,” he says, voice low, rough as broken glass.The man stumbles back, eyes wide with shock then flickering to annoyance. “Who the hell do you think you are? She doesn’t mind”
“She minds,” Ilya snaps, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
You step forward instantly. "Ilya stop”your voice sharp with anger and something else,but before you can finish,the guy smirks.
“Oh? And what are you to her?” he taunts, straightening his tie like this is some petty game. “she’s mine tonight”
Ilya doesn't hesitate.
He throws the punch.
Fast,hard,straight to the jaw.The crack echoes across half the ballroom,and suddenly,everyone turns.Gasps ripple through the crowd.Waiters freeze mid step.Champagne flutes tremble in hands.The man staggers,recovering fast,his face twisting into rage as he lunges back,but Ilya's already in motion,hands up ready for war. Then arms are dragging him back. one of his team members, then Hollander is off to her in an instance.
"Whoa whoa WHOA!" Shane’s voice cuts through,"ROZANOV! What THE FUCK?!"Ilya is then dragged back,the guys muscles straining against Rozanov’s fury while guests shout,"Stop!" "Security!" "Are they insane?"
Your POV
You’re shouting too now,fists clenched at your sides. His eyes are locked on you wild, desperate, raw as you stand there shaking,fists clenched,hair slightly loose from its elegant twist like you’re barely holding yourself together too.Shane follows his gaze to you,his expression confused."Y/n… are you okay?"
You nod sharply,"I’m fine."
Then your eyes snap back to Ilya, stomping towards him, grabbing his arm so hard his teammate lets him go, you lean in. "What are you fucking doing?" Your voice is low,but it cuts deeper than any shout could."You don't get to do this” still so silent, he walked away. What began as a secret and whatever it was now. He walked away. The words land like a slap.And for once,Rozanov has no defense.No cool smirk,no icy detachment.Just silence. Breathing hard,staring at the woman who owns every broken part of him without even trying.
His jaw works, words stuck in his throat, but all that comes out is a rough whisper. "He was touching you…"
Your eyes burn."And?” He flinches,the words a dagger in his ribs.You take a step closer,rage flaring. "You don't get to do that and not here, not now” still whispering.
He doesn’t look at Shane. Doesn't care about the crowd, the cameras flashing at the edges of the room, the murmurs spreading like wildfire.All he sees is you.Breathing hard. Furious. Beautiful.And when he speaks, his voice is raw.
"I do get to," he says lowly. like smoke after a gunshot. Anger sparks in your eyes you try grabbing his arm and aim to drag him away into a small room, he’s not budging at all.
"You're making a scene" you lean in, holding that fake smile but seething on the inside.
He scoffs, running a hand through his hair, eyes glittering with barely contained rage. "Like I give a shit?"
You grind your teeth,fighting a losing battle to stay calm. "Rozanov"
But he doesn't give you time to finish, he grabs your hand and pulls you away, through the crowds, ignoring startled gasps and curious eyes. Shane calls your name as you pass, but Ilya doesn't slow, his grip like iron. He shoves open the first door he sees, dragging you inside with him.You stumble through the door, heart pounding in your chest. The room is small, empty, dimly lit.You spin on him the moment the door slams shut. "You can't just..”
His eyes lock on yours, burning with a mix of anger and something else. "Shut up."
Your jaw snaps shut. The air around you feels charged, like the room is too small for the tension sparking between you. You fold your arms trying to ignore how your heart is still racing. You'll be damned if he knows even now, he has any effect on you. But before you can say anything, he steps closer, closing the space between you until you're backed against the door. His eyes roam over you, dark and intense.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" His voice is gravelly. Low. You swallow, hating the shiver that runs down your spine. "No," you say through gritted teeth. "I'm not hurt."
He steps closer, hands on the door on either side of you, caging you in. The room feels suddenly too warm.He is so close now you can feel the heat radiating from him. He leans down so his face is inches from yours, breath brushing your cheek. "Good."
"Because if I had to watch him lay another hand on you..." He lets the threat hang,voice rough, raw. Then his hands drop to your waist, not gentle.
"You let him."
Your breath hitches."I didn't let him do anything”
"You didn’t stop him either," he snaps,eyes blazing."You stood there. Laughing. Letting him touch you like you belonged to anyone but..”
"Like I belonged to you?" You shove at his chest,his words stoking a fire inside you."Don’t be delusional,Rozanov! You walked out! Remember”
He flinches,but doesn't back down.
"No one gets to touch what's mine,"he growls.
"And who decided that?"you fire back,breathless now."You don't get to leave and then act like this!"
"I was scared!" The words explode from him,sudden,fierce,honest in a way that steals the fight right out of you.Silence crashes between you.His eyes are wide now,ruthless and vulnerable all at once.
"I was afraid...of how much I wanted to stay."
You just stand there, eyes wide, heart thumping in your chest. You never thought you'd hear those words from his lips.
He lets out a bitter laugh, running hands through his hair. "I've always been good at running. From fights. From relationships. Hell, any kind of real commitment. But you…" He looks at you again, gaze heavy, almost reverent."You're the first person I've ever regretted leaving"
He steps closer, hands moving up to cup your face. Rough, yet gentle.
"Goddammit, Y/N. I want you so much it hurts. More than I ever wanted anything."
Your heart skips a beat.You grip the front of his tux, suddenly unsure who's holding who. "I don't do this," he says, voice low and ragged against your skin. "I don’t...feel like this. Not for anyone. But you..”His thumbs brush your cheeks, eyes searching yours like he’s memorizing every inch.
"You’re under my skin. In my head. Every damn day." A beat. His breath hitches so slight, so uncharacteristically raw that it steals the air from your lungs.
"I see you, and I can’t touch you, be with you the way I want and it wrecks me." He lets out a shaky breath, almost a laugh without humor. "Because I don’t want you to be a secret”
He leans his forehead down to touch yours.
“fuck I hate myself for it” Silence hums between you, thick and trembling.Then softer,the kind of quiet that only happens when someone lays their soul bare,he whispers
"I think...no, I know..I'm starting to fall in love with you."His hands tighten slightly on your face as if afraid you'll vanish.
"And yes it scares the hell out of me."
He waits, hands still cradling your face, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Say something,” he murmurs, voice breaking just slightly. “Anything. Yell at me. Hit me. Just… don’t stand there looking at me like that”
But you can’t move.Can’t speak.Ilya Rozanov the man who never shows weakness, who fights every battle alone,begging you to say something after confessing he’s falling.Your lips part,but nothing comes out.
He lets out a rough sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.“You’re killing me.”
You can't find the words. So you don't speak.Instead, you surge forward and kiss him.Hard. Desperate. Punishing.Your hands twist in his tie, dragging him down as the fire that's been building finally erupts between you anger,fear,longing,all colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue and breathless need.He groans into your mouth,hands sliding from your face to grip your waist,pulling you flush against him like he'll never let go and then the door slams open.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"Shane stands there,his face twisted in disbelief.Your brother’s voice cuts through the haze like ice water.
You break apart instantly,staggering back,but Ilya doesn’t move fast enough.He still has one hand on your hip,his chest rising hard,barely hiding what just happened.
"Shane.."you start,your voice shaky but defiant
"No." He holds up a hand,eyes flicking between both of you,incredulous."Nope. You do not get to explain this away." His gaze lands on Rozanov,pure fire behind it.“And YOU?! Seriously?! My fucking sister?!”
Ilya straightens,suddenly calm again,cold mask sliding back into place but his eyes…they’re still warm with everything he just said.
"I know,"he says simply,no excuse,no lie.
"You touched my sister?" Shane snaps, stepping forward, voice shaking with rage. "You think this is some kind of joke? Some rivalry flex? Huh? Was that the plan all along screw with me by getting close to her?"
Your stomach drops. "Shane, it’s not like that"
"Then what is it like?!" he explodes. "Because I just saw you two locked in a closet looking like you’ve been doing this for months! How long has this been going on?"
Silence.
You open your mouth but nothing comes out.Ilya steps forward then,taller,stronger,facing Shane head on despite the fury radiating off him."It started as nothing,"he says,cold and clear."But it's not nothing anymore." You glare at him as if to say really, that’s all you could muster up. Shane lets out a harsh laugh."Oh wow. That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Ilya admits,his voice low but unshaken."Don’t look at her Like she did something wrong,for wanting someone who actually sees her."
Shane freezes,his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitches.
"She’s not some trophy,Rozanov!" he growls."She’s my sister!"
"And I’m not your enemy," Ilya fires back,stepping closer until they’re nearly chest to chest,your brother visibly seething but refusing to back down.
"No?" Shane scoffs."You've been trying to beat me at everything.Was fucking my sister just another way to win?" Ilya doesn’t flinch.Doesn’t blink.
Then he does something unexpected.He laughs.Quiet.A sad twist of his lips.
"Not even close."
"Y/n means more than winning," Ilya says, voice low but sharp as a blade. "More than the game. More than pride. More than you or me."He doesn't look at Shane when he says it.His eyes stay locked on you.
"I don’t care about beating you," he continues, still quiet. "I care about her. And if that makes me a threat… then fine."The room feels smaller now, the weight of everything pressing in.
Shane studies him, his face unreadable. The seconds stretch out like hours as the two men stand there, silent and tense.
"You really care about her?" Shane finally asks. His voice sounds almost raw.
Ilya holds his gaze. "If you're asking whether I'm using her to get to you," he says, each word like a bullet,"the answer's no."
Shane's shoulders slump slightly, tension easing. "You hurt her and I'll break your damn neck."
Ilya nods.
A sharp,serious gesture. No smart remark,no arrogant smirk.Just promise.
Shane looks between the two of you again, his expression hardening in a way that makes your heart ache."You could've told me you know. About whatever this is."
Your mouth goes dry."I’m not sorry if that’s what you are looking for” you say defiantly. Shane opens his mouth to respond, then stops.He looks at you, really looks at you,and his face softens just slightly.
"No," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're not sorry."
You hold your ground, chin lifting stubbornly, but the defiance falters a little under your brother's gaze. Shane finally sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Goddamnit, Y/n. When you decide to do something, you really go all in."
Guilt pricks at you, but you shove it aside. "I don't see the point in doing things halfway," you retort.
He gives a short, reluctant laugh. "Yeah, well. That's you."
His eyes flick back to Ilya, still wary but the fire’s dimmed. "Just...be real with her," he says quietly."No games."
Ilya doesn’t flinch."Never was with her," he says simply.Silence settles again.Heavier now.Not angry,just raw,human.Then Shane shakes his head,muttering,"Jesus christ" as he turns to leave,but not before shooting one last look at you.
"Don't make me regret not punching him in the face." The door slams shut, leaving you and Ilya alone. The silence is deafening, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.Finally, Ilya lets out a deep exhale,running a hand through his hair.
"That went better than I expected," he says, a trace of dark humor in his voice. You step closer, punching him lightly in the chest, a mix of anger and relief making your words shake.
"You have a strange idea of going well," you manage, voice uneven. He grins then, a quick flash of teeth,the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Hey, look on the bright side," he teases. "Your brother didn’t actually kill me."
You scoff. "Only because he likes me more than he dislikes you apparently."
Ilya feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm hurt."
A laugh surprises you, slipping free before you can stop it. "Don't get too cocky," you say, trying to stay cool but failing miserably. "His threat about breaking your neck was pretty serious."
He steps closer, eyes glinting. "Oh, I'm shivering in my boots."
"Or I’ll break your nose," you mutter.He smirks, leaning down until his mouth hovers near your ear. "Oh? Now you I am scared of." His voice drops, teasing."You’ve always had a mean right hook."
You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. “god you are a prick.”
He chuckles, breath warm against your skin. "And yet you're still here."
You give him a sidelong glance, fighting a smile."Someone's gotta keep your ego in check."
He steps back, eyebrow raised. "Is that what you've been doing all this time? Keeping me humble?"
"Exactly," you reply with mock sincerity. "It's a public service really."
He laughs,the sound rich and deep. "A public service. Of course."
Silence falls again, this time softer. More intimate.You're suddenly aware of how close you are.Ilya's gaze flicks to your mouth, just for a second. Then back to your eyes.
The heat in the room seems to tighten,coiling around you. You swallow, trying to sound casual.
"So... now what?"
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I assume we go back out there and act like nothing happened."
You snort. "Right. Nothing at all, say that to the camera men who got full coverage of your swing"
He takes a step closer. Close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"They got good angles, at least?" he teases, eyes glittering. You roll your eyes, trying not to show how his proximity affects you. "You'd probably think so."
He lets out a low rumble of laughter, the sound making goosebumps rise on your skin. "You underestimate my ego. Anything less than perfect is unacceptable."
You scoff, trying to stay cool but your heart traitorously speeding up just a touch. "Of course. Perfection is your middle name after all."
"You're not wrong there," he says, a smirk on his lips.You're about to retort but words die in your throat when he steps even closer,so close you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes hold yours, dark and intense, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a moment.
"You know what would be perfect?" he murmurs. Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady. "Oh yeah? What?"
His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until there's no space left between you.
"Me," he whispers, his lips brushing yours with every word. "You. Kissing me right now or me fucking you,either one will do."
And just like that he leans in and kisses you, then he bites your lower lip, soft and sharp and teasing all at once.You gasp.Then shove him hard in the chest.
"Asshole!"
He laughs at the look on your face,a real laugh this time,not the cocky smirk you're used to.
"God,you're cute when you're mad at me," he teases.
You scowl. "Shut it." He raises an eyebrow,still grinning. "Or what? You'll hit me again?"
You huff, trying to look annoyed but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "Don't tempt me, Rozanov."
He pulls you in fast, one arm locking around your waist, the other tangling in your hair as his lips find yours again,deep, possessive, mine.You gasp into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders.Then he spins you,sudden and smooth and suddenly your back is pressed to his chest, his mouth at the crook of your neck. Hot breath skates over skin. You shiver.
"well..," he murmurs against you, voice low and rough with want. "Other than wanting to fuck you...and love you like I should’ve been doing this whole time..." His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
"...I’d actually like to take my girl on a proper date."
Your heart stutters at his words..."Your girl?" you manage to whisper, trying to sound unaffected. He grins against your skin, a rough scrape of stubble. "That's right. My girl."
Your heart swells at the words. Not just because of the way he says it,that low,husky tone that makes you weak in the knees but because he actually means it.You turn to face him, eyes locked on his.
"A date?" you repeat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "Like...a real date?"He smiles,that cocky arrogant smirk you both know and love.
"A real date," he says easily. "No secrets,no hiding. Just us."
"Just us," you repeat, your voice soft, almost wondering.
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. "First time I’ve wanted that with anyone."
Your breath catches. "Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them."
"I mean every word," he says quietly. Then smirks. “And yes, i do plan to kiss you on this date too and a whole lot more after that.”
You roll your eyes but can't help smirking too. "I should hope so," you echo, trying to sound cheeky but your heart's doing somersaults.He laughs,the sound warm and low, before his expression turns serious. He takes your face in his hands, eyes searching yours. "This is real. You know that, right? I'm sick of pretending it isn't"
You lean into his touch, feeling the weight of his words. "I know," you whisper. And you do. For the first time, it doesn't feel like some whirlwind affair, a secret fling that can't last. It feels real. His eyes darken,something raw in their depths. "I'm sick of not having you the way I want."
You swallow past the lump in your throat,heart fluttering. "And how's that?"
He leans closer, voice gruff. "All of you. Every damn inch. Mine."
Your breath catches at the intensity in his eyes,the possessive edge to his words.He cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. "From now on, this isn't a secret. No hiding. No pretending.I'm gonna date the hell out of you,and everyone will know you're mine. "
You bite back a laugh despite the fluttery feeling in your chest. "Date the hell out of me, huh?"
He smirks,eyes glittering. "Damn right."
He grins as you laugh, that fierce, dangerous glint in his eyes. "Starting Right now."
You take a step back, playing along. "Right now?"
He nods, determination flaring in his gaze. "Right now."
Your heart skips a beat, excitement rushing through you. "Alright, you're on, Rozanov." He doesn't hesitate, takes your hand and starts leading you out of the building, right past the stunned faces and the hushed whispers, and you can't help the smile spreading across your face. He weaves through the crowd, your hand locked in his like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.Past cameras.Past stunned teammates.Right by his father, who raises an eyebrow but says nothing,just gives a slow, knowing nod.And then you’re outside, the cool air hitting your skin as Ilya pulls you toward a sleek black car idling at the curb. He stops by the car, turning to face you. The streetlights cast his face in sharp shadows.
"So," he says quietly. "Date, or...?"
You raise an eyebrow, trying to act nonchalant despite your pounding heart. "Date, or...?" you echo. He steps closer,that glint in his eyes again. "Or we can go straight to your place, skip the whole dinner and..”
You scoff, trying to hide the shiver running down your spine. "Skipping the date already? Wow, way to be romantic, Rozanov."
He smirks, stepping even closer until his body is flush against yours. "Oh you’ll get the romance," he murmurs against your ear. "but right now I think I prefer...”
You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. “And what would you prefer hmm?”
His hand slides around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. “That I’d rather have you naked beneath me right now and take you on as many dates later”
A breathy laugh escapes before you can stop it.
"God," you mutter, shaking your head with a grin.Then without warning you rise on your toes and kiss him hard.When you pull back,you say simply.
"Drive."
He doesn't need to be told twice.He has you pinned against the car in an instant, lips crashing against yours, rough and desperate. You gasp,hands fisting in his shirt as he kisses you like he's starving, like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.The world spins away,the cold air forgotten as heat flares between you.Finally, you break apart, breathless and flushed.
"Yeah," he pants. "Definitely skipping the date."
You laugh, feeling lightheaded. "Good call." He opens the car door for you,a gentleman's gesture that still manages to feel incredibly sexy. You slide in, the cool leather a stark contrast against your burning skin.He rounds the car and slips into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a roar. He glances at you, that smug smirk back on his face. "Ready?"
"Ready," you breathe, heart racing.
Then he floors it, tires screeching on asphalt.You barely have time to catch your breath as he weaves through traffic,a reckless speed that sends adrenaline coursing through you. The city blurs past,a streaking mix of light and shadow,your breath catching with every sharp turn.And in the middle of it all, the only thing anchoring you is the feel of his hand gripping yours, his eyes darkened with a single-minded focus. The world rushes by in a dizzying blur, the city a kaleidoscope of lights outside the windows. You press your cheek to the cool glass, feeling alive and reckless and completely, utterly present.You look over at him, the streetlights and passing cars casting his face in sharp relief. His jaw is clenched,eyes fixed on the road but you can see the tension in every muscle, like he's desperate to keep his focus off you.You squeeze his hand, and he glances your way.
"Eyes on the road," you say, voice low.
"Hard to do with you looking at me like that," he mutters, but obligingly returns his gaze to the road.
You raise an eyebrow. "Like what?"
He gives you a sidelong glance, lips twitching. "Like you're undressing me in your head."
Heat flushes your cheeks. "I'm not," you tell him, trying to sound casual.
He laughs,low and rough,the sound filling the car. "You’re a shitty liar."
Your heart stutters at his words, heat pooling low in your stomach. But you force a scoff, refusing to let him see how he affects you.
"Like you're one to talk."
He shoots you a grin,eyes sparkling with laughter. "Touché."
You roll your eyes,trying to hide your own grin. The car falls into a comfortable silence,the city whizzing by outside the window. As the car curves around another bend,he reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh. A simple, easy gesture,but it sends sparks fluttering up your spine.You look at his hand,calloused and strong but surprisingly gentle against your skin. It moves higher,just a fraction,his thumb tracing idle patterns along the inside of your thigh.You shiver involuntarily,your breath catching.He smirks,voice rumbling lowly in the quiet of the car. "Cold?"
"No," you say a little too quickly.
His smirk widens at the hitch in your voice. Damn him. He knows exactly the effect he's having on you. His hand slides higher,fingers digging into your skin just enough to be teasing.
"You sure about that?" he asks, voice a low rumble.
You swallow, heart pounding against your ribs. "Completely certain," you manage, but even you can hear the slight unsteadiness in your voice.His thumb strokes along your inner thigh,making your breath catch again. You're certain he can feel the heat rising in you, can sense how much you want his hands all over you. But you're stubborn,refusing to give him the satisfaction. "That so?" he drawls,his thumb tracing a slow, maddening circle high on your thigh,almost but not quite brushing where you need it most. "Seems like you're pretty damn responsive to me."
He turns,meeting your eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the road.A muscle in his jaw flexes, as if he's straining to maintain control.You bite back a moan, heat coiling low in your stomach. "Shut up."
You glance at the nearing street sign, knowing your house is just around the corner.With a slow, deliberate smirk, you slide your hand down his chest and rest it high on his thigh. Then, ever so gently, you move it inward,fingertips brushing over the growing hardness beneath his trousers. He sucks in a sharp breath.You lean closer,his voice rough as gravel,"Keep doing that and I’ll crash this car."
"Then drive faster," you whisper against his ear before biting down softly on his lobe. He curses under his breath, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white. The car surges forward, tires screeching as he hits the accelerator.
He shoots you a dark look, eyes darkened with desire. "You're asking for it."
You just grin,your hand teasing a little higher, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver racing up his spine. His jaw clenches, muscles tensing. The car screeches to a halt, parking outside your house.He turns to you, face unreadable except for the fire in his eyes. His gaze flicks between you and the front door, as if calculating how much further he can push this game.
"Inside. Now."
You swallow, heart pounding in your chest. "What are you waiting for?" you challenge, keeping your voice steady despite the heat pooling low in your stomach.He's out of the car in a flash, rounding the front to fling your door open. Before you can blink, he's pulling you out, pinning you against the side of car,caging you in with his body. He dips his head until you're nose to nose.His voice is rough as gravel,"I'm gonna make you beg."
"Big talk," you whisper, your voice trembling in the most betraying way.
He smirks, clearly hearing it. "We'll see."
Then his lips crash against yours hard, demanding,hands sliding under your thighs to lift you up. You wrap your legs around his waist automatically as he carries you toward the front door like you weigh nothing.Fumbling for keys,you laugh breathlessly against his mouth. He growls and sets you down just long enough to shove the door open,careless of who sees or what breaks.The moment the door slams shut behind him he’s on you again.
He kicks the door shut, backing you into it in one fluid move. His body is a solid wall of muscle and heat against yours,the weight of him pressing you into the wood.He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, mouth grazing your ear. "You're not getting out of this until I have every...last...part of you." The words send a shiver down your spine, and he nips lightly at your earlobe, making you gasp. "Understand?"
"Mmmhmm..." you manage, breathless already.His hand slides up your thigh, under your dress, fingers teasing just at the edge of your panties. "Good girl," he murmurs against your neck.Then without warning he lifts you again,sure and strong,his mouth claiming yours in a deep,kiss that steals any thought left in your mind.He doesn't move for a long moment,just drinking in the sight of,your eyes dark with desire,your dress wrinkled,hair in disarray,thighs spread. It's like a switch has been flipped,whatever last remnants of civility and gentleness stripped away.He lowers you just for a second,His hand drifts from your neck to your collarbone,trailing a path down your body. "Lift your arms."
Your breath hitches at the command, his voice low and rough like gravel.Slowly, you raise your arms above your head. The moment he sees you're not going to resist,his hands return, sliding under your dress again,this time pulling it up in one smooth motion.Cool air hits your skin as he peels the fabric over your head,tossing it aside. He drinks in the sight of you,lips parting slightly.
“Fucking perfect,” he breathes.
The intensity of his gaze makes something flutter in your stomach, desire pooling low in your stomach. You reach for his shirt, wanting to touch his skin, but he catches your wrists,pinning them above your head with one hand.
"Patience," he murmurs, that arrogant smirk back on his face.You squirm beneath him,feeling exposed with your arms now locked in place. "Bastard," you mutter.
Your breath hitches, your body arching involuntarily beneath his gaze. His eyes rake over you, hot and dark and possessive as he takes in every curve,every freckle,every shiver.His hands find your hips, fingers flexing into flesh. "God," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So damn perfect ."Before you can reply, he's leaning in, pressing a trail of hot kisses along the line of your jaw, down the slender column of your neck.
He drags his mouth lower,hot, open mouthed kisses down your chest until he reaches the swell of your breast. Without warning, he takes a peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.
You gasp, hips jerking into him. "Ilya"
He bites down just enough to make you cry out and then soothes it with his tongue.
"Sensitive," he murmurs against you,a dark promise in his voice."Good." His free hand finally releases one wrist so you can pull him closer as he works the other side with teeth and lips and tongue until you're trembling beneath him,mouth falling open in silent plea. "Please," you gasp,the word falling from your lips before you can stop it.He doesn't make you beg, like he said though. He lifts his head long enough to catch your eyes,a smirk playing across his face.
"Tell me what you want," he says,voice low and rough. You can hear the strain in it,the way he's holding back,and it makes everything inside you ache with wanting.
"I want you," you manage, breathless. "All of you.
"Mmmm." He smirks again. "Be more specific."
You glare at him, feeling heat rising in your cheeks. "You're seriously going to make me say it?"
His expression darkens, fingers digging into your hips. "Yes."
You bite your lip,heat spreading through you at his words. "I want you…everywhere," you say finally,voice thick with arousal. His eyes darken. "I know. But I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?" you whisper, playing dumb even as your body arches for him.
He leans down, teeth grazing your collarbone. "Tell me where you want my cock. The words send a jolt through you. Your breath hitches, heart pounding as the reality of this,of him washes over.
"Inside me," you gasp."I want it inside me. Now." His growl is feral as he surges up,pulling his shirt off in one motion,hands already working at his belt."God,you have no idea how long I've waited to hear that."
His voice is rough, almost ragged as his hands fumble with his jeans. You watch him for a second, heat surging through you ,then you're reaching for him, pulling on his waistband.
“Let me," you breathe, already feeling desperate. He drops his hands,let you take over.This time, there's no teasing,you don't bother to tease or make him wait. You need this too badly, too, need him.
Your fingers work quickly, the sound of his belt and zipper loud in the quiet room.Then he’s free, thick and heavy in your hand. You wrap your fingers around him, slow at first,then firmer,milking him with a practiced grip that makes him groan low in his throat.
“Y/n," he warns,his voice rough with restraint. "You do that any longer and I'm not gonna last."
A smug smile tugs at your lips."That bad?"
He grabs your wrist suddenly,pulling you up until you're flush against him. His eyes bore into yours,fierce and unrelenting.
"Bad? Baby, don’t pretend you don’t know."His hands slide down to grip your ass hard."Now ride me before I lose my damn mind.”
"Bossy," you murmur, but there's no real protest in your voice.
You shift him over to the sofa because you are too needy right now to make it too the bedroom. Then straddling his lap,guiding him to your entrance. For a heartbeat you hover there,your eyes locked on his.Then slowly,you sink down.A gasp tears from your lips as he fills you completely,the stretch,burn,pleasure all at once overwhelming. You freeze for a second,adjusting,to feeling so full of him.
“Don’t stop,” he grits out,hands flexing on your hips. “Keep going.”
"Gorgeous," he breathes, staring up at you,hands roaming over your body almost reverently."So goddamn perfect,y/n."
"Not fair." the words slip free, voice choked."Don't look at me like that."
His fingers dig bruises into your thighs."Can't help it," he rasps."I'm obsessed with you."
Your heart squeezes. No one's ever looked at you like that, like you're something precious. He leans forward, lips brushing your cheek,your jaw,the shell of your ear. "I can't stop watching you," he murmurs,voice ragged. "The way you move, the way you respond."
Your breath catches at the words. "I'm just me," you say softly ,voice trembling.
He pulls back, searching your face."Do you think that's not enough?"
You start moving,slow at first,rolling your hips to drive him crazy. He groans,hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave marks.
"You're killing me," he grits out, but his eyes are dark with pleasure as he watches you ride him.You lean down,taking his face in your hands,kissing him deeply. The angle changes,making him hit deeper,you cry out into his mouth.
That’s when he moves,fast and powerful flipping you onto your hands and knees,pushing you forward until you're on all fours before him. One hand grips your hip,the other tangles in your hair,pulling just enough to make you gasp.
“fuck y/n you are everything” he grits out,hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Then suddenly,he flips you around onto your knees,pulling you up by the waist."Look," he growls,palming a breast from behind while grinding into you deep."Watch me fuck you." A mirror across the room reflects everything,his body driving into yours,your head thrown back,his possessive hands on your skin.
"See how perfect?" he snarls."Every inch of you is mine."
You let out a broken whimper,the image making you ache. "fuck Ilya," you gasp,eyes locked on his in the mirror. You watch in the mirror, breathless and trembling at the image,the way he owns you, the raw possession in his every movement. Your eyes meet his through the reflection,half lidded and glazed with pleasure.
“You see it now?" he grunts, thrusting deep. "How fucking perfect you are? How much you were made for me?"
You can't speak. Can only nod, your body tightening around him as pleasure coils tighter,tighter.He leans over,your back arching as he drags his teeth along your shoulder."Say it," he demands."Tell me who you belong to."
"Yours," you gasp."I'm yours...Ilya...please..."
"That's it," he grunts,nipping at your ear."Say it again." as he thrusts into you hard.
You can barely breathe, let alone speak."I'm yours," you manage,gasping the words between moans."All yours, Ilya. I'm yours."
"Mine," he growls, the word like a vow as he drives into you harder, deeper.You cry out as pleasure crests, your body tightening around him like a vice. "Ilya!”
He doesn't let up,pinning you against his chest with one arm while his hand slips between your legs,toying with your clit in tight,circling motions.
"Cum for me," he demands against your ear."Let me feel it."
And you do,shattering around him with a broken sob,his name falling from your lips like prayer.He follows right after,burying himself deep as he groans,your name torn from his throat in Russian. For long moments,there's only ragged breathing,the sound of two hearts slamming against each other. Then he turns you in his arms,kissing you slow and deep."I’m staying with you tonight," he murmurs against your lips."always”
You melt against him, feeling boneless and sated,all tension gone.For a long time, you just lie there, wrapped in his arms,trying to catch your breath.Then he nuzzles into your hair,voice rumbling in his chest."Hey," he says softly."Look at me."
You turn,eyes meeting his. He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.
"Just so we're clear," he says quietly."I'm not done with you yet."
He smirks against your shoulder,his hands tracing slow patterns along your back. "Good."
You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. His eyes soften,one hand coming up to cup your face. "I'm going to say something," he begins,voice suddenly serious. "And I need you to listen."
You nod, heart suddenly in your throat. He takes a deep breath,a muscle tensing in his jaw. "I'm not very good with words. You know that."
You nod, watching him closely.He's never been one for words,always more comfortable showing his feelings through action.He swallows,his grip tightening ever so slightly. "But I need to say this."
A sudden flutter of nerves in your stomach. Then he looks straight at you,the intensity of his gaze robbing your breath. "I love you."
For a moment, you just stare at him,your heart skipping a beat. He loves you. Ilya Rozanov, the arrogant,cocky bastard, loves you.
You can feel the shock on your face,see it mirrored in his eyes. He watches you anxiously,waiting for your reaction,and it hits you just how vulnerable he's making himself.You recover quickly,smiling up at him. "About time," you say,voice hoarse."I was starting to think you were going to make me do it first."
Then You push him flat onto his back before he can react,straddling his chest with a smirk.
“ and I'm not done with you either, Rozanov," you whisper,leaning down to kiss along his jaw.
Then slowly,you slide down his body,trailing hot open mouthed kisses over every ridge of muscle until you reach your destination. You wrap your fingers around him again,slowly stroking. He groans,head falling back,but still watches you through half lidded eyes.
"Look at me,"you command softly.
He does. And as your mouth closes around him,his fingers tangling in your hair,you know one thing for sure…
• He can't stand the idea of losing you, not even for a second.
• Every look, every word or gesture that may indicate distraction from you awakens a silent anxiety, which turns into constant vigilance.
• He wants to control who approaches you, but in a way that you don't even notice, always with charm and care.
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2. Protective at an Extreme Level
• Isaac puts himself between you and any danger, real or imaginary.
• From trivial accidents to emotional threats, it acts drastically to keep you safe.
• He can stop a fight, get people out of his way, or manipulate situations to make sure you're always by his side.
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3. Intense Jealousy
• Even friends or colleagues can arouse jealousy in him.
• He observes every message, every contact, and small details can become a cause for concern.
• When you realize something you consider a threat, you can act subtly or directly, depending on the level of risk you feel.
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4. Too Attentive to Your Habits
• He knows your schedules, your preferences, manias and even the little tics that you don't even notice.
• Use this information to anticipate your needs, always wanting to be present and useful - sometimes in an exaggerated way.
• Small "apologies" or delays can generate silent, but controlled tension, until he feels that he is safe about you.
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5. Affection Mixed with Implicit Threat
• His way of touching you is intense: hugs that squeeze, looks that pierce, kisses that seem to require total attention and devotion.
• He can murmur sweet statements, but with a tone that makes it clear: no one else can have you.
• The line between protection and threat is tenuous - a warning for those who dare to approach.
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6. Emotional Manipulation
• He knows how to mess with his emotions: he praises, encourages, protects... but he also knows how to induce guilt or fear in a silent way.
• It can make you feel special and unique, while keeping the "dangerous" world outside.
• This mixture creates emotional dependence - you feel security and tension at the same time.
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7. Total Obstination
• He doesn't accept rejection or disinterest.
• If you distance yourself, even if for normal reasons, Isaac becomes tireless, trying to reconnect you, protecting and controlling the situation until you feel that you are again "safe" and dedicated to him.
• He sees you both as a single system: where he exists, you must also exist exclusively next to him.
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8. Creativity and Planning
• Just like in the normal version, he is extremely intelligent, but in the yandere version, this intelligence is applied to keep you just for him.
• Creates plans, subtle surveillance systems, or situations that way rivals or curious people.
• He may be the perfect boyfriend in public, but behind the scenes, everything is calculated to ensure his possession.
Hello! This is my first time ever doing this kind of stuff, any feedback is amazing! Enjoy!
WARNINGS: Mentions of neglect, kidnapping, forceful drugging, depression, self-harm, asking someone to kill them, forced age regression
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You wake up... In a hospital. You can't remember anything about what happened, maybe a fuzzy memory of someone whispering to you before it all went black and you can remember your name and last name... And your brother.
Your heart races, which makes the annoying machine beside you beep louder. The man beside you springs up from where he used to be sleeping. How did you not notice a man sitting beside you? Is he... Holding your hand?
He sees you awake, and his whole, tear-stained and all, face lights up. He immediately starts crying, which makes you stare at him, confused. He keeps crying as the doctor enters, smiling warmly like his faith in reality has been restored.
The man looks so happy and overjoyed that you're awake, you don't have the heart to slip your hand away, even if you're panicking. "Where are my parents?" You ask the doctor carefully. You avoid looking at the man who jumped back as if you struck him, and the doctor looks confused before understanding. You sigh as you hope he's on your side, but he turns to the man...
"It appears our scans were correct. Y/N has temporary amnesia and likely doesn't remember anything from the past few years." Try all the years, you can't remember a thing. The man looks heartbroken, but you shake your head. "No, I still remember things!" You insist. The doctor looks doubtful. "I'll prove it!"
You sit up, making the man coo worriedly, helping you up, and pretending you didn't flinch when he got close. You turn your arm towards the two. A harsh scar is on your right arm; you remember your brother slashing his beer bottle at you three years ago, before he left you and your mother alone. "This is from my brother, about three years ago. He threw a bottle at me, and it scarred. Check the records!" You beg, but the man sighs sadly and takes your hand again; he's too strong to pull out of this time.
"Honey, you got that from a bully at the park three years ago, we went and got ice cream afterwards... Do you really not remember?" The doctor looks at you two with sympathy.
"Some cases, especially of younger kids-" You were NOT a kid. "-Have hallucinations."
"They were not hallucinations!" You shout. Your brother could never just be a 'hallucination' what he did was real. So real. Too real. You pull out of the man's hand -he lets you, surprisingly- to rub the scar. It... It can't be from just a bully.
-----------
The doctor gives your 'dad' -He refuses to tell you his real name- some medications and little speeches about your 'hallucinations' and how to handle them. They don't tell you anything other than 'an accident happened' and that you shouldn't worry about it. They also completely ignore your argument and defense about your parents.
Your real parents.
But you don't have a choice anymore.
-------
The car ride 'home' is a little awkward. But once the house comes into view, it's no longer quiet. "This is your house?!" You ask, exasperated. It was more of a manshion.
He laughs and gently pulls you down from sticking your head out the window. "Our home," He corrects. "But yes, we're just a little bit wealthy."
A little bit is an understatement.
A freaking butler comes outside to greet you two, the ma- your dad has a quick word with him, explaining your amnesia, and he looks sad. "I'm very sorry to hear that." He comments dryly. You decide you like him. He seems to like you too.
When you enter, two giant double staircases greet you. You gasp and look at every detail while your dad chases after you, sometimes laughing and showing you how the fridge can play music, and sometimes running as you almost get bitten by the llama in his backyard.
Even though your still very confused and terrifyed and just miss your mom, you're too distracted by your new home and new life to really question it. To question how he slyly asks things a father should know in a weird way. -"You always liked llamas, right?" "This is your favorite color, remember?" - And everytime you corrected him -"My favorite color is f/c"- He'd let out a sad sigh as if you were wrong and promise to 'fix it'.
He also kept hugging you a lot. Usually, when you make positive comments. He'd hug you so tight you thought your bones would snap in half and he'd lift you off the ground. You didn't like it as first, always jumping and yelling but now you kind of like it, it makes you feel safer. You haven't felt that in a long time.
And everything you 'owned' was childish. You had bright pink walls, children's books, a thousand plushies, cute outfits, and a music box. You liked all of it, but you were older now. A teenager. You never had this at hom-
"Is everything okay, baby?" Your dad interrupts as you stare at one of the plushies. "Yeah," You tell him without looking. You set the plushie down, still staring. "Just trying to adjust." You really wanted to yell and scream. You wanted to run out to find your real family. Yet... You thought about it all. Did you really want to fight for that reality? It makes more sense that you got amnesia, you try to remember that one whispered conversation before everything was gone... You think it was your dad. You remember his voice slightly.
Maybe you really were his kid.
You smile at your dad and he smiles right back, ruffling your hair and pulling you into another bear hug.
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After you showed any dislike in anything at home, your dad forced you on a shopping trip, not like you resisted much.
He ruffled your hair as you excitedly bounced in your seat. Sure, you were acting a bit young, but you were too happy to really care. And it did seem to make your dad happy.
The drive there, you kept talking and talking and your dad smiled the whole time, nodding along to everything you said. Somehow, along the way of fighting him every two minutes, you two became less awkward around each other.
When you got there, anything you showed any interest in, he bought. He made you try on everything, gushing over you everytime you stepped out. At first, you were a little annoyed, but then it became endearing.
Then, when you finished your clothing shopping, your dad suddenly took a turn down the toy aisle. "Dad?" He whipped around to face you. You didn't notice at the time, but it was the first time you called him 'dad' since the accident. He immediately smiled warmly, pretending he wasn't about to cry. "Yes, baby?"
"Why are we going down the toy aisle? I don't need toys." He does that one sigh when he thinks you're being ridiculous. "Pick your favorite ones, any of them." You're about to yell at him when you see a familar toy.
Back at ho- In your dream-like coma, you had this toy. It was weird how real your 'dream' was, but as your dad picks you for the hundredth time, you push the thought away. "Can I get this?" You ask, holding up the small toy. He smiles and hugs you tighter -somehow-. "Of course, sweetheart. Anything."
He puts it in the cart... And you. A teenager. You're riding the cart, a mountian of soft clothing surrounds you as you're surprised you even managed to fit in here, and that the cart is somehow still moving.
When he look up at your dad, he just smiles at you and pushes the cart faster, making you sway and laugh. He laughs along with you. Even though he's been laughing all day, you get the feeling he doesn't laugh that much. Maybe it's the wrinkles in his eyes.
When you get to check-out, the lady looks too tired to even do anything, maybe a short "hello" and "card or cash" but doesn't even look at you. You look around, a little bored, when you see a Missing Person's poster, your about to get a better look at the person's face, but your dad swiftly turns the cart before you can.
You look back at him, but for the first time today, he's not looking at you. His jaw is tense and he looks... Mad? Yet, when he looks down at you, you staring wide-eyed at him, he softens and kisses your head. Your weirded out.
During the car ride, you get sleepy. Your dad notices and sighs lovingly as you get yourself out of the car sluggishly. "Do you wanna go take a nap, sweetie?" He dotes in a fatherly tone.
"No, I'm okay." You try to argue but he just coos softly and picks you up. You squirm and kick, not used to be hauled around like when you were 5, but he just ignores it.
You get to your room and he lays you down, tucking you in and kissing your forehead.
You want to fight and stay up... But you just can't. Sleep would help, right?
The last thing you hear is your dad's bittersweet tone. "Sweet dreams. I won't let you hurt anymore, Y/N."
----------------
A loud bang from your dad's old office alerts you from where you sit by yourself in your living room, TV playing some random show you don't like. You hear your mom upstairs giggling and a door shut, she's probably with that guy she found at the bar. Gross.
You realize it's up you to figure out what the weird noise was. You know it wasn't something you could ignore. You tip-toe in quietly, and a man with a mask is in your house. Broken glass surrounds him, his bag in one hand, and...
And a gun in the other. He has a gun.
--------
The second you wake up, your whole body jerks like it actually happened. That there was a man in your home. With a gun. And you were by yourself. Could that have been the 'accident' that your dad mentioned?
He enters your room with a tray full of breakfast food of every kind. You, trying to forget your odd dream, decide that those waffles might cure it.
While your eating, your dad smiles warmly at you, but when you finish, the dream lingers. Was it apart of your 'hallucanations' or a real memory? You look at your dad, which prompts him to worry because of the worried look.
"Is everything okay, dear? Was the food cold? too hot? Tell me what's wrong, baby." He tuts, but you blurt out your question. "Did a man ever break into our house?"
He freezes, he looks at you and something dark crosses his face before disappearing completely. "No, never. I would never let someone break into this house to hurt you." It seems like he's promising himself more than you. But then he wipes your cheek from the mess of syrup you have all over your face. You feel embarrassed but he just coos happily. "Did you have a bad dream?"
"I think...?" You respond, avoiding eye contact. "It felt really real."
"Dreams are like that." He responds gently.
You look at him this time, and his face is... Determined? It makes you drop the subject. Mainly out of fear.
-------------
After a few weeks of getting a normal schedule and a normal relationship with your dad, he insists on taking you out to eat, fussing over how small you are. You were pretty skinny, mainly because your mom forgot to buy food but you didn't remember why.
During the drive, your content just looking outside as your dad is the one who talks the whole drive, but you hear something moving around the backseat. You wait until you turn and hear it again to look.
A spiral-ringed notebook with your name and handwriting on the front moved around the back-seat. It looks like an old diary, did you use to have one?
Your dad quickly notices you and tries to play it off. "Oh, don't worry about that, sweetheart." He tells you, but you don't look away. His voice hardens. "It's just an old notebook that you barely used."
He was lying, the poor book look used and messy, the cover was clearly used a little. And he held everything that you made with care, all your old coloring pages that reminded you of when your brother didn't hit people were framed. He was tense and nervous, trying to play it off.
You're about to reach for it, when you feel suddenly unsafe with this stranger that claims to be your dad. You remember his odd questions about what you liked and didn't like, could you really have changed that much?
You push the thoughts away, this had to be your dad. Would the doctor just hand you away? Would the butler not question the random kid? He... He had to be.
Doesn't matter he didn't know your favorite color. Or that he doesn't look like you. Or that he doesn't have any baby photos of you.
----------
You were now certain, that this man wasn't your dad.
While eating, you decided to test him.
"I'll have the shrimp." You tell the waitress. She smiles, you smile, your 'dad' smiles. Everything looks fine.
You hold your breath as she turns to him to get his order. He orders it freely, not a flinch, not a word, not a worry in the world.
Your deathly allegetic to shell-fish. But he didn't even stop you.
You try to push away the thoughts of 'how did this happen?' and focus on 'how do I escape?' You try to hide how your shaking hands as you ask to go to the bathroom.
"Yeah, sure." Your dad says, but he looks a little worried. Or is he scared? You somehow walk steadily enough to catch your waitress out of sight from your 'dad'
'Help me' you mouth to her, she looks scared but quickly nods. You go to the bathroom and try to think of a plan.
He's clearly crazy, but you don't know anything about him. You've warned the waitress, all you have to do is wait for the polic-
"Honey, we have to go." Your dad knocks on the bathroom door. You freeze. "B-But we never ate." You inwardly curse your scared voice. He hesitates before continuing.
"I know baby, I'm so sorry. But I have a very important meeting I have to go to."
Liar.
"Okay... Give me a minute..." You can't take long. As you finish, you realize he never gave you a phone, you can't call anyone. You'll have to sneak out.
As you leave, you finally manage to get his name on the bill at your table, he must've hurriedly paid for the drinks you two got, the signature says 'Mr Conner' in messy handwriting.
-----------
The car ride home is deathly silent. Conner grips the steering wheel tightly and his face is dark.
The notebook is gone.
----------------
When you get home, you basically lock yourself in your room as he disappears into his own office. The butler seems confused but ignores it, not his place. You and your dad pretend that nothing happened. Does he know that you know? You have to hope not...
After a few hours, you get hungry. You try to push it away, but he really spoiled you these last few weeks. You were starving. You creak open the door, and there's a disturbing silence.
You move around quietly, maybe you could escape now? Down the stairs, you hear the familar voice of Conner, but it's commanding and frustrated. You listen in without meaning to.
"You have to be more careful, Conner." The butler warns, his usual professional tone is gone. He sounds serious. You hold your breath.
"I know, I know!" Conner shouts, running a hand through his hair. "The waitress was about to the call police, she must've recogized her." Your heart starts beating faster.
"And the Missing Persons sign? And the notebook? You're slipping." The butler commented, ice cold. You slowly go down the stairs, Conner's back is to you and the butler is focused on him. You watch through the rails, terrified. You just need to sneak on by
"We need new locks to every door and window on this house. Quickly and discretly." Conner tells him. You're about to try to sneak past them when the butler locks eyes with you. Your blood runs cold. He whispers something and Conner whips around to see you.
You bolt upstairs, ignoring Conner shout after you, and lock yourself in your room, already starting to cry, when you hear his voice, muffled through the door.
"Baby... Please open the door, you know I won't hurt you." You freeze, beside the quiet sniffling.
"Open the door." Conner demands, using his commanding voice. You don't move, eyes locked on the floor.
You hear footsteps and assume -hope- he left. You take a breather, trying to stop crying, and move towards your door.
Sure you were on the 2nd floor and you had no way of getting down.
Better than staying here.
You get the hatch to the window open, you don't hear the door open at the same time. You get your leg out when someone grabs you from behind.
You scream and kick and do everything you can, fighting with everything, but it's useless. "Shh... Shh... Calm down... Deep breath..." A rag is pushed agaisnt your face and you slowly slip away, Conner hugs you agaisnt his chest.
-----------
The man stares at you, both of you wear a horrified expression. However, shock hits you and you have a blank face while he looks you up and down. "Why are you by yourself, kid?"
Kid? You weren't a kid. But you also stopped listening, instead more interested on the gun in his hand, which he seemed to forget about. "My mom is upstairs, probably didn't hear you."
"That seems impossible, I was really loud." He points, sighing in frustration. For some reason, both of you are calm. He seems to realize what he was doing and points the gun at you.
"Where do you keep all your money, kid?" He waves the gun around. You shrug. "Don't know, maybe we don't have any. Do you think you could shoot me?"
The man looks very confused, which is reasonable. "What?"
"You heard me," You repeat, stepping closer, your mind yelling but you're just so tired... "shoot me."
He lowers his gun instead. "Uh... Is this... Is this an attempt at reverse psychology?"
You shake your head. "I'll follow you outside, if you don't want my mom to hear the gun shot. I don't have much else to really give in return."
"Is this a cry for help?"
You sigh, realizing this man won't shoot you. Your mom always hated guns, and you were too young to buy your own. You really wanted to just end it all, but you couldn't. And now here was the perfect chance.
"Please." You beg, holding out your arms to give him a clear shot to the chest or head. Instead, he looks at you. Really looks at you. Mainly at your scars and face. Then he approaches you. You don't move.
The gun connects with the back of your head, making you drop into unconsciousness and into the man's arms. He shushes you gently and quietly whispers to you. "I'm sorry that happened to you, kiddo." He kisses your head before you fully go out. "I promise that it'll never happen again."
---------
This could be a part 1, or it could be a one-shot, i don't really know. I'm not the best with tags or TW, so feel free to tell me anything. Any and all feedback would be happily accepted and thanks for reading!!!
Summary: It had been 2 months since you've been isekai as a side character in a school novel and 2 months of embarrassment watching one of the characters simp over the school beauty. After trying to make him open his eyes, all you got was a harsh insult that made you stop trying to interfere with the plot. If he wants to be a simp so bad, than be it.
"You know Hee-su is just using you for money right?" You asked him as he hurriedly tried to grab all the things Hee-su asked him to buy.
"You're just jealous of Hee-su. She's the school beauty and you're....a nobody." He said and storm out of the grocery store with Hee-su's wishes in hand.
You sigh, and grabbed a pack of strawberries to go.
Honestly, how is he smarter than you yet oblivious to the fact? "Love really is blind. "you guessed and handed the cashier your money.
It had been your what? 20th attempt to make him realise that his feelings were one sided in the relationship but that man is too fucking stubborn to understand the gravity of the situation. If you could, you would choke the living heck out of him!
Not only would he end up as poor and homeless, you'll be dragged along as well! Considering that your family works for his which is why you're that adamant on changing his fate.
But you can't really rely on him 100%, so you studied what you could, enough to get a scholarship and work your butt off to save enough money for the future.
Yeap. There is no way your life is going to ruins because of a relentless simp. Gosh, you wish you would've isekai to a different novel instead. This one was no different than your reality, unfortunately. At least, you had luck to secure an apartment!
Why couldn't they just isekai to those manhwa's you've read. The only time you picked up a novel, was because your friend had recommended it but in the end, the storyline all felt childish. Predictable.
Man, your life sucks. This freaking novel is just like your life except now you had someone caring for you, even if they dedicated most of their time to their work.
Plus, at least in this life, you start fresh. Your name not tainted by rumours or laws.
You ran the strawberries under the running water outside the shop and place one in your mouth after it.
Gosh, after your hardwork, you should at least deserve this dessert.
You walked back to his mansion which took you about 30 minutes since he left you there in the shop. Thankfully, the rain didn't make itself known and humiliate you further.
When you got there, you pushed open the doors and was immediately greeted with a pitiful sight. Siyeol, the son of the man your parents work under was happily making dinner while Hee-su was shouting at him to hurry up. Oh well, this kinda reminded you of yourself, considering your obsession with fictional red flag men. But you're still better. At least your delusion remained to yourself.
Pity sip across your face as you watched him hurriedly making food for 3 mouths. Yes, the male lead of the story is also here. You wanted to help him but at his glare, you shrugged off the puty and walked off to go to your room.
Seriously, that man has something against you for real. Even Hee-su was having this imaginary beef with you. Siyeol particularly hates you, mostly throwing hurtful insults and sneers to you whenever Hee-su was around as if trying to say "don't try anything with Eun-na. I'm Hee-su's." Which honestly is gross because you don't find him to be your type anyway.
The male lead to Hee-su, Sieun... He's neutral. Nothing to be talk about. He felt a bit plain in comparison to looks but he's better looking than you.
Hee-su on the other hand would be threatened by you, as if you could pull Siyeol to be yours.
Overall, their relationship is a bit complicated. Hee-su likes Sieun and has expressed her feelings directly to him, all while also being in a relationship with Siyeol, who thinks that as long as he's good to her, Hee-su in the end would choose him.
Which is entirely stupid because, OMG! THAT MAN IS A FUCKING IDIOT. Even as you layed out the facts, he still is in denial. Thank goodness that tomorrow would be your last day here in this mansion.
Guess your hardwork payed off since you managed to rent yourself an apartment for yourself. Your parents on the other hand, is still adamant to stay in the mansion since their work is connected to it. Being the maid and butler and all.
Oh yea. Forgot to mention. Hee-su's father is the driver of Siyeol's family which meant that driving with them to school is impossible. Her father also secretly hates you since you kinda threatened the chances of his daughter being married to Siyeol.
Literally, every single brain of these characters were the size of a rice grain.
You closed your door, locking it and started to pack your clothes for tomorrow. It's the weekend too so school work is postponed until further notice!
~
When you blinked your eyes open, you yawned and got ready to take a bath when a knock suddenly came from your door.
Weird.
No ones ever knock this early in the morning.
Your parents would usually text you instead, telling you to eat your breakfast.
So this must be someone new to the staff, thinking that you might be one of the members of the house.
You stood up from your bed and walked towards the door opening it. You took a good look at the man standing in front of you and was shock to see Siyeol smiling at you. Smiling at someone who wasn't his family. Smiling at someone who wasn't Hee-su.
What is this guy up to now.
You suppressed a groan and met his eyes. "Good morning Eun-na, I just woke up. Want to have breakfast together?" He asked, looking at you attentively, waiting for your response.
You looked at him up and down. For someone who claimed to be 'just woke up' seemed more well dressed than you.
"What are you doing?" You questioned leaning beside the door, crossing your arms tight. Don't tell me he's got a plan to make Hee-su jealous. Urgh, you don't want to be involve in their affairs. You have far too much problems now to add one into the bowl.
"What am I doing? I'm just inviting you to breakfast of course!" He answered innocently, making you look at him in disgust.
Urgh, you could never get use to him being so... Nice to you.
I take it back. Give me back that asshole. This one seemed like it's possessed by an alien.
You ignored him and walked off, getting to the kitchen to have breakfast there. Since you've always been assigned there.
When you sat down, you looked up in surprise that Siyeol had followed you and was now sitting across from you. "You're acting weird. Did Hee-su put you up to this?" You asked as your mom handed you your plate.
"Young master! What are you doing here?! You should be eating in the dining room with—" He cut your mother off and grabbed himself a plate from her hands.
"It's fine, I wanted to talk with your daughter about something," he explained to which your mother sent a curious and wary glance to you. You nodded at her, telling her it's okay and she went back to the dining room.
"Okay, I don't know who possessed you but you better leave me out of it." You stated and took a bite of the bread on your plate. "And that means no using me either." You added.
The corners of his mouth lifted up to a smile and a laugh came out of him. "You think I wanted to use you?" He asked.
"Like all men do." You whispered under your breath.
"What?"
"You really think I'll fall for this... Act of yours? I'd say it's a real shit show. Face it, if you wanted to make Hee-su jealous, pick another person. I already have enough on my plate to deal with another." You stood up from your chair and walked away, grabbing the last toast in your mouth.
Gosh, did he think you were this dumb?
Forget about him. You were going to get out of this house first.
You walked back towards your room, locked the door and took a shower, trying to calm yourself before you flew that man into space.
Once you were ready, you took out the suitcase you packed last night and called a cab.
You looked out of the room and thankfully, no Siyeol, no Hee-su in sight. You slowly, opened your door and walked out with your suitcase, the cab already waiting in front of the mansion.
You were already mere seconds away from getting out of the mansion until you heard a cough making you flinch. "Where are you going with that much stuff?"
He's not there. He's not there. Ignore him. Nobody's there.
You pushed the door opened, your suitcase behind you as you hurriedly went into the cab and shut the door close. Your suitcase beside you.
"Please drive me to xxxxx apartment complex, thank you." You said to the driver as you two sped off, ignoring the background noises outside.
Thankfully, the driver didn't bother to protest, thinking that you were in some type of toxic relationship he'd seen in one of the hundreds of dramas he's watched.
He looked at your expression from the rear view mirror and the scene exactly depicted from one of his latest drama he's currently watching.
For some reason, he could feel that this won't be his last time seeing you and hopefully, for him it won't. Because he loves where this show is headed.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
365-xxx xxxx
Hey, why'd you block me?
Where are you going?
I'm sorry for saying those things you. Please come back. I need to explain some things to you.
It's urgent.
Love, please. Just call me at least.
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
You looked through the text and tossed your phone to the couch. Gosh, what did he want with you? This act is getting a little too desperate, might I even say real.
It creeps you out.
Love? What a weirdo.
Please don't be possess by a demon. I know I used to play the board but that was only once! When I was eight—
Your phone vibrated against the couch, pulling you out if your thoughts.
You sigh and sat down on the couch, grabbing you phone.
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
365-xxx xxxx
Love, please just tell me where you are.
I'm worried.
*photo attached*
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
You click onto the photo when suddenly, you phone shut down and a black screen stared at you. What the hell? Did he send you a virus?
From what you know, you don't think Siyeol has any knowledge regarding this. He's an academic achiever sure, but to be able to send a virus seemed unlikely. Perhaps it was just your phone. It looks ancient but still considerably modern.
You let out a yawn and leaned on the couch. Urgh, you really need to get paid for dealing with this. You let out another yawn as your conscious slowly faded. The knock on your door remained unanswered as it gradually get louder.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You blinked your eyes open as your nose smelled something heavenly. A grumble from your stomach made you sit up from the couch, the blanket falling over to your waist.
Huh?
Since when did you get a blanket—
"Rise and shine princess." A familiar voice peak through making you jump away.
You landed on the ground with a thud, landing on you butt making you groan. Ah, you didn't expect a home invasion this early. Couldn't they have pick a different day? I mean you just move here!
A hand landed on you shoulder making you flinch.
I'm too young to die!
"Y/N, love, are you alright?" You heard the voice again, this time, loud and clearly.
You turned to him, shock.
SIYEOL?
You pushed him away from you. Standing up and backing away from him. You looked at him up and down, and shout at him.
"What the hell? How did you know where I was? How did you get in?" You questions remained unanswered as he stood up, closing in on you.
Oh brotha. Your doomed.
You gulped as your eyes tried to find a way to get away from him but as if predicting your motive, he grabbed both of your shoulders, making you turned your attention back to him.
"Y/N—"
You didn't let him finish and punched him directly on the face.
"Okay, I deserved that." He said making you tilt your head in confusion. You watched the bruise forming on his cheeks instead of meeting his intensive gaze.
"Look at me please, " he pleaded to you.
"What are you doing here Siyeol?" You questioned meeting his gaze. "I'm tired of hearing your insults, couldn't you just leave me alone?" You voice start to waver but you remained composed either way.
"No—not after everything we've been through together. Listen, there's going to be an apocalypse, happening in a month from now, and we need to take shelter. " He said as his hand cradled your cheek. His thumb brushing over your lips.
Woah man. A bit bold there. Wait, apocalypse? What? From what you know, no apocalypse was mention in anyway until the end of the novel.
This guy must be nuts.
"Do you need a doctor? You look like you need one—I'm going to call a doctor for you." You saw an opening and went through to get your phone.
The novel didn't mention the main character had loose screws on his head. This must've been a bug in the story due to your presence. But why now?
You hold your phone to your ear and waited until his family doctor pick up. At the last ring, the doctor finally answered but the phone was no longer in your hands.
"Ah, sorry sir, Y/N here got worried after I fainted a few minutes ago, but I'm fine now. Sorry to bother you." He ended the call and threw your phone to couch.
"Y/N..."
"How do you know that name?" Your eyes widened in disbelief and took a step towards him. "How much do you know about me?"
