Work Text:
The hallway reeked of antiseptic and silent threat.
The air was too cold, too dry, humming faintly with the low thrum of ventilation systems that never stopped. It smelled like sterile futures and filtered blood. Everything in this underground facility was clean in that uncanny way rich people liked their violence: sanitized, glass-polished, artificial. The kind of clean that reeked of erasure.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—too white, too bright—casting sterile blue glare over polished metal floors and along the seamless reinforced glass that caged both sides of the corridor. The glow washed everything in surgical clarity, bleaching color from skin, shadowing eyes. It wasn’t just cold. It was dehumanizing.
Behind each transparent wall: a body. A man. An Alpha.
Some sat on benches bolted to the floor, their posture too perfect to be natural. Others stood as if trained to attention, barely breathing, their gazes following the group with a predator’s hush. The rooms were more display cases than cells—clinical cubes with nothing but a cot, a drain, and a feeding hatch. Like high-end pet shops for monsters.
Some stood, shoulders squared, eyes calculating. Others crouched low, eyes animal-bright, tracking movement like predators. Some even smiled when they saw Reo.
Reo didn’t smile back.
He hated how they performed.
Some of them radiated a fake kind of confidence—preened like peacocks, trying to seduce with presence alone. Others snarled beneath their breath, trying to appear dangerous, trying to bait a reaction. Reo saw through all of it.
They looked at him, too—some with amusement, others with open disdain. One or two let their gazes linger too long, pupils dilating with that primal hunger that always crept up when an unclaimed Omega entered their line of sight. Not that they dared say anything—not with his parents present. But Reo could feel it in the air, in the faint shift of posture, the sharp flick of tongues over teeth. Not desire. Calculation.
Trained dogs in human skin.
His gait was unhurried, hands behind his back in that precise way his mother taught him: controlled elegance. He wore a black turtleneck beneath a tailored wool coat, dark purple with silver embroidery. The faintest glint of cufflinks at his wrists, Mikage insignia. Regal. Cold.
His parents walked ahead, flanked by two bodyguards.
One of them—his father—was speaking to the handler, an older man with thin white hair and a calm, forgettable face. "We're not just looking for breeding stock," the man said, his tone clipped. "We want something that can protect him—yes—but also something refined. Controlled. With the right potential. A future investment."
"Of course, sir. We have several specialized assets that could meet your son's protection needs," the handler murmured.
Reo barely listened. His violet eyes scanned the glass enclosures, one after the other. All these Alphas looked wrong to him. Too alert. Too eager. Trained to fight, yes. But also trained to obey.
Too clean.
There was nothing real in them. Nothing raw. Just sleek coats and empty threats.
He was ready to dismiss the whole thing when he saw him.
Cell 7.
At first, he thought the cell was empty. The Alpha inside wasn’t standing like the others. He sat on the floor, slouched with one leg stretched out and the other bent, arms draped loosely over his knees. His hair was white—not silver, not platinum: white, like snow fallen in a dead city. Skin pale, frame long and lean like a stray dog too bored to bark.
No reaction when the group stopped before his cell. Not even a flicker.
"What about this one?" Reo asked.
The handler blinked. "Seven? He's... unlisted. A prototype. Not meant for market." His voice dipped slightly, the cadence turning cautious. "He came from an old Alpha bloodline—pure, elite, the kind whispered about in private circles for producing some of the most dominant offspring in recorded history. His parents were powerful, his lineage uncontested. But it made them a target. Their estate was attacked in a high-level coup, the kind never acknowledged publicly. Everyone was killed. Everyone but him.”
The Omega’s eyes were fixed on the white hair as the Beta spoke. “He was just a child—too young to understand the full extent of what had just transpired. The attack had been quick, precise, leaving no room for resistance. His family’s power, wealth, and influence were erased in a matter of hours. No one spared a thought for the child left in the rubble. The only thing that mattered was the bloodline—his family’s legacy, their connections. And now, with everyone else gone, he was the last of them. To those who had orchestrated the coup, his survival was an inconvenience.”
Reo didn’t interfere the man, but he could feel his blood boiling with rage. This fucked up environment.
“The goal was to create something that could dominate in any scenario. His DNA was textbook Alpha perfection. Peak combat instinct, no emotional distractions, minimal social imprinting. He didn’t need to be built from scratch. He just needed to be sharpened. A raw Alpha—feral, functional, unspoiled."
Reo tilted his head. "And what happened?"
The handler shifted. "He exceeded every physical benchmark. But there was... resistance. He wouldn’t follow commands. Refused to submit. Never bonded. He doesn't respond to orders. We tried traditional dominance structures, even scent-conditioning protocols. Nothing worked."
His mother chuckled darkly. "An unbroken beast. Useless."
But Reo wasn’t so sure.
He stepped closer to the glass. The Alpha hadn’t moved, but now Reo could see more—how tension lay under that apparent slouch, a coil of unreadable energy. There was a collar at his throat, a sleek band embedded with microtech, probably linked to sedation protocols. The tag on it read simply: S.N.7.
"Why is he still here?"
The handler hesitated, glancing toward the parents. "We couldn't decide what to do with him. He doesn’t attack. He doesn’t speak. He just... watches. Like he’s observing something only he understands."
Reo narrowed his eyes, attention sharpening. There was no aggression in the Alpha, but there was something else—something patient and lethal. Like a blade left unsheathed in the snow, untouched but not forgotten.
Reo stared. For a moment, it felt like the Alpha wasn’t ignoring them at all—just waiting. Watching. Sleeping with his eyes open.
Then, slowly, the Alpha turned his head. Their eyes met.
Pale grey. Not lifeless, but vast—like staring into the ash sky of a dying winter. There was no surprise. No challenge. Just a dull, icy calm, like frozen lakewater. Reo felt the cold of it settle beneath his skin.
But beneath the stillness, there was something else.
Depth. A flicker of recognition, not of who Reo was, but what. A peer. A mirror. Something dangerous enough to matter.
Those eyes weren’t dulled by sedation or boredom. They were just... far away. Watching the world from a distance no one else could reach.
And for a breathless second, Reo wanted to drag him closer.
It was there. That tiny flicker in the air between them. Subtle. Ancient. Pulling.
He smiled. A small, deliberate curve of his mouth. "I want him," Reo said.
His father turned. "Reo—"
"I said," Reo repeated, gaze locked on the Alpha behind the glass, "I want him."
The handler looked between them. "He’s not trained, young master. He may be dangerous."
Reo's eyes gleamed. "Perfect."
In the cell, the Alpha blinked once. Slowly. There was no rush in the movement—just a soft, deliberate gesture, like the twitch of a cat's tail when it finally acknowledges you. His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t move from his reclined position. But something in the air changed.
He saw the boy beyond the glass—violet eyes, silk-lined arrogance, hands tucked behind his back like he thought the world should kneel for him. And then there was this beautiful smile. And instead of indifference, Nagi felt... a pull.
It wasn’t instinct. It wasn’t the heady pulse of scent or the thrill of adrenaline. It was curiosity. An ache of attention.
No one had ever looked at him like that before—not as an asset or a threat, but like a secret worth opening. And when Reo said, "I want him," Nagi didn’t snarl or smirk.
Nagi’s eyes flickered briefly, an almost imperceptible change as he processed Reo’s words. There was no immediate rush to move, no shift in his posture—he remained still, as though caught in a moment of frozen time. His gaze, pale and inscrutable, stayed locked on Reo, as if the young man’s declaration had set something in motion that was beyond words, beyond action.
The handler, standing beside Reo, appeared surprised by the sudden declaration, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced between the two. He had expected some form of resistance from the Alpha, or perhaps a challenge, but Nagi’s response was too quiet, too... compliant.
Reo, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. His violet eyes never left Nagi, a faint, satisfied smile curling at the edges of his mouth. The power dynamics in the room shifted imperceptibly, like a slow tide turning. Reo had spoken, and the world bent for him.
"Are you sure, young master?" The handler’s voice was cautious, but it held a hint of curiosity, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening.
Reo’s smile widened, his stance unshaken, exuding a confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Yes."
His words settled over the room like a command, and Nagi felt something stir within him—a ripple of awareness, of understanding. This was no longer about orders or dominance; this was something else entirely. Something primal, a recognition that stretched beyond the usual pull of Alpha and Omega. Something in Reo’s gaze had pierced through the layers of his training, of his conditioning, and had touched something far deeper.
For a moment, Nagi’s breath hitched, just slightly. It was nothing too noticeable, but to him, it was a betrayal—a crack in the armor he had worn for years. He had trained himself to be indifferent, to be cold. He was not meant to feel. Yet, here, in the presence of the Omega before him, he felt the tug of a leash that was not forced upon him.
His eyes softened, just for a moment, as the world around him seemed to blur into a haze. The idea that someone could see him, not as an asset to be exploited or a tool to be wielded, but as something more... something worth possessing in this quiet, deliberate way, unsettled him.
But he did not resist.
Not because he was afraid, or because he had been broken, but because, somewhere deep within, he understood what this purple haired person meant. This was not about dominance. This was about something else. Something unspoken. Something far more dangerous.
Reo’s parents were still talking to the handler, oblivious to the shift happening between their son and the Alpha behind the glass. Reo, however, was entirely focused on the Alpha. His smile remained, but his gaze hardened with a quiet intensity that sent a subtle, almost imperceptible wave of tension through Nagi’s body. He could feel it—the pull, stronger now, as though an invisible thread had been drawn taut between them.
"You’ll come with me," Reo said, his voice low, but not harsh. There was no trace of doubt in his words. He wasn’t asking. He was simply stating a fact. A declaration that left no room for argument.
The handler blinked, caught off guard by Reo’s decisiveness. "Young master, are you really certain—?"
"I’m sure." Reo’s voice cut through the air with the finality of a locked door. "He’ll be perfect."
Nagi’s lips twitched at the words, something flickering in his chest, a strange mix of understanding and curiosity. Perfect. It was a word he had heard many times before, but this time, it sounded different. For the first time, someone was seeing him—not as a machine, not as a tool—but as something... whole.
For a heartbeat, everything went still. The sterile coldness of the facility seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them—Alpha and Omega—locked in an unspoken understanding. The weight of the moment settled between them like the quiet tension of a wire stretched too thin.
Then, without a word, Nagi stood.
The collar at his neck remained in place, cold and unyielding, but the sense of restraint it once carried felt... lighter. The chain that had bound him to his past, to his training, to his purpose, had snapped. And for the first time, it was not a force outside of him that held him back—it was his own choice.
Reo’s gaze followed him, the quiet anticipation in his eyes only deepening as Nagi approached the glass door, each step measured, purposeful. The handler was still standing there, unsure of how to react, but Reo remained unfazed, watching Nagi move with an almost predatory calm.
Before they opened the enclosure, the handler reached for a thick lead clipped to his belt—a black strap of reinforced polymer designed to attach to the magnetic base of the control collar. He didn’t ask for permission. He just stepped forward, hooked the leash onto the Alpha’s collar with a soft click, and handed the other end toward Reo.
Reo looked down at the offered leash, then back at Nagi.
Slowly, deliberately, he took it—but only for a second.
Then, without hesitation, he unclipped it.
The leash dropped to the floor.
Nagi didn’t flinch. His pale eyes didn’t leave Reo’s face.
Reo stepped closer.
Fingers reaching toward the collar, he touched the clasp with quiet intent. A soft click, and then another—and the band around Nagi’s neck loosened. Reo threw it away, cold metal slipping free against pale skin, leaving nothing behind but the faint impression of where it had sat for so many years.
Nagi stood still.
Unbound. Unleashed.
Owned. But not by force. By choice.
The silence that followed the soft clatter of the leash echoed too loudly in the sterile corridor. It cut through the fluorescent hum, through the sterile chill, leaving only a sharp, ringing quiet that even Reo’s parents turned toward.
His mother froze mid-step, the hem of her designer coat fluttering slightly with the sudden motion. His father’s voice stalled in his throat, eyes narrowing as they focused on the sight before them: their son standing inches away from the unrestrained Alpha, fingers still ghosting over the bare skin where a collar had once been.
"Reo," his father said, tone low with warning, "what do you think you’re doing?"
Reo didn’t look back.
Instead, he lifted his eyes to meet Nagi’s again. The pale-haired Alpha still hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted with anything so base as violence or confusion. He simply watched Reo with that quiet intensity, like the storm behind frost.
"He’s not a thing," Reo said softly, brushing a strand of white hair behind Nagi’s ear. The movement was tender. Gentle. Too intimate.
His father’s expression tightened. "That collar was there for your protection."
"No," Reo replied, finally turning his head, just enough to look over his shoulder. "That collar was there to keep him obedient. I don’t want obedience."
The handler stood frozen in place, unsure whether to intercede or vanish.
"You don’t know what he is, you just met him," his mother said, her voice brittle. "He’s dangerous."
"Good," Reo murmured, turning back to Nagi. "Let him be dangerous. He won’t hurt me."
Reo let the silence stretch between them for a beat longer. Then, with a voice so low it barely stirred the air, he asked, "What’s your real name?"
Nagi tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing a fraction, as if studying the boy in front of him. Slowly, his lips parted. It was the first sound he’d made since they arrived.
"Seishiro... Nagi." His voice was deep, unused, velvet rubbed backward. It scratched at the air like something feral trying to remember how to speak.
It was the first time anyone had asked him.
Reo smiled, small but true. "Seishiro," he repeated, tasting the syllables. Then added, with quiet pride, "I’m Reo. Reo Mikage."
He lifted one hand again, this time offering it, palm up.
Seishiro blinked, something like confusion twitching behind his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he placed his hand in Reo’s.
Reo’s fingers curled gently into Nagi’s as if closing a contract only they could feel.
Behind them, the handler finally cleared his throat, voice cautious. "What are your orders for him, young master?"
Reo turned toward him, never letting go of the Alpha’s hand. "Have his things sent to the car. Effective immediately, he’s under my personal detail."
His mother looked about to protest, but his father lifted a hand to silence her. His eyes lingered on the pair—his son, defiant and radiant, and the Alpha who should have been a weapon but now looked like something else entirely.
Something claimed.
"Fine," his father said curtly. "But he’s your responsibility now. If he turns, if he becomes unstable—"
"He won’t." Reo didn’t look away. “Let’s go, treasure!”
Because in that moment, he knew it in his bones: Nagi wouldn’t turn. Not against him. He would protect. He would obey no law but the one Reo wrote into his touch.
And deep down, Nagi knew it too.
Not by training. Not by blood. But by instinct.
He was his now.
The world Reo ruled shimmered with elegance and blood.
Marble floors gleamed under chandeliers imported from dead empires. Velvet curtains whispered secrets against stained-glass windows. And in the center of it all stood Seishiro — pale-haired, statuesque, his expression unreadable as Reo walked beside him through the heart of his dominion.
“This is not just money and reputation, Seishiro,” Reo said, voice smooth like oiled steel. “This world breathes loyalty. And it bleeds betrayal.”
They descended stone stairs, deeper into the training wing — a place few ever saw unless they were bound by oath or intent to kill.
Weapons lined the walls like a curated art exhibit: blades from every corner of history, each with a tale soaked in blood. Nagi’s gaze paused on a narrow katana, blackened and sleek, its handle wrapped in white.
“You’ll learn them all,” Reo said, already stepping onto the mat at the center of the room. “But first—show me how you move.”
It started with a knife.
Reo tossed it without warning. Nagi caught it midair, his instincts faster than thought. He weighed it lazily in his palm, but his eyes had already sharpened — no longer dulled by the lazy apathy he wore like armor. Now there was fire.
Reo smiled.
“Strike me, Sei’.”
There was no hesitation. Nagi moved — too fast for someone who had never held a blade in his life. Reo parried with a short, curved dagger of his own, the clang of steel echoing like thunder. The two circled, danced — no wasted motion, just power and purpose.
“You adapt quickly,” Reo said between blows, dodging a vicious arc. “Like an Alpha bred for war.”
Nagi looked back at the Omega, unbothered by the sweat building at his temple. “Maybe I was.”
Strike. Parry. Pivot.
Within twenty minutes, Nagi had absorbed half the fundamentals of three weapons. Within an hour, he disarmed Reo with a calculated twist and had the knife to his throat.
“You’d kill me?” Reo asked, voice breathless but steady, his throat tilted to expose the vulnerable skin.
Nagi held his gaze for a long beat. Then, slowly, he lowered the blade — not as submission, but as choice.
“No, never Reo,” he murmured. “But I could.”
Reo’s breath hitched.
He stepped forward, close enough that their chests almost touched. His hand came up, wrapping around Nagi’s wrist with possessive calm. “Good. Because you’re mine. And I don’t intend to waste a weapon like you.”
Something flared in Nagi’s expression. Not submission. Not defiance.
Devotion. The kind that burned silent.
From that day on, Reo trained Nagi personally. Day after day, blade after blade, until the Alpha was a ghost in the dark and a demon in the daylight. He mastered every edge Reo offered him.
And Reo watched it all with the hunger of someone who was not merely building a weapon — but forging his future into one.
The room was cold and stripped of anything unnecessary — one steel table, two chairs, and a drain in the floor that hinted at a history best not spoken aloud.
Reo stood by the one-way mirror, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Nagi was already inside, his long legs spread lazily as he slouched in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest. He looked comfortable, almost too much so, considering the tension of the situation. His silver eyes were fixed on the man tied to the chair across from him, his posture relaxed but with a dangerous, unspoken intensity hovering in the air.
The scent of blood and fear mixed thickly in the room, but there was something else too — a heavy, intoxicating scent. Nagi’s Alpha scent — subtle, yet suffocating. It clung to the air like the faintest whisper of white lilies, sweet but overwhelming, forcing the prisoner’s senses to sharpen to the point of panic.
Reo’s eyes watched the prisoner’s breathing quickened with each second Nagi lingered. The man, an Alpha like Nagi, was trying to hold his ground, but it was obvious that Nagi’s presence was beginning to affect him. The weight of Nagi’s scent pressed down on him with an unnatural force, his shoulders tight as though struggling to maintain control.
Nagi leaned forward, the movement slow and deliberate. His hand, long and elegant, brushed lightly against the man’s shoulder, a touch that was anything but soft. There was something predatory in the way Nagi moved. It was the precision of a trained hunter, playing with his prey before the final strike.
"You know," Nagi murmured, his voice like a cool blade sliding through the air, "Reo hates when people lie to him."
A beat of silence followed.
“He doesn’t punish them. He replaces them.”
The prisoner flinched, his throat tightening as the weight of Nagi’s scent seemed to suffocate him. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, the primal instinct that warned him to either submit or fight — but he couldn't find the strength to push back against Nagi's dominance.
Nagi’s scent of white lilies intensified, each breath of the Alpha making the air around him feel even heavier. The prisoner’s confidence wavered, his body instinctively trying to shrink from the pressure. Even though he was an Alpha, Nagi’s power in this moment was undeniable.
“So,” Nagi continued, his voice smooth but edged with something darker, “who gave you the access codes?”
The man’s lips trembled, but he stayed silent, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
Reo, watching through the one-way mirror, remained unmoving. His gaze, however, never left Nagi. There was something fascinating about the way Nagi dominated even the strongest of Alphas.
Nagi took a step closer, his scent thickening, heavy in the air. The man’s body trembled as he tried to pull away, but Nagi’s grip tightened just enough to make him freeze.
“I don’t like messes,” Nagi murmured, his voice soft but laced with a venomous sweetness that twisted around the man’s throat. “But Reo?” Nagi paused, and the prisoner trembled, all too aware of the Alpha’s presence behind him. “He’d rather just end you. You’ll tell him everything he needs to know.”
Nagi leaned closer, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “I could make this last for hours,” Nagi whispered, his lips brushing just behind the man’s ear. “I could break you piece by piece, but Reo?” Nagi paused, his voice low and chilling. “He doesn’t have time for that. He’ll just get rid of you.”
The prisoner’s eyes went wide, and his breath hitched as his mind raced. The weight of Nagi’s scent was now almost unbearable — the pure, potent aroma of white lilies clung to every breath, making his chest feel tight, his stomach turning with fear.
“And when you're dead,” Nagi continued, the words like a whisper of death itself, “I’ll make sure it’s not a waste. Someone will learn from you. Someone will pay for what you've done.”
The prisoner gasped, too terrified to do anything but comply. Nagi didn’t need to force him; the fear was already doing the work.
Nagi pulled away just enough to let the prisoner speak, his Alpha scent still clinging to the air like a weight, ready to crush any resistance that remained.
Reo felt a stirring inside him. Nagi’s ability to manipulate the atmosphere, to force compliance with nothing but the strength of his presence — it was a skill Reo had come to understand, even if it made him uneasy. There was a coldness to it, a purity in the way Nagi handled situations like this that both unsettled and fascinated him.
“You did good,” Reo said as he entered the room, his voice steady, masking whatever storm churned inside him.
Nagi, still standing behind the prisoner, straightened. His silver eyes met Reo’s, a brief flicker of something deeper passing between them. “I’m your weapon,” Nagi said softly, as though the words had been long rehearsed. There was no arrogance, only certainty.
Reo’s gaze softened, but the undertone of something darker, something possessive, lingered.
“I know,” Reo replied, voice steady but edged with an unspoken challenge. “Don’t forget it.”
And Nagi didn’t hesitate to meet his eyes. “I never will, Reo.”
The neutral grounds estate was an opulent manor tucked away from the prying eyes of the city, where the highest echelons of the criminal world could gather in relative peace. Tonight, a high-stakes summit was taking place—a secret meeting between the leaders of various factions, meant to establish alliances, address disputes, and, above all, showcase power.
Reo stood at the front of the room, his back straight, the mantle of leadership heavy on his shoulders. Despite being the youngest Omega to have taken the reigns of such a powerful organization, he exuded an air of cool detachment. His sharp eyes took in the room, assessing each of the faces present, weighing their intentions. His posture screamed confidence, but internally, there was a nervous edge to him—his every move scrutinized by those who would see him fail.
Seishiro, as always, was by his side. It has been three months since Reo found him. And every day was a good day in the Alpha’s eyes. Reo was with him, he could see light in this dark world full of blood, violence and power. Though silent and still, his very presence was like a protective shield around Reo. His eyes scanned the room with an intensity that could freeze anyone in their path, and his hand, ever so slightly, was always within reach of Reo's. Despite the calm exterior, there was something primal about Nagi—an edge to him that Reo knew could turn deadly if provoked.
The moment Yoichi Isagi entered, the atmosphere of the room changed. He was the leader of his own organization, a formidable Alpha whose reputation alone could silence any room. His tall, composed figure seemed to command attention the instant he stepped inside. His presence was magnetic, cold, and utterly assured. Everything about him screamed power and control, and the other leaders immediately fell into line, waiting for him to make his move.
Beside him, Meguru Bachira followed—his playful, almost carefree demeanor a stark contrast to Isagi's rigid composure. Bachira’s grin was wide and mischievous, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of submission in his every action, a soft obedience to Isagi that no one could ignore. Though Bachira exuded charisma and charm, there was no mistaking the fact that he was a carefully trained Omega, loyal to his Alpha as his right-hand in a way that almost seemed ingrained.
"Reo Mikage," Isagi's voice rang out, his eyes meeting Reo’s with a sharp, calculating gaze. "So, you’ve finally taken the reins of Mikage. I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Thought your father would be more stubborn and let you live 10 years longer as his future heir."
Reo held his ground, his voice steady as he replied, "I didn’t come here to play games, Isagi. This is business." He let the words hang in the air, his eyes locking with the Alpha’s.
Isagi smirked, a knowing, almost predatory smile curling at his lips. "Business," he repeated, his tone low. "We’ll see how well that works for you."
Before either of them could continue, Bachira leaned in, his tone teasing and lighthearted. "I’m curious, Reo," he said, the words almost playful as he fixed Reo with an intense, probing gaze. "How does it feel to be an Omega at the top? You must have a lot of pressure on you—especially when you have so many eyes on you."
Reo’s eyes narrowed, sensing something in Bachira's question that he wasn’t fully prepared for. It wasn’t just idle curiosity—there was a hint of challenge, a subtle probe to see how far Reo was willing to let himself be vulnerable. "I’m not concerned about the eyes on me," Reo replied smoothly. "I’m concerned about the eyes on my people."
Bachira chuckled softly, but before he could speak again, Isagi’s voice interrupted, cutting through the room like a blade.
“Enough, Meguru.” His tone was calm, yet deeply commanding, sending a subtle shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. Bachira wanted to open his mouth as the leader continued to talk. "I said enough."
“Fine fine, Yoichi.” The Omega looked amused by the angry look of his Alpha, even as his mating bond itched from the command.
The meeting had finally begun.
Twelve representatives from the dominant regional factions gathered around the long obsidian table. Each bore the weight of power — some cloaked in tailored precision, others in ceremonial tradition or quiet menace. The underground chamber, shielded against surveillance and interference, crackled with subdued tension. Every breath was measured, every movement a display of dominance or caution.
At the head of the table sat Isagi — whose rise had reshaped three districts and left a trail of restructured alliances in his wake. He exuded stillness, a lethal calm that made the other leaders shift in their seats, subtly aware of the authority he carried without raising his voice.
Bachira appeared almost disinterested — draped in soft, expensive black, head cocked with idle amusement as he stood beside his Alpha. But anyone with true insight into the room’s currents would have seen it: the glint of mischief in his eyes wasn’t just play. It was provocation.
Discussions opened as expected — trade access, shared border security, shifts in influence. Reo, seated among the newer leaders, navigated each topic with calculated professionalism. It was his first presence at such a high-level convergence since taking over Mikage Corp’s syndicate branch. Nagi stood behind him, unmoving, a silent presence radiating proprietary tension.
Then Bachira spoke.
Not loudly. Not even forcefully.
He simply placed a seed into the air like a breath.
“Funny,” he mused aloud, “how two convoys from the western routes were intercepted just days apart, and no one at this table seems to want to acknowledge it.”
The conversation faltered — not frozen, just... bent. Heads tilted. A few side-glances exchanged. One of the older alphas narrowed his eyes.
“I wasn’t aware the Isagi Group was monitoring all movement west of the ridgelines.”
“Oh, we’re not,” Bachira said sweetly. “But you forget how many of your guards used to work for us.”
A pause. Just long enough.
“Meguru.”
Isagi didn’t raise his voice. His hand remained still. Only his eyes shifted — pinning the Omega beside him with a look that made the room’s air grow sharper.
But Bachira, emboldened by the reaction he stirred, didn’t stop.
“And then there’s the issue of the redistributed medical shipments,” he continued, voice soft, innocent. “I mean, that has to be a coincidence, right? Or else someone’s been breaching storage-level codes shared exclusively at this table…”
“Meguru,” Isagi said again. Sharper. Warning now edged his voice.
But Bachira didn’t stop.
“—which makes me wonder if someone here has been—”
“Shut up and kneel, Meguru.”
The command sliced clean through the air.
Bachira froze mid-sentence, lips parted — then slowly, his entire body reacted. His eyes widened, the grin faltered for a breath. His knees met the floor with the fluid grace of someone both well-trained and intimately bound.
He knelt beside Isagi’s chair, spine straight, hands resting elegantly against his thighs.
“…You always know how to make a scene, Alpha,” Bachira whispered, barely audible, chin lifted in subtle defiance, a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips despite the command still coiled around his limbs. His bond mark burned like fire, the Alpha’s scent found his way around his body.
Isagi leaned back in his chair, gaze narrowing just slightly. “Then perhaps next time you’ll remember whose scene it is to talk, Omega.”
His words were soft — almost conversational. But the weight of them was absolute.
He didn’t look at Bachira again. He didn’t need to.
“Now,” Isagi said, eyes turning smoothly back to the rest of the room. “Shall we proceed?”
Tension still pulsed like a heartbeat in the walls, but no one dared hesitate.
Across the table, Reo sat perfectly still. Outwardly composed. But inside — something simmered.
Not embarrassment. Not envy. Something else. Something deeper.
The display had been calculated, yes — and intimate in a way that wasn’t meant for others to fully grasp — and yet, undeniably public. Isagi had silenced his bonded Omega without anger. Without violence. Just power. And Bachira had yielded not because he was weak — but because he wanted to.
Reo’s fingers tightened faintly around the armrest of his chair.
He could feel Nagi behind him — unmoving, as always. But the air had changed. Reo didn’t need to turn to know the Alpha’s gaze was no longer on the table.
It was on him. Burning. Possessive.
Reo shifted slightly, his voice low as he muttered, “Don’t.”
But the word came out more like a question than a command.
Nagi didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.
The soft hum of his restrained dominance settled over Reo’s shoulders like velvet chains. Controlled. Waiting. Watching.
If Isagi’s dynamic with Bachira was precise dominance veiled in polish, then Nagi’s was the silent threat of loyalty honed into obsession.
And Reo realized, with something like dread laced through heat, that while he wasn’t yet bonded — wasn’t owned in the traditional sense — he’d already been claimed.
The meeting continued, but Reo barely heard it.
Behind him, Nagi’s presence pulsed like a second heartbeat — and Reo didn’t know if he wanted to escape it or sink into it completely.
It began in the underbelly of the Mikage port, where whispers of betrayal bled into the salt-heavy air. Reo stood poised at the center of the warehouse, dressed in dark silks that caught the moonlight like blades. Beside him—always beside him—was Nagi, silent and languid, yet pulsing with restrained threat.
They were there to finalize an arms exchange with a minor faction—one known for bending too easily to stronger winds. What Reo didn’t anticipate was the Alpha emissary’s boldness.
The touch was fleeting. Fingers brushing his wrist as papers were exchanged.
But it was enough.
The motion—innocent to any outsider—shattered the fragile veil of Nagi’s composure. His eyes zeroed in, narrowing with feral stillness.
Did he just—?
The scent changed first. Nagi’s pheromones rolled out in a cold, creeping wave—white lilies sharpened into something jagged and predatory. The air shifted, dense with warning.
My instinct is to kill anyone who touches Reo without permission.
There was no conscious decision. No permission asked.
He dares touch what’s mine? In front of me? Like I’m nothing?
The Alpha had already stepped back, unaware—or perhaps unworried—until the atmosphere shifted. Nagi moved on it's own.
No words. No noise.
Just a blur of motion and the crack of a boot heel echoing against cement.
A flicker—silent and brutal—knocking the Alpha to the ground, blade unsheathed and pressed against his throat in the span of a heartbeat.
He leaned in, scent pouring out like venom in bloom—sweet, cold, poisonous.
He will smell me now. He will feel me now. And Reo will know—he’ll know I don’t just protect him. My Reo. Reo. Reo...
The emissary gasped as Nagi's voice sliced in low.
“You touch him again, and I will cut your hands off.”
The Alpha opened his mouth—perhaps to snarl, perhaps to threaten—but Nagi pressed harder, enough to silence him with pressure alone.
The room stopped breathing.
Reo’s voice cracked like ice: “Seishiro.”
Nagi didn’t flinch. His pale eyes burned down at the gasping Alpha.
“Seishiro.” Sharper now.
Still, no movement. The blade remained—steady and cold.
Reo stepped forward. Calm on the surface, but tension coiled in his spine. He knew that scent, that bloom of possessive violence wrapped in lilies. It wasn’t rage. It was instinct. Pure Alpha instinct. But Nagi’s instincts were not like anyone else’s. They didn’t flare. They consumed.
So Reo said nothing further.
He didn’t bark a command. He didn’t assert control.
He touched him. Just two fingers against Nagi’s shoulder, soft and deliberate.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice low. “You don’t need to erase him. Not tonight.”
Something in Nagi twitched. Not his body—his scent. It contracted, folding inward like petals under stormlight.
A beat.
Then Nagi obeyed. The blade pulled back with a fluid motion, so smooth it could have been an extension of breath. But before he moved away, he leaned in close—his voice low, almost too soft for human ears.
“Your fear makes you irrelevant.”
And he said it without malice. Just fact. Cold, steady, final. As though speaking of weather.
But that wasn’t the whole truth.
What no one heard—what the audio didn’t catch—was the unspoken calculation behind Nagi’s action. The flicker of protectiveness so instinctive it scorched through his blood. Not just because the emissary touched Reo. But because Reo didn’t move away fast enough.
That detail lodged itself deep in Nagi’s brain like a burr. That hesitation. That moment where Reo’s guard had slipped.
His scent shifted before the strike—Nagi’s, not the emissary’s. A surge of white lilies, sharp and fresh, blooming with violent clarity. Not to warn. To claim. It curled like smoke through the warehouse, saturating the air with a refined kind of fear. Not wild. Not unhinged.
Pure Alpha.
And underneath it all: Mine.
The Alpha on the ground wasn’t just being taught a lesson. He was being erased.
Nagi’s inner voice was quiet, but absolute. If you reach for what's not yours, you don’t get to touch again.
And when Reo’s voice cut through—stern, commanding—Nagi obeyed. Immediately. But not with regret.
The scent remained for several minutes after the blade had lowered. Wrapping around Reo. Protective. Possessive.
Reo felt it too — the way that scent didn’t push him back, but surrounded him like a shield. Like a promise.
Not a threat to him. A warning to the world.
And perhaps, to Reo as well.
The next day, whispers traveled like wildfire through the underworld: that the young Mikage heir’s Alpha had nearly killed a diplomat for an accidental touch. That the Alpha reeked of lilies and death, of something that didn’t just threaten—it promised. That Reo hadn’t stopped him until the very last second.
They weren’t entirely wrong.
Reo heard the rumors and said nothing. Let them spread. Let the world know what his shadow was capable of. What loyalty forged in fire and instinct looked like.
But silence, when paired with stillness, always had a cost.
In the quiet of his office, when Nagi brought him tea without being asked, when his steps were soundless but his gaze was a brand, Reo felt it pressing in—more than gratitude. More than fear.
And he wondered.
Would there come a time when that violence turned inward? When that beautiful, precise blade twisted to aim at its own wielder? When Nagi’s loyalty—so singular and feral—forgot the line between protection and possession?
And worst of all: would Reo recognize the moment it happened? Would he try to stop it?
Or had something deeper already taken root—something complicit in how it thrilled him? Something that, at the edge of every breath, whispered:
Don’t.
When he touched Nagi’s shoulder the night before, it hadn’t just been to stop him. It had been a test. To see if his voice still reached the Alpha beneath the lilies and bloodlust. To see if the man obeyed.
He had. But the obedience had teeth.
Reo remembered the way Nagi had looked back—not ashamed. Not remorseful. Just patient. Quiet.
Like a wolf waiting to be told where to bite next.
And now, with the silence lingering heavier each day, Reo started to take note of the smaller things. How Nagi always stood slightly closer to doors. How his head would turn, fractionally, at every foreign scent that passed too near. How even in sleep, his body curled around Reo’s side with the protective intimacy of a lover who would burn the world to keep him safe.
This wasn’t obedience anymore. It was ritual.
Nagi didn’t guard Reo because he was told to.
He guarded him because, somewhere between the auction house and the blood-stained dock, Reo had become sacred.
And sacred things were protected with violence.
Reo knew that.
And yet, the fear remained—not of Nagi, but of himself. Of how he’d come to crave the hush in Nagi’s steps, the inevitable weight of his presence in a room.
Reo was no fool. He knew what dependency looked like. He'd watched it consume others.
But this was different. Wasn’t it?
Because even as he poured over ledgers, as meetings loomed and alliances trembled, there was a small voice inside him that echoed every time Nagi entered the room.
He didn’t follow Reo out of duty. He followed because the thought of anyone else near him made his hands twitch. Because Reo wasn’t just his reason—he was the line no one crossed. Not without bleeding for it.
---
The night had fallen heavy, with no wind to stir the trees. The heat of the training still lingered in Nagi’s muscles, a dull ache beneath his skin. He didn’t mind it. Pain, in small doses, reminded him he was still tethered to something. To this place. To Reo.
They sat in the quiet of the weapons hall, the only light coming from the single hanging lamp above. Reo leaned back against the stone bench, nursing a shallow cut along his palm. Nagi sat across from him, sprawled in a posture that looked lazy—except for his eyes.
His gaze was locked on Reo’s hand.
“You should’ve let me take the hit,” Nagi said, voice low, almost unrecognizable in its softness.
Reo didn’t look up. “It was just a graze.”
“That’s not the point.”
A beat passed. Two.
Nagi stood and crossed the space slowly, like an animal approaching something uncertain. Not dangerous—but sacred. When he crouched before Reo, he took the injured hand gently in his own, as if it were made of glass. The contact was careful, uncharacteristic.
His scent shifted—less lilies now, more depth. Smoke, yes. But something bittersweet blooming beneath it.
Reo tried to pull back, but Nagi held him in place, brushing his thumb across the cut.
“You don't protect me by getting hurt,” Nagi murmured. “That’s not what I was made for.”
“You weren’t made for me at all,” Reo had said.
And Nagi, unblinking, had answered, “No. But I chose to be.”
The words should’ve felt comforting. Instead, they sat heavy in Reo’s chest, like a blade pressed flat to his sternum—not enough to cut, just enough to remind him that it could.
Now they sat close. Closer than usual. Reo’s hand still cradled in Nagi’s lap, wrapped in gauze, but his body no longer tense.
“You always stare like that,” Reo muttered. “Like you’re waiting for something to fall apart.”
“I am,” Nagi said without hesitation.
Reo turned his head sharply. “What?”
“I watch everything. Everyone. So I know when to move.” Nagi’s voice dropped, no aggression in it—just truth. “But with you, I watch for the wrong reason.”
Reo blinked.
“Because if you fall apart, I wouldn’t move to stop it. I’d move to make sure no one else sees it.”
That made Reo still. Not because it was sweet. It wasn’t. It was terrifying in its precision. Like Nagi had already imagined the scenario a thousand times, already played it out like a strategy in his mind.
“And then what?” Reo asked, quieter now. “Would you put the pieces back together?”
Nagi tilted his head, considering. “No. I’d hold them. Until you asked me not to.”
It wasn’t poetry. It was mechanical. Brutally honest. That made it worse.
Reo leaned back, throat suddenly tight.
“You say that like... like it doesn’t matter what happens to me, as long as you’re the one holding it.”
Nagi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It matters too much. That’s the problem.”
He leaned forward now, slow. Reo didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“I think about it more than I should,” Nagi said. “Your voice. Your mouth. The way you look at me when you’re about to lie. How you only sleep facing the door. How your scent changes when you bleed.”
Reo flinched—just slightly.
“You’re not supposed to notice that.”
“I notice everything about you.”
Now the air was different. Not charged with rage. But tension. Thick, low, coiling. Nagi was too close. Reo’s knees brushed his thigh. His scent had shifted again—faint sweetness curling at the edges of lilies. No threat. Just focus. Raw, direct focus.
“Why are you telling me this?” Reo’s voice cracked like glass. “Now?”
Nagi looked down at the injured hand. Then up again.
“Because one day, you’ll ask why I touch you like I do. Why I don’t look away when you sleep. Why I’d kill men for brushing your wrist.”
“And you think this makes it better?”
Nagi finally leaned in, close enough that Reo could feel his breath against his jaw.
“No,” he whispered. “I think it makes it yours to stop.”
And that was the first time Reo didn’t speak.
Because he couldn’t.
His mouth was dry, heart loud in his ribs, scent unraveling slightly at the edges without meaning to. And Nagi just sat there, still, waiting—not demanding. But knowing.
It wasn’t seduction.
It was surrender. Patient. Absolute.
It started with Nagi’s fingers brushing Reo’s wrist.
Not accidentally. Not in passing.
Deliberate.
His thumb ghosted over the skin just above Reo’s scent gland, bare where his shirt cuff had slid back during the conversation. A pulse beat there—steady, defiant. But what hit Nagi was the scent.
Lavender.
Not soft. Not floral.
Sharp, violet-dark, with a subtle undertow of warning. Controlled, like everything Reo showed to the world. But here—skin to skin—it bloomed unguarded.
Nagi’s breath hitched. Just for a moment.
So this is what he smells like when he lets go.
He didn’t pull his hand back. And Reo didn’t stop him.
The air shifted—something between them pulling taut, no commands, no violence, no hierarchy. Just silence—and skin.
Reo turned his head slightly, watching him with unreadable eyes. “That’s not where your focus is supposed to be.”
But his voice was quiet. Not teasing. Not annoyed.
It sounded… thin. Too still. Like something waiting to break.
Nagi’s thumb dragged slowly across the same spot, again. Like he was testing something fragile. Or memorizing it. His fingers lingered, just a fraction longer than before, letting his warmth sink into Reo’s pulse.
“You smell like night,” he said, his voice lower than usual. Barely above a murmur. “Like something that doesn’t want to be touched but doesn’t mind if it’s me.”
Reo blinked once. His breath changed. His lips parted—but no words followed.
Instead, Nagi leaned in.
Deliberate. Quiet.
He moved like a creature born from instinct—subtle, silent, patient. His head tilted until his forehead just brushed Reo’s temple. When Reo didn’t move, Nagi pressed closer, exhaling quietly against his skin. Close enough to feel the heat of Reo’s pulse against his lips.
Not dominance. Not submission.
Something else. Something private.
He exhaled slowly, scent spilling into the space between them—white lilies rich with darker notes, possessive and simmering. No longer just a warning. Now a boundary. A mark. An intimacy.
“You let me touch you,” Nagi whispered. His tone wasn’t questioning—it was discovery. And beneath that: something raw. Something tender and edged with confusion.
Reo didn’t move. His wrist stayed exposed beneath Nagi’s hand, lavender blooming like dusk after heat.
And Nagi’s heart—quiet but not calm—beat a little faster. Not from fear.
From wanting. From not knowing how far this would go, or if he could survive what it meant if it stopped here.
He let me stay.
There were no footsteps. No watching eyes. Just this closeness—fragile and terrible in its simplicity.
Reo’s scent curled beneath his ribs now, wound around his lungs like smoke.
Lavender. Calm. Alive. Mine.
Not spoken aloud. Not claimed. But understood.
Nagi didn’t know if Reo realized what kind of permission he’d given with his silence. Didn’t know if he knew what to do with it either.
He could kill without hesitation. Could move like smoke through blood and steel. But this—
This scared him more than any blade ever could.
And still, he didn’t move away.
They were walking the quiet alley that separated the Mikage compound from the outer docks—a shadowed path, too narrow for comfort, and yet chosen precisely for that reason. Fewer eyes. Fewer ears. But still, danger clung to the fog like breath held too long.
Reo’s voice had just begun to form a low murmur when Nagi’s posture changed. Not subtly. Not silently. It snapped tight beside him—coiled like a loaded spring.
He didn’t say a word.
He just moved.
What followed was blur and violence.
A figure burst from the mist, footsteps too silent, a glint of steel—but not a blade. A syringe. Needle sharp, tip gleaming with something thicker than medicine. The attacker lunged straight for Reo.
But he never reached him.
Nagi was faster. Not like a body reacting, but like instinct made manifest. His frame slid between Reo and the strike, hand snapping out to catch the attacker’s wrist midair, force and precision behind the movement so brutal that bones cracked before the man could even scream.
The other hand moved in the same heartbeat. A blade—no ceremony, just necessity—drove beneath the ribs. Clean. Deep. The kind of strike that spoke of training not from books but from blood.
The man choked. Twitched once. Dropped.
The syringe hit the ground. Reo stared as it rolled—until he realized he’d stepped back so far that the warehouse’s cold concrete wall pressed into his spine.
Nagi stood still, blood wet on his hands, breath heavy and visible in the icy air. His head turned—slowly, deliberately—and his eyes locked onto Reo. Those pale, storm-gray irises held no softness now; they were sharpened steel under moonlight, glinting with possession and silent fury. In them was no confusion, no hesitation—only the primal certainty of an Alpha claiming what was his.
And then it happened.
Not speech. Not touch. Scent.
The shift in the air was like a wave crashing down.
Not sharp, not warning. Possessive. Wild. Thick with unfiltered Alpha rage.
White lilies. Always Nagi's lilies. But now wilted and drowning in something feral. Something that scraped against Reo’s senses and made his Omega gland thrum in his neck like prey warned too late.
The scent wrapped around him like smoke. Saturated the air. Coated his lungs.
And beneath it, just barely—
The synthetic chemical that had clung to the syringe. A manufactured heat trigger. Targeted.
They hadn’t wanted to kill Reo. They wanted to make him vulnerable. To induce a scent response. To unravel the Mikage Omega from the inside out.
Nagi had smelled it.
His voice was low and hoarse, a growl carved out from the tension in his chest. “They tried to use that on you.”
He stepped over the body.
“To force you. To claim what they couldn’t earn.”
The Alpha's jaw clenched. Blood dripped from his fingers. “That’s not allowed.”
Reo’s throat moved as he swallowed, but the cold didn’t hide the trembling in his voice. “You killed him without blinking.”
“I didn’t have to think.” Nagi’s eyes were pale in the dark, wide with clarity and unshaken control. “Because you’re mine.”
The words landed heavy. Not poetic. Not pleading. Just true.
The answer struck something raw in Reo. His jaw tightened, breath hitching as he shoved himself off the wall. “You don’t get to decide that alone. You don’t get to make a choice for me like I’m some—some possession you guard with blood!”
He took a step forward, voice rising, hands clenched at his sides. “I’m not your bonded Omega. We’re not - You can’t just—”
“I can,” Nagi cut in, not loud, but final. “Because if I hadn’t, you’d be on your knees, scent-drunk and helpless.”
His gaze didn’t flinch as Reo’s rage flared hot. “They planned to trigger a heat. Strip your mind, bend your body. That syringe wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to take.”
Reo’s breath shook, fury crumbling beneath the sudden weight of that truth.
“And if that ever happens again,” Nagi said, stepping forward now, scent pressing thick around them, “I won’t stop at one body.”
Reo’s eyes flickered—rage giving way to something jagged and vulnerable. “You’re terrifying.”
“You’re mine,” Nagi repeated. Firmer. Like a vow written into his bones. “No one touches you. No one breathes near you. Not unless I say.”
The alley pulsed with tension. Not fear. Something darker. Thicker.
Reo’s pulse hammered at the side of his neck. “I’m not bonded.” The defiance was there, but it trembled—conflicted, caught between instinct and something far deeper.
“You will be,” Nagi said simply. Not as threat. As prophecy.
Then the blade fell from Nagi’s fingers. Metal clattered to the floor, forgotten. Nagi took one step closer—then another. And in its place, he reached—slow and steady—until his hand found the side of Reo’s neck.
Not to bruise. Not to dominate.
Fingers brushed the side of Reo’s throat. Right where his gland pulsed, lavender-soaked and exposed. The touch was feather-light. Reverent. But the power behind it was absolute.
“You smell like lavender,” Nagi murmured, voice soft now—almost dazed. “It calms me.”
He leaned closer, the heat of his breath fanning against Reo’s jaw. “That means you’re mine.”
Reo didn’t argue. Not with words. He didn’t pull away.
He should have. He could have. But something in the way Nagi touched him—not like a weapon, not like a shield, but like something sacred—made the words die in his throat.
His breath came shallow, eyes darting between Nagi’s pale ones and the hand still resting at his neck. “You’re not supposed to say that,” he said, the words nearly a whisper. “Not when it feels real.”
Nagi blinked, slow and unreadable. “But it is real.”
The air hung too still. Too sharp. Their breaths the only sound.
“You think just because you killed for me, I’ll fall into your arms?” Reo asked, a note of defiance laced with something smaller—shaken and scared. “You think that makes you my mate?”
“No,” Nagi said. “But I’d kill again. I’d do worse, Reo.”
His voice dropped, all that heavy quiet anger turning low and intimate. “Because I don’t care what rules they wrote about bonding. I already feel it. When someone touches you, I see red. When I smell you—lavender, thick and sweet—I forget how to not want you.”
Reo’s eyes widened. His Omega instincts surged hot, conflicted between terror and craving. He tried to speak, but his voice broke before a word formed.
Nagi leaned closer.
“I don’t need you to submit,” he whispered, lips barely an inch from Reo’s. “I just need you to stay.”
It was almost a kiss—almost. But Nagi didn’t take it.
He let the moment stretch, dense and magnetic, like gravity had reoriented itself between them.
Then his head dropped just slightly, resting gently against Reo’s, their temples brushing, breath mingling in the chill. The contact wasn’t strategic or primal—it was human. Quiet. Desperate in its restraint.
“I’ll wait,” Nagi said, eyes slipping closed for the first time since the attack. “Even if it drives me mad.”
The air trembled between them. Reo could feel the pulse of Nagi’s heartbeat through the bare inch separating their bodies, like an echo reverberating under his own skin.
Reo swallowed, his heart a traitor thudding against his ribs. His hand moved, unsure, until his fingers brushed Nagi’s wrist—right where dried blood clung, where violence had stained him only minutes ago.
The scent was still there—white lilies and something deeper, heavier, as if his touch reawakened the remnants of rage and tenderness alike.
His thumb hovered, then slowly traced the line of Nagi’s vein. It was a silent question. A confession wrapped in tremors.
“You shouldn’t want this,” Reo said under his breath, barely audible. “Not someone like me.”
Nagi didn’t move away. His other hand came up slowly, cupping the back of Reo’s neck, holding him there—not to trap, but to ground. His breath was warmer now, laced with restraint.
“I want all of you Reo,” he murmured. “Even the parts that run. Even the parts that fight me. I want all of Reo.”
Reo’s voice cracked. “That’s not fair, Seishiro...”
“No,” Nagi agreed, his grip softening. “But it’s true.”
Reo didn’t flinch from the closeness. He didn’t pull away from that either. He slowly let himself sink into the Alpha's embrace.
It happened behind reinforced doors.
A private suite deep within the Mikage compound, buried beneath stone and steel where no scent could bleed into enemy hands. The walls were smooth, matte-black. One small lamp lit the space, its glow golden and low, casting a haze over Reo’s desk, his holsters, the half-buttoned dress shirt flung across the leather chair.
He’d called it a “safehouse room.”
But tonight, it felt like a cage made of nerves.
Reo stood near the bed—bare-chested now, his pulse skipping just beneath the gland on his neck. Lavender drifted slow and heavy through the air, not wild but anxious, like a flower about to bloom and break at the same time. The taut lines of his body betrayed a tension even his breath couldn’t mask.
The door clicked.
Nagi entered silently, eyes pale and heavy-lidded with something unreadable. Taller, broader, his presence filled the room without a word. His gaze swept across Reo—languid, then sharpening as he crossed the space in quiet, slow strides.
He didn’t speak. He reached out.
Fingers brushed Reo’s wrist, then circled it gently. His thumb slid over the scent gland there—once, then again, more firmly. Reo's skin buzzed where he touched, the gland pulsing as lavender thickened in the air. Nagi leaned closer, his breath grazing Reo’s cheek.
“Your scent always spikes first when I’m near,” he said, blunt, low.
His hands moved next—deliberate, slow. He unclasped Reo’s waistband, the fabric loosening beneath his touch, then began to slide the shirt off his shoulders. Nagi didn’t rush. Every inch of skin he revealed was met with another touch—cool, reverent, full of something far deeper than urgency.
“You're smaller up close than you act,” he murmured as he traced Reo’s ribs. “But you hold yourself like you’re untouchable.”
“I’m not—” Reo started, but the words caught.
“You are. Just not from me.”
Reo shivered.
Nagi’s palms flattened against Reo’s chest, his thumbs brushing over his heart. “Always beating fast when I touch you. Even now.”
“And you’re too calm,” Reo shot back, heat flashing in his voice. “Like you already think I’m yours.”
“You are.”
Reo’s chest rose, lips parting—but Nagi spoke again before he could answer.
“Say it,” Reo said instead, his voice rough now, cracked at the edges. “Say you’re not just claiming me because you killed for me.”
“I’m claiming you,” Nagi said, voice steady, “because I’ve already been yours. Since before either of us knew it.”
Nagi stepped closer, his movements unhurried but deliberate. The golden glow from the lamp gilded the edges of his pale hair, casting the sharp lines of his body in stark shadow. Reo's eyes were fixed on him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as Nagi reached out—his hand finding Reo’s wrist once more, fingers curving around it with casual possession.
But this time, his thumb grazed the pulse point.
Directly over Reo’s scent gland.
The moment of contact drew a sharp inhale from the Omega. The lavender scent bloomed, lush and thick in the air, spiked with anticipation and something dangerously close to surrender. Nagi’s pupils dilated further. He leaned down, his breath ghosting over Reo’s skin.
“You like when I touch you here,” Nagi murmured, almost absentmindedly—but his voice was edged in hunger. “Your scent gets stronger. It begs.”
Reo didn’t speak. He couldn’t—not when the weight of Nagi’s presence was pressing down like gravity itself.
Nagi let go only to reach for the hem of his own shirt. With one fluid motion, he pulled the dark fabric over his head and let it drop to the floor. The contrast between them struck Reo instantly. The Alpha’s build was broad, cut from effortless strength, his shoulders wide, torso lean, muscle stretched smooth beneath pale skin. Not bulky, but undeniably powerful. The kind of power that didn’t need to posture.
The kind that owned the room without saying a word.
Reo swallowed hard. His gaze trailed over the planes of Nagi’s chest, the slope of his collarbones, the tight draw of his abdomen. Despite the anxiety still thrumming in his veins, despite the tension curled tight inside his chest, he felt a rush of heat spread beneath his skin.
“You’re staring,” Nagi said flatly, but there was a curl to his lips. Not quite a smirk. Not quite a smile. Something darker. More knowing.
“You’re unfairly built,” Reo shot back, voice hoarse.
Nagi tilted his head slightly, pale eyes unreadable. “Then stop me.”
He stepped in again. This time, his hands didn’t stop at Reo’s wrist. They skimmed along his arms, up to his shoulders, and then down again—mapping every inch with possessive familiarity. Reo shivered at the touch, his breath catching as Nagi leaned in close.
The Alpha’s scent washed over him in full.
White lilies, once soft, now sharpened into something intense. Overwhelming. Claiming. The air grew thick with it, as if the very walls had been painted in that fragrance. It surrounded Reo like a net, coaxing his scent to rise in response, lavender blooming wildly in tandem.
Nagi leaned down, lips brushing Reo’s ear. “You smell like you want to be ruined.”
Reo’s knees nearly buckled.
“I smell like I don’t want to be handled like a glass doll,” he muttered, teeth clenched. “You keep touching me like you’re afraid I’ll break.”
Nagi’s hands moved lower, sliding with intention along Reo’s waist, thumbs hooking under the waistband of his pants.
“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I’m restraining myself.”
He dipped his head, nosing along the base of Reo’s throat. “Barely.”
A tremor ran through Reo’s spine as Nagi mouthed at the edge of his scent gland, not biting, just breathing him in. The Alpha’s exhale was shaky, fogged with want.
“I’m not good at holding back,” Nagi added, voice rougher now. “Not when it comes to you.”
The confession caught Reo off guard.
He expected bluntness. He didn’t expect... honesty.
Their eyes met. For a moment, silence hung suspended between them, heavy and fragile. Then Reo reached up, fingers ghosting over Nagi’s cheekbone. His touch was careful. Reverent. Like he couldn’t believe Nagi was real like this, standing in front of him, bare and possessive and his.
“I want you,” Reo said, his voice cracking slightly. “Not the protector. Not the weapon. Just you.”
Nagi’s response was a whisper: “Then let me give you all of me.”
And he did.
He sank to his knees, hands never leaving Reo’s body, the tension turning from hunger to worship.
They hadn’t even begun—and still, it felt like everything had already changed.
Nagi’s hands were steady—too steady for the storm churning behind his pale eyes. As he slid Reo’s remaining clothes down, he did it slowly, not with hesitation, but with intent. His fingers dragged along skin like he was cataloging each detail: the rise of Reo’s hipbones, the twitch of muscle at his thigh, the subtle shiver each graze elicited.
Reo’s heart was a drumbeat against the still air.
He was exposed now. Completely.
But not once did he feel vulnerable—only wanted. Watched. Like he was being memorized from the inside out.
“Beautiful,” Nagi muttered under his breath.
The word was so soft Reo almost missed it—but the way Nagi’s gaze dragged across his body made it ring louder than any shout. Praise, blunt and unsweetened, exactly like everything else about the Alpha.
“You’re not saying that just because I’m naked, are you?” Reo tried to inject some lightness, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.
Nagi looked up from where he knelt between his thighs, hair slightly mussed from Reo’s earlier touch. “No. I’d say it if you were covered in blood or armor or fuckin’ pajamas.”
The words hit like a blow—disarming and possessive all at once.
Reo laughed, short and breathy, then reached for Nagi, cupping his jaw. “You’re an idiot.”
“You’re the one that wants this idiot, Reo.” Nagi’s hands came up, gripping Reo’s thighs, firm and grounding. Nagi’s scent spiked.
The lilies grew denser, thicker. They clung to Reo’s skin like heat, seeped into his breath, made his glands flutter wildly in response. Reo felt it in his belly, a weightless ache curling low, sharp with need.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he whispered, his voice gone quiet and strained.
“Yeah.” Nagi’s eyes half-lidded. “You like it.”
And Reo did. He liked being surrounded by it, buried beneath the weight of Nagi’s presence. There was something anchoring in how he took up space, how he said things without hiding them, how he looked at Reo like there was nothing else in the world worth touching.
The way he touched him now—slow, reverent, yet with a certainty that left no space for fear—Reo felt like every inch of his body was claimed long before teeth had ever broken skin.
Then came the first real stretch of silence. No teasing. No words.
Just breath and body and trust.
Nagi’s hands roamed again—lower this time. Testing, coaxing, until Reo arched into his touch with a soft sound he hadn’t meant to let out. His thighs parted further, unthinking, guided by the warmth Nagi fed him without even trying.
The Alpha took his time.
He didn’t rush the preparation. There was no teasing arrogance, no smirk—just focus, stripped bare of pretense. Nagi’s touch was measured, almost clinical in its intent, but the effect it had on Reo was anything but.
Reo’s breath stuttered as Nagi’s fingers slicked and circled, then slowly eased inside his hole. The sensation was unfamiliar and intimate in a way Reo hadn’t anticipated. His thighs trembled, his lower belly coiling with a heat that pulsed deeper than arousal—it was instinctive, raw. Something in him opened, not just physically, but chemically.
The scent in the room thickened—lavender unspooling into heavy waves, tinged now with something sweeter, more vulnerable. A response he couldn’t suppress, even if he’d tried. His body knew what it wanted before his mind could catch up.
Nagi’s voice cut through the haze, low and grounding. “Feels good.”
Reo bit down on the inside of his cheek, jaw tense as his hips shifted restlessly. It wasn’t just good. It was blinding. Every nerve felt closer to the surface. Sensitive. Starved.
“Soft here,” Nagi murmured, pressing deeper.
Reo whimpered then—a sharp, surprised sound that left his lips before he could stop it. His face flushed, equal parts overwhelmed and humiliated. But Nagi didn’t mock him. He just leaned closer, scent pressing over him like a weighted blanket.
The Omega gasped—his body locking up, slick already beginning to pool down the Alpha’s fingers, and he cursed softly, trying to brace himself.
“Sensitive Omega. Let me, Reo.”
And Reo did.
His body went pliant beneath him, legs parting further, back arching as he tried to ride out the waves of stimulation. His Omega instincts surged to the surface: scent gland fluttering, pupils blown wide, skin flushed at the collarbones and chest. His body was inviting—a plea wrapped in vulnerability, saying yes in every way that mattered.
But what undid him most was the way Nagi looked at him. Focused. Unwavering. Like Reo wasn’t just beautiful or desirable—he was essential.
His voice cracked. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something you already own.”
Nagi didn’t stop. One more curl of his fingers had Reo gasping, body jolting. “Because you are.”
Reo turned his face into the pillow, teeth gritted. His hips rocked involuntarily now, chasing friction, losing the thin barrier between resistance and need. Every second stretched taut, each breath shallow and ragged.
His glands pulsed harder. The back of his neck burned—not from embarrassment, but from yearning.
He was entering that cusp. That moment when the Omega stopped being aware of dignity and just needed. And Nagi, with that terrifying gentleness, was letting it happen—was coaxing it out of him like he had all the time in the world.
And Reo? He was close to begging.
He wanted more. He wanted the pressure, the fullness, the bite—not just because of biology, but because it was Nagi. Because only with him did surrender feel like safety instead of loss.
It didn’t take long for Reo’s head to fall back, lashes fluttering, body shivering under the slow invasion. He wasn’t used to being undone like this. Not by gentleness. Not by devotion.
And Nagi knew it.
“You’re already shaking,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the inside of Reo’s thigh. “You always act so strong.”
Reo clenched his jaw. “Shut up and get on with it.”
“No,” Nagi said simply. “You’re going to feel all of it. Every second.”
Then he leaned over Reo, letting their bodies align, skin brushing skin, and Reo felt just how ready Nagi was. Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, instinctively. There was no mask to hide behind here. Only the truth of scent and pulse and want.
“You good?” Nagi asked, his voice rougher now.
Reo reached up, threading a hand through his white hair, pulling him down until their foreheads touched.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything,” he whispered. “Just—don’t let go Seishiro.”
Nagi’s answer was immediate. “I couldn’t even if I tried.”
Nagi knelt above him, pale body framed in the low amber light, skin damp with sweat, muscles tensing as if holding back something feral. His eyes—those pale, unreadable eyes—burned with heat, but more than that, with certainty. Not lust alone. Not dominance alone. Something far deeper, instinct-bound.
Reo lay beneath him, bare and trembling, not from fear but from the sheer weight of everything this moment meant. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, the scent of lavender blooming rich and raw into the space between them. It clung to Nagi’s skin, reacting, pleading. A part of Reo screamed to retreat—to shield the most fragile parts of himself. But a louder part, the honest part, begged for touch.
Nagi didn’t ask for permission. He never needed to. His fingers slid over Reo’s hips, slow and reverent, before guiding himself to the threshold of Reo’s body. He leaned in, lips brushing against Reo’s cheekbone in a rare show of gentleness.
“You want this,” he murmured. Not a question.
Reo nodded, jaw tight, voice caught in his throat. I need you. Please.
Nagi entered him in one slow, unrelenting push.
The breath punched out of Reo’s lungs. His spine arched, hands gripping at the sheets with white-knuckled desperation. It wasn’t just pain or pressure—it was surrender. It was the unspoken truth: no one else had ever been allowed this close.
Nagi froze, buried deep, forehead pressed to Reo’s shoulder as he exhaled a trembling breath. “Fuck… You feel like you’re made for me.”
Reo’s breath hitched, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His heart raced beneath his ribs, vulnerable, exposed. You could ruin me. And I’d still want you.
“I’ll hold you,” Nagi whispered. “Always.”
Then he began to move.
Slow at first. Careful. But each motion carved something deeper into the moment. Nagi’s Alpha instincts began to surface—his grip tightened, his breath grew harsher, his scent intensified until the room was drenched in lilies and sweat. Possessive, protective, reverent.
Reo moaned, the sound cracking under the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His body burned, stretched open and vulnerable, and yet he felt safe. Claimed.
“You’re mine,” Nagi growled, voice deeper now—almost guttural—hips slamming forward with a force that bordered on primal. “And no one touches what’s mine. Ever.”
The possessiveness in his voice struck Reo like a current, ripping through his spine, making his breath catch in his throat. The pressure, the heat, the absolute certainty—it overwhelmed. His body reacted before his mind could catch up: thighs tightening, scent flaring, moans caught somewhere between surrender and disbelief.
Tears gathered in his eyes, unbidden. Not from pain. But from the raw intensity of being seen—of being wanted so fiercely, so unapologetically, that it shattered every defense he thought he had left. His chest trembled with each breath, scent gland pulsing, pouring lavender into the space like a call for more.
Nagi didn’t let up. Didn’t falter. The deeper his instincts surfaced, the more Reo felt them: in the grip on his hips, in the heat of his breath, in the near-snarl that coated his praise. The words sank into Reo’s skin like fangs. Like permanence.
And Reo—body flushed, mouth trembling—could only whisper back, "Then take me. All of me."
Nagi growled, and obeyed.
He moved faster, rougher, a growl caught in his throat as the bond between them began to charge, thread by thread, through every friction-slicked point of contact. He wasn’t just fucking him. He was anchoring him.
They weren’t speaking anymore. Their bodies had taken over, louder than any language, more fluent than any vow. But inside Reo, the storm raged louder still.
His thoughts flickered like flame—How can something feel this terrifying and sacred at the same time? Nagi moved within him like he belonged there, like he'd always known how to command the deepest parts of him. Reo’s breath stuttered, every thrust sending shocks down his spine, loosening his grip on control. It wasn't just his body yielding—it was his pride, his walls, his carefully held mask.
"Fuck—you're so tight, Reo. So good for me," Nagi growled, his voice cracked and rough with instinct. "Let go. Let me have it. Let me have Reo. My Reo."
Reo gasped, hands trembling as they clutched at Nagi's shoulders. His mind screamed to hold on, to not lose himself completely—but his body, his soul, sang at the sound of that voice. His thighs quaked as his scent burst free, flooding the room with lavender so thick and sweet it nearly veiled the raw lilies now choking the air from Nagi’s claim.
"You’re too big," Reo whimpered, tears catching in the corners of his lashes, but his hips rolled up helplessly. And you feel perfect. You fill every empty part of me.
Nagi didn’t slow. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to the curve of Reo’s throat, voice rasping, "That’s because you were made to be mine, Reo."
Reo's pulse skipped—rage, fear, arousal, love—all tangled together. He wasn’t just being taken. He was being consumed. And deep inside, he wanted that. Needed it. The world could burn away around them and he wouldn’t care—not as long as Nagi kept him pinned here, worshipped here, wanted here.
Nagi’s rhythm grew desperate, his hips snapping harder, deeper, dragging cries from Reo’s throat that didn’t sound like him—raw, keening, stripped of pretense. His arms caged Reo in completely now, forearms braced on either side of the Omega’s head as his scent spiked—white lilies so intense they clung like heat to the air, like stormclouds before lightning.
The bond burned between them. Reo could feel it in the marrow of his bones—threading tighter, electric with every thrust. A weightless, trembling ache built low in his belly, and he could barely breathe around it. His voice trembled.
“Sei - Alpha… I—” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. That he was scared. That he wanted more. That he wanted everything.
The Alpha’s hand slid up, calloused fingers curling possessively around Reo’s throat—not to choke, never that—but to feel the way his pulse fluttered beneath skin. “You’re shaking,” Nagi murmured, voice rasped and thick. “That feel too good?”
Reo whimpered, nodding as he arched into the touch, his scent pouring out uncontrolled. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Let go.” Nagi’s mouth brushed against his scent gland, the place just below his ear pulsing with heat. “Reo, my mate. My Omega. Let me make you mine.”
The words cracked something wide open.
Reo’s nails dug into Nagi’s arms. His eyes glazed, mouth falling open as his release tore through him with devastating force. His scent flared violently—lavender thick as fog—and with it, came the final trigger.
Nagi surged forward, the bite instinctual, primal.
His fangs sank into Reo’s scent gland, just as his knot swelled and locked them together.
Reo screamed—high and broken and beautifully undone. The pain was brief, the bond immediate. White heat ripped through him as if his soul had been sewn into another’s. He felt Nagi inside him—emotionally, psychically, permanently. His mind spiraled with the flood of emotion bleeding through the new bond: reverence, need, possession, love.
Then—through the haze—Reo bit back.
His mouth latched onto Nagi’s throat, and with one sharp snap of instinct, his own teeth buried into the Alpha’s gland. Claiming him in return.
Nagi’s growl broke the silence like thunder. His hips stuttered in their final thrust, his body trembling violently above Reo’s as his climax surged. Every part of him—his scent, his breath, his pulse—wrapped around Reo like a shield, a brand, a vow.
They stayed that way for a long moment.
Tangled. Bonded. Breathless.
Their glands bled faintly where they'd marked each other—red against pale skin, the shape of forever. Their scents merged in the air—lavender wrapped in lilies, heat bound to heat, soul to soul.
Nagi finally spoke, voice hoarse, forehead resting against Reo’s.
“You’re mine now.”
Reo, flushed and trembling beneath him, managed a breathless laugh, eyes wet with something far more dangerous than tears.
“I’ve always been. Love you, Sei.” The Alpha looked stunned, his eyes shined bright with excitement.
“D-did you just get bigger – S-Seishiro-! No, no more stop it, Alpha f-fuck!” Said Alpha only pressed own lips together and leaned into another kiss.
“Reo’s an idiot.”
I feel the same, Reo. Love you. My Reo. My mate. My Omega. My light.
The compound had never felt so quiet.
Not dead—just… settled. Like something volatile had finally burned itself out, leaving only the glow of embers in its wake. The halls no longer echoed with the tension of unspoken power struggles or measured silence. Instead, the calm carried weight. Something earned.
Reo stood at the tall window of his quarters, watching the city burn dimly in the distance. The sharp glow of neon from the lower districts shimmered like distant sirens. His shoulders were relaxed beneath the drape of his half-open shirt, the scent of lavender drifting faintly from his skin.
He didn’t flinch when he heard the door shift behind him. Soft, like breath. Like inevitability.
Nagi padded into the room silently, the sound of bare feet against polished wood. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
Instead, he stepped in close behind him—so close Reo could feel the subtle heat radiating off his skin. A breath later, strong arms wrapped gently around his waist. Nagi leaned in, large frame curling naturally to Reo’s back, chest pressed firm against his spine, chin tucking easily atop Reo’s shoulder.
Reo let out a slow exhale, not resistance—just release. He let himself sink into the warmth behind him.
Nagi’s lips brushed against his shoulder, then slowly found their way to the bond mark at the crook of his neck. A single, reverent kiss. No demand in it—only devotion. Like sealing something sacred.
“My Reo, missed my mate the entire mission,” Nagi murmured, the words warm against Reo’s skin. “You belong to me.” He added and inhaled the soft scent of lavender. Ah, my favorite smell.
Reo felt the familiar thrum in his chest—an ache mixed with something like reassurance. He didn’t recoil. Instead, he relaxed, tilting his head back to rest gently against Nagi’s.
“That’s only true because I let it be,” he replied softly.
Nagi answered with a tender kiss, slow and deliberate, pressed once more to the same mark—a silent vow, a quiet reminder: I haven’t forgotten.
Then Reo turned within the circle of his arms.
Their eyes met—lavender and pale steel.
Reo’s gaze shimmered, luminous with something untamed and bright, twin amethysts glowing under the low light, mirroring the bloom of his scent: sweet, heady lavender, thick with warmth and feeling. It clung to the air like a promise unspoken, softening even the sharpest corners of the room.
Nagi’s pale grey eyes, usually unreadable as winter skies, lingered longer this time. They didn’t burn—but they held weight. Like his scent, cool lilies touched with something darker, protective. A quiet storm held back behind a mask of stillness. But in this moment, as he looked at Reo, the blankness faded. The cold dulled. And Reo saw it. Felt it. Not possession. Not power. But choice.
And when Reo leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was his own answer.
Their lips met—slow, deep, and devastating in its simplicity. There was no fight in it. No performance. Just the raw truth of two men who had stripped each other bare, and still chosen to stay.
The kiss broke, but their foreheads stayed pressed. Breaths mixing in the quiet.
“I’ll never own you,” Nagi said, voice low, “but I’ll protect what you give me. Always.”
“And I’ll never let go of what I chose,” Reo whispered back.
True power isn’t domination. It’s trust. In being seen. In choosing, and being chosen in return.