Content Warnings:

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark, Possessiveness, Angst, Pining, Smut, Forced Relationship, Pheromones, Emotional Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Omega Miwa Kasumi, Alpha Gojo Satoru, Yandere Gojo Satoru, Stalking, Blackmail, Alpha Inumaki Toge, Sugar Daddy, Teacher-Student Relationship, Age Difference, Jealousy, Drama & Romance, Abusive Relationships, Past Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Flashbacks, Atheism, Mating Bites, Family Drama, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Gojo Satoru, Bottom Miwa Kasumi, Top Inumaki Toge, no beta we die like women, morally gray characters, Intense.

Tell me if I had missed any tags.


Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.


Author's Note:

[notice: I had to change my username due to privacy reasons.]

Guys, I'm neither Japanese nor a native English speaker. If you find any mistakes in any of my stories, just let me know. I'll gladly correct it. Or please ignore it. If anybody is wondering about my other Gojomiwa fic, I have been jotting it. However, I got distracted in the middle of it and wrote this. Don't ask me how. I did. I just did.

I'm grateful for your love. And here's an Omegaverse.


"Frankincense Burning"


CHAPTER 1

Cerulean Porcelain


.

A hand enclosed her shoulders from behind, pushing her against a hot, rugged chest. The man's rolled-up cuffs smelled like Tom Ford Noir. Cold spicy patchouli. By and by, like a wispy snowflake, a soft laugh puffed into her ears. Practised sinewy fingers disappeared under her shirt and pinched her waist. Her heart skipped a beat when a forefinger slid to her navel, gently prodding. "S-stop that." She tittered, cheeks flushed Nadeshiko in the afterglow of sex.

Toge. She jolts upright on the bed, her nightgown slipping off her left shoulder. The bed felt cold without him. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. Like you ever wanted him to stop. A mocking hiss in the back of her mind ruffled her feathers. It is of no use. Rain or shine, she could never stretch the truth with him. Inumaki knew her "tells" by heart.

Water gushed from the opened faucet. She can't do this anymore. Before they haul her and her brother out of the apartment, she must get a banknote with enough zeros and nonzeros in it. Her trembling hands reached up to pull hard at the roots of her hair. I miss his teasing and his laughs. I miss waking up next to him.

Miwa regretted taking a sip of the matcha milk tea left on the nightstand. Her nausea had only intensified. Her pale reflection stared back from the mirror as she used the mouthwash. Not the ideal time to be gawking at the sluggish ceiling fan and fantasizing about your ex. She had to do something soon.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

.

I've been down lately. These days I cry a lot, and I believe I've always felt a little broken. Bust-ups are the worst because they leave me feeling hopeless, helpless, massively sad and guilty. I abhor shouting matches with the people I love because they make me want to end my life. And no, it isn't because I don't genuinely believe—all I want is the truth. (I would accept my mistake if I'm one at fault.) First of all, I never liked deceiving myself. Secondly, lying is a distasteful burden. ( I fucking hate lies. ) Last but not least, I'm a shit liar.

It's more so given I know I have been unjustly and brutally accused. Yet it gives me the impression that my family would be happier without me. However, I'm aware that my death will make him heavy-hearted, shove responsibility into his shoulders and make him miserable. I love him too much to give him such a parting gift. I'm not unaware that he loves me. He's my family, after all. It's just that I don't feel like he does. I do love myself. I've come a long way in my life, maybe not that long since I'm still a teenager (although legally an adult), but it is long enough for me. I've been through sadness, fed up with moping around. It took the effort to become this better, far better version of myself. Some peace sounds good. That's all.

I'm an introverted person who loves her own company. As things go, I have a decent social life, but given the state of things lately, it looks like even that is about to fall apart. But I prefer home, sweet home. I'm happiest there, in the small space of my apartment. But lately, I've been depressed at home. It's killing me.

I don't like to remember that the relationship between my brother and me is strained. Everything's been killing me. I feel lost. I feel like I've been lost since the day I was born. What is wrong with me?

Screw that. I'm pretty and wise. Then again, I have been dumb off and on. Come what may, the past is past. From mistakes, we learn.

I have to live! I love me.

I'll be unkind. I'll be happy.

.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It grimaced her to touch the base of her neck. Wincing, she flipped her diary close, thumping it aside in a drawer. Her water bottle was filled. She shoved the platform pumps into her backpack, everything in apple-pie order. Upstairs, the sound of Momo bragging about her favourite character in a dumb big-budget series could be heard, followed by Mai asking to put a rose on her nose. The blonde hopped down the wooden stairs before shooting a confused look at Miwa's attire. Her palm slid on the rails with a girly squeak. "Where are you going?"

Feeling a bit nippy, Miwa drew the knitted scarf around her shoulders.

"Felt like going for a ride." Momo tossed her a funny look.

"Are you seeing someone?" She crossed her arms over her chest, hovering above Miwa from the lowest step, although she was the shorter one out of them.

Miwa tugged at the collar of her clothing before glancing down at her pedicured feet. She hurried to reply before her other roommate could smell something fishy from their silence. But Momo beat her to it. "I'm not asking anything right now." Taking a dekko behind her and assuring Mai was still on the phone, she sneaked closer to whisper. "Did you take the pepper spray?"

Miwa nodded as she intertwined their fingers, giving Momo's arm a reassuring squeeze. There was a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in her other arm. Draping on her beige trench coat, she took a nibble from the golden brown perfection. The beta classmate-turned-best-friend has not yet gotten to know the scent of Miwa's anger. The taller girl doesn't plan to tell.

Pepper wouldn't work on him, at least not the way she wanted. After all, she has tried it once to come face to face with the unsavoury truth. She slipped on a pair of yale blue old-school shoes and cycled into the wind, travelling west. Momo watched her retreating friend with a sour taste in her mouth.

.

On the left, treetops began to shrink; occasionally, the ocean glinted through the birch trees edging the route. She clumped her feet onto the pedal and wheeled uphill against the wind until she could feel her feet no more. After about half an hour (if the time on her watch was right), she pulled the brakes.

It's been some time since those days she lost her past self for all time, till kingdom come. It wasn't easy to face up to the truth. Those days, Miwa felt like a nobody. Squirming and writhing in the cold cradle of a bed, she had contemplated for hours what would've happened if her folks had been alive. What it must feel like to not be forced to do things for the sake of herself and her little brother, her only family, to keep the wolf from the door, how it would've been if she had not presented last year. She had to stop pondering about things that'll never be reversed. She could never revert to that optimistic young girl with a promising future.

Beyond the lane, a dim lamp kept flicking on and off. There is no bus line here. While she strolled past the streets of Tokyo, Miwa wondered why she covered herself beneath the coat she had on. She recalled what Mai had hushed to her the day before. "I think it's time for you to switch clothes. The recent trend? The sexier one?"

She chuckled. Do you really think that'll make me happy?

Gone were the days she cared about being the "pure angel" soul and wasted herself for nothing. Long shredded were the lurid costumes of the people pleaser she used to be. Lessons taught the hard way stay a long way. Goodness, how wrong you are, Mai? Time is a light that opens eyes, a black art that rewrites people. Now, she wants to live, breathe, and feel what life has put in the bid for her. She wishes, a habit she couldn't get rid of. When all is said and done, the pure and the wicked come in the same vein.

The mannequins displayed in the shop windows had on tight skater dresses. Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms over the glass panes. Was that going to make a difference? She wasn't sure. Maybe she ought to leave for a mission this one time, this one more time.

The emptiness of her neighbourhood seemed like an impression of herself. It had been too much at first. If she had the money, she would've moved out of the apartment for the same: a change she'd been trying so hard to pursue. She had started to get accustomed to this urgency, though. The more you get used, the less it affects you. If nothing else, Miwa did make an effort and took a stab. Momo had been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about the warming season nowadays. Yet the air felt stale to Miwa, the roads abandoned and dank.

Why? Just why did she not remain an easygoing beta? Beta was what fit her well. She is not supposed to be what she is.

An elderly welcomed her in and hastened to push the piece of clothing into her arms. The overly neat and sophisticated interior of the shop felt refreshing. How did this woman alone mop every nook and cranny spotless? For sure, she must have someone else to lend a hand. Miwa couldn't recall this place. Since selling her old apartment in the suburbia, she hadn't dropped in on this side of the city. She bit her lips and surveyed around. Or did she pass by here like half a year back or something? Whatever...

As was told, she undid her flies and pulled the denim down her legs in the brightly lit cubicle. Miwa couldn't accept that some shopkeeper gave her something purely expensive. Sadly, everything came with a cost. Even now, the fact that she had a ginormous prize to pay was something she couldn't get to grips with.

As far as she can say, elegant fabrics like these might cost half a yen they pay for her apartment's monthly rent. She can't be faulted for being derisive, not doubtful. Most would ask if this lady wasn't kidding.

Around Miwa, each wall had a full-length oval mirror on which she admired the outfit she shimmied herself into. With a lacy white collar, the dusky, tiered dress had a modest front. There will only be two possibilities for unsuspecting people: this woman is so dumb it's not just as funny anymore, or they have dementia themselves. But Miwa is neither unwitting nor unwary.

However, there was something particularly enticing about the cloth. It was scented. It had been scented by an Alpha. She rubbed a thumb across the scent patches on the side of her neck. The omega in her stirred in its sleep, humming in contentment. Miwa didn't want to wake "it" up now. She shook her head to clear away the gushing memories linked with the notion of secondary gender dynamics, the disgusting, degrading grime sullying her skin. When a chilly breeze kissed her spine, Miwa knew how strappy and bare the back was. Well, not that modest. Huh?

Kasumi convulsed out of her reverie when her phone vibrated in her arms. It was a message from an unknown number with directions to a foreign place. Bicycles are not made for flowing dresses like the one hugging her like a glove. Miwa tugged her ears and licked her lips. Tramping down the stoop of the clothes store, she chose to advance farther into sheer desolation, tarred paths off the beaten track. Her skirt flurried in the wind in wide, billowy circles. Catching a cab calls for money. She has overriding uses for cash than taking a taxi.

Transfixed, Kasumi glowered into the abyss at the end of this endless stretch of road and strolled. She was afraid of darkness. She liked it dim, shady, and moody. And no doubt she like the colour black. Still and all, "dark" was different, too ambiguous to be comfortable.

Nope, Miwa isn't someone who believes in hell or heaven. No fable or myth is more gratifying than the promises of a Utopia after death. Yet it no longer feels like it. What if heaven is just another Earthland? What if you die the purest kindest being to go to heaven, only to realise that you've been fooled all along? That'll be one regretful shit. After death, she can more or less melt off into non-existence. Just like that. A ticket to the afterlife or having anyone fooling her is the last thing she wants. She shall gratify herself while on earth. Heaven doesn't need to lend a hand.

Miwa put up a brave front, another costume she uses excessively these days. She passed a run-down rickety hardware store. The rest of her track skirted by a never-ending farmhouse. Anyhow, Miwa had the urge to look behind her every so often. She didn't. Because she knew, if she did, she'd be clamorously hurtling in the platform pumps just at the moment, like a bat out of hell, no more strolling. Suddenly, she felt glad it was not a dirt road.

To her astonishment, Miwa had crossed half a mile before she knew it. Setting foot on her deadlock of a destination made Kasumi take in that the "house" looked less like a house and more like an estate. Kasumi swore silently as the electric gates opened for her with an airy sound. After hesitating a fraction of a heartbeat, her heels boldly clack, striding inside.


.

Gojo sat on one sharp-cut edge of the colossal luxury pool, striking steep granite touching the back of his thighs, his bare calves dipping leisurely in the soothing water. The place had a spa attached to it, quite appealing with spillways and cascades that jazzed it up even more. Patterns of lotus leaves wavered on the floor each time he moved his feet, and electric purple doused his mane in floral lilac undertones.

A sultry silhouette inclined against the granite, a little too close to him, smiling coyly. Her jasper gaze leered all over him, not that he cared. For all his grandeur, Gojo couldn't be more out of place in this serenity, numb to the savoury sensations. He didn't have the foggiest idea how long he had been here. Lost. Lost from the world around. Mind buckling under bedlam, raking over the fast lanes of his life.

The woman untied her long tortilla hair from the messy bun and played with it. He had a feeling that he was at the edge. He was not a heavy drinker. Not at all. But today, he had drunk himself into oblivion and gotten as drunk as a lord, totally stoned. Strange.

Whenever he closed his eyes, all Gojo saw were blue—orbs, expressive and soft, cerulean hair, tidal twirls of tranquillity. A chilly feel on the right side of his abs jolted his train of thought. His clouded eyes flittered erratically.

He jumped, almost. That's when he noticed long-tanned fingers skimming over his sweaty chest, the wetness making his skin gleam. He pulled the person off his body abruptly. He wasn't in the frame of mind for anything; he simply wanted solitude. Then again, is it solitude at all?

Following a week-long mission in the western fragment of Japan, Gojo did not feel all that rested in this hotel. The operation was straightforward and might have even been peachy, chasing down a ragtag of curse users on the run.

Somewhere far off, haze danced in the murky shine, a sprinkle of stardust from the moon. They had successfully intercepted any attempt at snooping inside the imperial castle. Howbeit, he found himself losing focus, sometimes fantasizing about a certain someone with azure locks. He can't remember the last time he had been wound up like this. It rubbed him the wrong way, narking him to no end. In the hopes of drifting off, Satoru shut his eyes again, even though a voice in his mind kept chanting that he was gradually becoming an insomniac.

Perhaps, all I want is a distraction.

Distraction. Gojo's eyes snapped open. He didn't have to search for the salmon-skinned statuesque beauty who had touched him. Seemly half Coral and half Asian, the woman stood just before him. Her berry red lipstick was smudged, and her mascara smeared her face. She grinned at him, unaware of her messy face, not that it mattered to him at the moment. He had never seen her before, a perfect stranger.

Satoru's psyche streaked the pictures of a student, her enthralling clear skin under his arms, her turquoise bangs. Maybe, as long as he had a vivid imagination, that could be enough, even though the sensations are entirely different. He smirked and beckoned with his finger for her to come closer. When she did, he dragged her in for a rough kiss. She smelled like pink chocolate.

It wasn't like Gojo Satoru would have a shortage of indulgences, random flings. He gritted his teeth.

He could taste every single pleasure on and on, yet the hunger is insatiable. Nothing quenched his thirst until he finally knew what his thirst was about, what it was yearning for. What he needed was not his materialistic pursuits, but love.


.

His suitcase clattered down the freshly laid tarmac as he leaned toward the side entrance. He reached for the doorknob, but it immediately swung open. He was not startled by the tall, grin-sporting woman staring at him from the other side of the door. The maid had soon left after bending in an urgent cutesy bow, as cute as it could be with her shirt low on the neck, her nipples about to pop out.

An enthusiastic one, she was, for giving Gojo a not-very-innocent hug once and had had wardrobe malfunctions to offer him more than twice. However, her average face and ginger hair did little to stir his dick. It was reminiscent of his mother's curly hair. Moreover, Satoru is allergic to peanuts. The nutty scent of peanut butter emanated from her body, too sharp for his taste. Anyhow, this is what he promised. And he was a man of his word. Leastways most of the time. Despite, at times, "I won't promise you anything." slips out of his mind and makes itself known through his lips. Old habits die hard.

Gojo liked expensive things, but he was one hell of a selective man. His aunt was different, and he's sure she did this on purpose, purely to spite him. Satoru can't just fire her. She seemed blissed out about getting a job for which she wasn't qualified. He's not just exaggerating when he says that she even seemed jittery. Getting a job that fits the definition of a decent job in Tokyo was hard enough. Then talk about this. She must feel on top of the world.

Pity was the only thing he felt towards the poor, or that's what he thought he wouldn't mind thinking. Frankly, he had no business with people of the lower class. He was wrong in the end. About both; the former and the latter.

Satoru drank in the satanic tempo n' shriek of black metal from his headphones and sank back into the sofa. He recalled what happened in the morning, inhaling a sweet cigar from the Savinelli briar propped in his digits. It was the first time they met. The bar was a long way away. As far as he could tell, Nanami wasn't a party animal. The only one near had been on the rowdier, dirtier part of the town, and like the clean freak he was, Nanamin didn't wish to see piss stains on the streets.

They conversed over a slice of pizza and cans of Pepsi. Not the healthiest choice of food, but the most feasible around here. There was no canoodling, not even cheerios while Nanami left. He was a man of business, not that it's inappropriate to be happy.

No, it wasn't the first time he met Nanami. It was the first time he saw her.

And she changed everything.

He removes the headset from his ears and lets it rest on either side of his neck. Everything would've been simple if the woman had not been stubborn. He thought they had got off on the right foot. But Gojo liked her stubbornness. That's why his people had been following her ever since.

"Mr Gojo?" says a voice.

"Get in. Make yourself comfortable." He drawls, motioning to the seat separated from his own by a tile's width. How much more comfortable can he make it? He'll provide her with a nice dinner and a clean bed for the night. From what he heard, she had been going through heartbreak and depression. He didn't care to know the details.

"Um. So I assume you read the conditions clearly, hmm? And you agree to everything?" He closed his eyes, then chuckled, albeit it was more of a scoffing. His questions weren't a tad bit genuine. How will it be when he knows the answers already?

When he opened them again, desire glazed them dark. "Don't worry. You'll be the safest here, in my arms, than anywhere else you could be. I keep my promises."

Miwa sets her jaw. She was angry and embarrassed. Pity stings like salt, a briny deep bloodiness to sink through, the last thing she wanted. But she had no choice.

As a kid, Kasumi was a silent smile, the softest footprint on the snow. Unfortunately, none of this hindered her childhood from becoming a dark fucking comedy. Her life as a blossoming adult is no different, except it makes an even miserable comedy, a disgusting joke.

Kasumi wasn't scared to dream of lasting fogs and woebegone wilderness. Thence she dreamed, then and now. She was a bit strung out but a jubilant learner. She never liked playing with her cousins. They were all shallow, deeper down. Kasumi had always known. She had been long done with their judgemental looks and snarky remarks. Not like she had a choice.

"I heard you lost your job. How long have you known Kamo?" He asked softly, looking debonair in his loosely tucked shirt, eyes glued to the cup of green tea in her arms. It was much better than where he'd been unabashedly looking. Much better for her. He didn't prefer repeating his questions, though. She answered anyway.

"We grew up in the orphanage together." He stared in surprise. Miwa knew it wasn't a believable lie. He probably knew, but she carried on with her made-up story. "But we had grown distant, so I don't know him that well."

"I'm sorry for what you had to go through." It was hard to hear that, but she couldn't interrupt that prickling sorry from leaving his mouth. What a jerk. Liar. Various things ensued, and one of them was someone informing Kamo's fiance that he was cheating on her with this girl named Miwa Kasumi. What followed was an ordeal. That day, Miwa knew how true it is to say that money power can crush. She learned how it could turn her from a useless Miwa to a jobless Miwa. No sweat.

Kamo's supposed future wife was furious and rich. At least, on the bright side, her friend didn't have to get stuck forever in a loveless marriage.

"I didn't know you were good at catching people in the act." It had been Gojo's doing. Her smile sunk into pure sarcasm. He had no qualms about snapping at her right about now. Gojo letting others mess with him is uncustomary to people who know him. He was the one who messed with them, not the other way around.

"I also heard you'd been depressed over your break-up last week." Nathless, after the whole shooting match that has transpired, he didn't rue. His heart, soused in an amaranthine rime, had no room for empathy. "I assume this Kamo's rich. Money can cure anything, can't it?" Calmly, he retorted. Alright, if she knows already, that means he doesn't need to hide anything. Easy peasy. He was the one in the wrong, but he was the one who never atoned for his sins. He ignored the sheen of the granite coffee table, whence her glare glowed black and white, staring coldly at him.

Of course, it's him.

"I don't care what you think of me, Mr Gojo." She dared to tell him that. If he appreciated her audacity, he didn't show it.

A peal of thunder cleaved over their muted acrimony. Thoughts secluded, like ravens soaring a leaden sky, fallen midst a flash, rotten dead. If he thinks she's a gold digger, then so be it.

"I'd rather beg on the street than be your slave. I'm not signing that sickening contract." Miwa murmured, rising from the sofa. Indifference didn't suit her. That Gojo had judged at the very first glance. He rolled his eyes.

"Do you think you can survive on the streets? As an omega." Miwa tried to hide the terror spreading down to her toes with a smirk. "Well, I'd love to see that."

She holds his eye. "At least I can die with some dignity."

"Have you thought through that?" His deep voice boomed.

He didn't move nor talk her out, watching as she smacked her lips and then twisted the doorknob, stepping onto the cloudburst. She yelled out to him over the rumble in the sky, her shoulders slightly heaving. "I have a request. Never contact me again." Kasumi implored.

Mustn't have taken her for a sane woman. She was insane. Thunderballs fell, streaks of Alice Blue enkindled their dim vista, the casement windows shuddering a thwack.

.

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

.

Drenched, drenched to the bone, she stood in the doorway of his guest house. Black satin, a second skin that barely covered the luscious curve of her ass, which would've been modest; the dress was a maxi with full sleeves if not for the downpour. The first drop of monsoon fell so soon, unforeseen, be that as it may, he unwontedly found himself grateful it did. The girl did please his eyes.

The wall clock indicated that it was 12:30 am, the time he chose to speak. "You'll get hit by lightning!" In a fit of rage, he snapped. He paused before adding, "And I won't give a damn." It didn't turn her stubborn head. Stubborn as a mule, as expected of her. However, he had already decided he'd be more arrogant with her.

She just had the nerves to let slip that before him. Then, she doesn't know what it means to be on the blacklist of Six Eyes. If she knew, she wouldn't dare.

"I've met jerks before." That was okay. A basket of ripe apples rested on the dining table. Satoru leaned against the edge and fetched one that had rolled out of the bunch. "But you're the worst one ever." Kasumi flashed him a look. He's been used to hearing someone calling him a jerk by now. Gojo pitched and grabbed the fruit in the air. That's not unacceptable or bizarre. Truth be told, all novel feelings have been worn off.

However, what she said next rang in his ears and sizzled his blood. "I reject your Alpha." The apple squidged in the crushing grip of his calloused palms and fingers. Well, that's a first.

No one rejected his Alpha. That's a scenario he hasn't even imagined. People come swarming towards him, seduced by the vibrant scent of his Alpha. Nobody fucking rejected that divine being of his. It's just bullshit. That little—Maddened, he cut his thoughts, barging ahead across the dampened verandah floor. His ego is blistering, and nobody wants a bitter taste of that. He should've ignored it—what was the name again? Huh. Kasumi? It wasn't a shame he did not. As it happened, he pondered whether he could loathe the fact that he didn't forget her name. He might never be capable of that.

That name, just like everything else about her: her cerulean hair messed up in the gusts, glaring eyes like nitid Grandidierites, exuded strange vibes. She reminded him of wild berries, unknown, untold, exotic. For all he cares, his ruminations shall tread on dangerous waters.

Before Gojo touches her skin to yank her back inside to shelter her from the raging storm, pivoting on her heels hastily, Miwa stomped back in on her own. Just because it didn't hurt a little when she slapped away his arm didn't mean he was going to let her get away with that insolent and vexing attitude of hers. It was becoming intolerable.

Kasumi felt his eyes on her back, following her every movement. She took her handbag, which had been buried, abandoned on his snug Prussian blue chesterfield. She turned to leave but froze. Her eyes narrowed when she cocked her head to the right, peering at his slyly arched eyebrow in suspicion.

"Girl, you haven't seen sickening things. Yet." His voice was low, a cold tenor, searching in her for weakness, every drop of it. Her arm or bag must've slipped. In the grand calculus of the multiverse, one second is all it takes for something to go wrong. In her haste didn't seem to hear the clang of breaking porcelain. But he did. "You will, outside this house, on the streets. I assure you, out there, someone like you wouldn't need to beg." She knows what he's getting at. Unless she decides to go into prostitution first, she'll be gang raped.

He'll let her know. Even if she sells herself, she wouldn't be able to make enough money for that. Do you think I'll let you go after breaking things inside my house? In one snap of his fingers, he could turn her world upside down. He can ruin her life. But he doesn't wish that. What he wants is her.

Shaking his head, he moved closer to her. "Either you can become a whore. Or you can become my lovely little mate." Fury gave away to impish glee. "Choose wisely, Kasumi." While she paced back, the wet tapping of her feet was wary yet abrupt. Oh, is she getting anxious? Where did all her bravery go? Three. Four. Five.

Her countenance grew glum at the insinuation. "Don't call me that!" Kasumi blurted out. "You sadist." For each step he took forward, she took a step back. A persistent smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and she could only try to brace herself.

"Oops. Do you not like it?" Satoru hid a smug smile. Her panic was his pleasure. At the very instant the back of her knees met the leather of the couch, his smirk widened. She was playing a losing game. "What have you done, Kasumi? You broke my precious vase, our family heirloom." He whispered in what could be called a guilt-inducing voice. But Kasumi couldn't feel any guilt.

Her legs shook like a leaf when her mistake immediately dawned on her, once and for all. She hadn't been careful enough, letting herself fall right into the den of a predator. Kasumi's face pales like thin white paper. Satoru's amused, enticing pheromones drugged the air, and the bluenette tried not to inhale more of it.

"It's pointless," However, there was little she could do as he gripped her jaw in his arm. "but—surely you'd want to know its cost?" Kasumi made no answer, not trusting her voice.

"Hh—how much?" she asked when she had got her breath back.

His gaze dipped to her chest, where icy drops clung like lush dews in daybreak. It was biological, but that didn't mean he had an excuse for his unseemly interest. He licked his lips. Good thing he didn't care for excuses. Satoru has always taken what he wanted. Instead of answering, he asked softly, as if he hadn't almost blackmailed and terrified her. "How long are you planning to stay at your friend's house? You came here today because your rent is due tomorrow, aren't I right?" Gojo fished out his phone from the pocket of his slacks and swung it in front of her face. "If you want, I can put you through to someone."

Toge Inumaki?

"You may know one Katsuki..." Miwa jumped at that.

If he was kidding, she didn't get the joke. "How did you know that?" The amount of information he had on her was harrowing. It terrified her. That's when she decided to throw in the towel. She had been playing a losing game, indeed.

I have not stooped that low to need anything from him. Even on my deathbed, if there is one, I will not ask anything from him.

All at once, Satoru puts his hand on her hips and seizes her lips in a smooch. Kasumi pulled away immediately and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking at him with a mixture of intoxicated loath, curiosity and annoyance.

Katsuki was the boy who got adopted into the Zenin clan because he had an innate cursed technique. He's the man who had shut her out; the asshole who had abandoned her and Mizuki for the privilege; the stranger she no longer considers her twin. He might help her. Maybe. But bloody hell. Like she would ever seek help from him in a lifetime.

There was a hint of something sweet on her lips he couldn't place. The waft of cardamom and clove pierced through his skin like an injection of elixir. His Alpha rumbled inside, purring in rhapsody. The rain has leaked into her scent patches. "Does your younger brother know?" His fingers brushed gently along her cheeks. His expression softened, cupping her face. "He's 15, right."

Miwa opened her mouth, but Gojo pressed a finger to her lips. "It must've been hard looking after him as a child, like a responsible guardian. It's hard for people to survive in this world as an omega. You know, with the current laws and all." He blew warm air over Miwa's cheeks, flushed with cold and exertion. "Without a mate, things can turn exceedingly worse." But mating is crazy and lasts for life. It is not an engagement you can break off. You'll be chained to your mate for life. No. She doesn't want to be a filthy Omega bitch. She stared daggers at him, eyes tight at the corners, mouth curving down. "Have you found any solutions?"

It was such a beautiful dress. But then, Satoru didn't want her to get sick, did he? He bet she would look better without the piece of cloth: naked, writhing on the sheets for his knot. Satoru plumped himself down on the futon and patted a place at his side. He'll chase and capture. He'll take what's his.

A hand touched her shoulder. "I could be your solution..."

Her brother. Miwa pursed her lips. He needed her support and attention, and it was wrong to be selfish. She reminded herself. Right about now, the solution sounded very lovely.

Gojo had not yet taken off his scent blockers. He had them on to make her comfortable in his presence, to give her some semblance of choice. "I need time. To think."

"Fine. Change your clothes before you catch a fever."

How long until she becomes his bride?


.

There weren't many people around there. Which is why he chose this place. He rounded his way through the thicket near the building, ducking under the thick old boughs of some trees bending down to express their reverence. Gojo might as well call it remoted. His steps slowed near a comforting sweep of warmth, the hot spring. Water as clear as glass, sparkling beneath the blinding beams spurting through the foliage. Steam shot up against the goosebumps on his skin pleasurably. Needless to say, his razor-sharp senses picked up quickly that perhaps the mist had carried something along.

The minute he sniffed, it wasn't just water vapour that he gulped into his lungs. The smell of the first mizzle after an overlong summertime felt so palpable he was almost hoodwinked into believing it was Tsuyu. He didn't because he knew for a fact that Tsuyu never serenades with notes of spice in them, especially not cardamom and clove. He had tried masala chai before, only once. It had tasted like a dessert. A good one. The distinct flavour still tingles on his tongue, bringing back crisp gales and hiking fervour.

What it was was clear as day. The instant it hit his olfactory, Satoru knew it dead on. A fragrance more soothing and much rawer than any other. Pheromones. Not just pheromones, an Omega's. Solely its amount dispersed in the air told Satoru that someone was having a hard time; the intensity, though, was something else. It's an Omega in heat. Satoru's eyebrows bumped together when his Alpha salivated upon the information. This is an intensely compatible one in motherfucking heat. Without fail, he did what any hot-blooded horny Alpha would do; firmed his jaw and tailed the scent.

When he feasted his eyes on the soft sloping curves from the waist down and the beginning of the crease of a cleft between a bubble butt, he sussed out that it was a woman. He hadn't dismissed one thing: how much of an unusual sight it is to spot a naked Omega in a mixed Onsen. Threads of turquoise silk floated on the water, a lotus leaf drifting by her sinking shoulders. Growing adamant about making the hours count for a hot pleasing morning, he whistled out a tune.

Nobody put a gag on the turbulent sea inside Satoru, the Alpha going wild over the prospect of this terrifically compatible, potential mate. Hence, it goes without saying that Gojo did not withhold his pure carnal pheromones: that posh woodsy scent of sandalwood submerging the bath, coupled with the beatific-balsamic sweetness of frankincense. The startled snap of her head hitched up his lip.

Her eyes were blown wide, inky gems drawing him even closer. She had sensed his inviting scent. "Shall I join you in there?" His eyes gleamed at the luscious sight of her nakedness. He didn't wait for an answer before plunging in.

The girl—the pretty-haired Omega sneered. "Creep!" They were alone. There was no point in her protests.

Sun bled in through an umbrella of marigold leaves. It brightened up his mane like the scales of a Stargazer goldfish. "Now, now. What's an Omega doing in a public bath?" Burn of hot peppercorns speckled in the mist. The Omega—my Omega, his Alpha growled—was vexed, displeased.

"I-It's not! I'm not." Her voice cracked as she denied it, despite her tone holding up hot under the collar, cutting.

"I'm going to get out of here." Her tone got all the more serrated.

Hot-chested, she yelped, hugging herself when he swam closer, her narrowed eyes avoiding eye contact. "Mixed up the dates? Are you in an early heat?"

His scent got her woozy, had her wet and roused her clitoris to throb with want. Alpha... Her crazy Omega cried. And that presented a problem. Visibly sweating, she spat a bitchy: "Keep your distance." Her chest heaved in and out. "Get lost." It was getting quite challenging to make sentences. She wanted him GONE.

"Oh no, I came here to chill." He was not behind on spite. "You don't ask me to leave." Whether it be the elderly or Omegas in heat, Satoru was an asshole and knew it well. But right now, it seems Satoru really felt like a prick. His Alpha blood boiled in his veins at his stupid, inconsiderate behaviour. So much so that it sorta hurt his head. Protect the Omega. Please her! Treat her well, and show her how good you are for her! Colourful expletives followed. You acted like a coward, just like your dad. Don't be him—

He sighed, admitting. "Girl, I'm not the most decent man out there. But I won't force you, let alone touch you without your consent." She felt his breath on her temple as he lowered himself even further, relishing the heavenly fragrance invading her lungs, each frolicking-fucking minute. Her mouth watered without consent. She did not trust this man and his consent policies. "But let me warn you, you'll meet more Alphas outside these walls who'll be more than delighted to get a piece of an Omega in heat." Her mouth fell open as she stiffened. Okay, that's more convincing. And scarier.

"I'm fine." She muttered, muscles tense on her pale face.

"You don't look fine to me. I can make this easier for you." He can take care of her. "If you let me." He suggested, arching an eyebrow as she glared, challenging her with his eyes. Oh, his eyes, mesmerizing orbs, did they hold magic? They made her knees weak and her nipples hard.

She won't let him take advantage of her and hurt her.

He discerns her paranoia. "But I don't need to take advantage of anyone. I'm more than capable of buying and providing pleasure." He bragged, mocking with a smexy smile plastered on his face.

"I don't know that! I don't want to know anything!" Lips pressed together, Miwa sighed exasperatedly.

He leaned forward with parted lips. "All I'm offering is help. It'll be a one-time thing with a stranger. I'll leave, and you can spend your heat here in pain. Choose it better if you want me to kiss it better." Then leaned back, controlled.

"God." Wrinkling her nose, Kasumi cursed under her breath.

"You're religious?" He chatted.

"Hnn. God's a joke."

"Me neither. Would you believe it if I told you that I am God?" He joked.

"Ngh." It's not like she had proper control over the things she's spouting at the moment. "Yeah, you sure look like one dick."

He coughed. "Making dick jokes now?"

"God help me."

"Of course. If you want it, you shall ask for it." He smirked, winking.

It is terrible to twirl the umbrella around in the rain, let alone plash the puddles with your boots. Kasumi was taught that when she was a little girl. When she was 10, she had kicked her foot into mud and spilt dirt across the road, earning her a slap on the wrist from Katsuki for silliness. She had flinched away like the shy girl she had been, vowing, making a note to never repeat such a discomfiting thing again. Simply put, it appears Kasumi had ripped that note in half. This Kasumi would gladly spin her umbrella around. No splashing on people, of course. The heart of the matter? She would waltz to the sprucing drizzle with no shame because the embarrassed girl who had stayed in her brother's shadow had been long dead. "Fuck me."

He blinked rapidly. "Huh?" Miwa bit her lips when he stared at her expectantly.

She huffed, tugging on his shoulder at once before squeezing his forearm. "I asked you to fuck me in the pussy."

Eyes widening, he froze. His beautiful lips curled slowly, gleefully upward, hissing. "Holy shit."

He started by kissing her face, then her brow, and then her nose. Miwa's face turned blood-red with need as he licked the tip of her ear lobe. "That was straightforward. Good girl. Good Omega." She burned at being called a "good girl," her praise kink kicking in.

Her chin was kissed, followed by her jawline. His scent had her cunt clenching after his fingers met those peachy tits and pinched them. "When was the first time you had sex, darling?" Once he rolled the teat, twirling them betwixt the tips of his digits, she soaked with arousal.

"With my ex." She answered in a haze. " O-on my second heat."

His thumb and forefinger were clasped over her chin. His heated, dreamy eyes narrowed. "It must've been a painful first heat."

At the concept of the Omega's ex, he felt an odd constriction in his chest. What is his Alpha's issue? He fought the impulse to find out whether this "ex" was an Alpha.

His stubble rubbed the spot under her chin as he nibbled her throat. When his hand squeezed her thigh, it felt like he set her skin and heart on fire. "Relax."

A smexy veined finger ran a pattern into the plunge of her neck, crossed it over her clavicle, and persisted. Satoru curved a heart with his fingertip just above the crease between her breasts. She slicked even more, eyes pinching shut when he kissed her large areolas. The smell of her arousal was something he could drink down. He kissed the side of her jaw after bending down to nip at her sweaty, flushed collarbones.

Blazing with lust and the drive to dominate, he took hold of her wrists and pinned them to a pearlescent rock in the onsen.

"On birth control?" He whispered over her full lips, his digits finding their way south to her swelling loins. A hand slowly massaged her inner thigh while his other hand sat on her abdomen, one finger rubbing her belly button.

He cupped her crotch and gave a few strokes to her clit. Slick dripped down her hot opening. Satoru's Alpha howled in delight. As he grabbed her moist vulva, his throat became dry with a bottomless thirst. He dragged his thumb over her opening, gathering the slick into his forefinger, cooing crudely. "Look at that. You're dripping wet. Don't worry. I'll take care of you, baby."

"I might fill your belly with my pups." He said, pressing his thumb to her clit, stroking it in circles as his other hand fondled one of her breasts. He could make her pregnant. His digits parted her heated labia to explore further her steamy insides. "And you know what, I don't think I'll regret it." humming, the tip of his long middle finger squelched inside her vagina with the ease her Omegan body offered.

Hell no. What a condescending, self-important dick? Her hands lowered to touch him once he released his hold on her wrists. While she caressed his back and felt his bare muscles flex, his fingers curled in her hair. He dug his fingers deep, fishing inside her slit for her cervix. She held onto his shoulders in a frenzy, when he thrust his finger to the hilt.

Encircling his arms around her midriff, Satoru pulled her close. His lips wrapped around her nectarine nipple and sucked. She squeezed around his digit, whimpering. Satoru imagined that soft wrap of her folds on his shaft. His knot had formed at the end of his cock, red and swollen, precum already dripping out the head.

He may not regret it. But if Kasumi gets pregnant, there'll be nothing left for her that she wouldn't regret. She doesn't wish to make her life all the more hellish. "I took the pills." She trilled and heaved while he fingered in tandem.

She moaned out loud, wantonly arching her back into his naked erection. It was music to his ears, going straight to his hardened member. When he took the tip out, her pussy clenched, and she whined at this loss. He dipped his calloused finger into her delicious heat, up to the knuckle, before adding another finger, scissoring them inside her hot wetness. He kept sucking her areolas as he added a third finger, hooking his thick long digits inside. She was a hot drooling mess. "If you're reacting like this to my fingers. I'm curious about the sounds you'd make when I finally enter you."

Pheromones clouded the air, fogging up their brains. Satoru grunted, his lips leaving her jugs. Only to tweak the swollen, abused nipple once more. "There, let me suck the other one."

Gojo's hot breath fanned over her bare, swelling chest. Miwa blushed to the roots of her tresses. Her eyelashes fluttered as she bit back a gasp, buckling into his manoeuvring fingers involuntarily.

As promised, Satoru locked his lips to her other bud and sucked. Hard. "Agh. Aahhh..!" Groaning at her erotic juices spilling through his fingers, he nibbled on her tit ticklishly. He slapped her ass before finally grabbing a handful of a red pulpy cheek. "Slap my ass, Alpha. It makes me wet." She gushed.

Miwa let out a loud and lewd mewl, raking her claws into his back and dragging them down. "You're not wet. You're drenched." He assured.

She clenched around his fingers. "I... I'm a bad girl. Ahnn... I n—need punishment."

"Sure, you do." Her moans grew more and more indecent, with the pace of his fingers speeding up. His Alpha crooned in its bindings as he resisted the urge to sink his mark into her neck right then and there. All she could do was pant and puff when the glistening fingers of his other hand kneaded her right cheek.

Miwa came with the jerk of her hips, a drawn-out scream flooding his ears as he flung her body into yet another realm. A slight sense of sanity might've slipped into her mind when he nuzzled into the nook of her neck. "Ngh." His fangs hovered right above her scent gland, ready to tear through the bounds of her skin enough to merge himself with her.

She panted. Now, that's dangerous.

A frown wilted her lips as she forked her digits through her smooth-soused tresses for the third time. Having sex with a stranger is nothing to fuss about. Putting that aside, mating for life with a stranger is more than reckless.

Screaming, she swatted his hands off.

Satoru got stupified. It took time for the wheels in his head to start turning anew. When it did, it was late. Too late, if you ask him. All he saw was a flash of cobalt blue. She dashed away from him into the abutting forest, leaping deep into the gloom of dew-bathed woods. Shit. Her pheromones were still thick in every breath he took in.

He stood stock still in the outdoor baths, alarmed. Still and all, there was that bitter pain on his right cheek—only now did he discern she punched him right before her bolt—feisty hellcat. He crooked a grin, touching the side of the face she'd hit with his right arm. Getting lost in the woods alone in your birthday suit is insanely stupid. An Omega at that. She could get in great trouble, serious trouble.

When all is said and done, he had let her go on her merry way.

A poor decision.

Satoru could've made things good-humoured for both of them if the thoughts of her—which is nowhere near vanilla, not anything mellow, but intense and burning and steaming—didn't eat up his headspace through the days and months that followed. His body craved to be brought back to that nirvana rapture. His Alpha lusted after her. That's when he knew he had to find the girl.

He started noticing after his obsession with tea at large turned into an addiction to chai.

Gojo doesn't like Spicy food. If there was something he had not been able to stomach since birth, it was spice.

From his father to his student, there is not a single person who doesn't know that. But to everyone's utter bewilderment, Gojo Satoru started eating spicy food with a pleasured passion they never thought he would have. It was a sight to see, indeed. They watched him adding spice to his palette more and more every day, curious and concerned. Masala chai became his favourite.

They needed some time to digest the sudden mysterious expansion of his palette. In other words, he set out to explore spice in a way someone explores themselves on a spiritual journey. Everyone had their snippet of thoughts on what he had been seen searching for.

But he was far from a man on a spiritual journey. In reality, he was looking for pleasure, a means to shut his Alpha up for a few moments. To Satoru's surprise, he began to understand that he couldn't seem to get over the ambrosian flavour of spicy cuisine melting on his lips.

He could not pinpoint what came first: the fixation or addiction, fear of losing or the desire to mark, mate and knot. Not to mention, rainy days proved worse. Every time it rained, Satoru longed. He jolted with a thirst a flood couldn't quench. He tossed and turned in his bed on rainy nights. Over and above, Gojo had thrashed so much during his rut that he chose to spend them in one of the Gojo clan's private rut rooms, stocked with enchantments to restrain his jujutsu. He remembers gulping some sedating medications to get his Alpha under control when it went overboard with aggression. In a nutshell, breaking the bed in two, long sharpened nails tearing through whatever met its wrath, knocking over anything and everything so that when he finally regained his sanity, the room was left in ruins, wreckage.

He could get an Omega in heat if he wanted, but he better not get an omega dead at the end of his rut. His Alpha wouldn't be so happy about that, and neither he.

Soon, longing manifested into yearning, forcing Satoru to grow a little serious about how to end the torment and deliberate on giving his Alpha what it wanted. Suddenly everything made sense.

One of his biggest pet peeves is sharing. Gojo has never chased after anything in his life. On the flip side, everything came to him. That changed after this. His Alpha had chosen its mate under his nose. Certainly so. Now he knows. No way he would repeat another error of letting go. He wouldn't intend on sharing, would he?

He was enchanted with a spell in spice with no escape. Satoru needed to brand her as his. It took some time until he dug up her name. Kasumi Miwa. Subsequently, he got her whole identity decoded root and branch. Hands down, like combing out a conditioned mop of hair. His people had been following her ever since. It helped him keep her out of trouble, free of any danger. Other than him.


.

Getting up, he paced off at a distance from her to get her a change of clothes.

Before she came out of the dressing room in loose pants and a shirt, Gojo assured her that the TV wasn't on. It wasn't like he was snatching away her chances to get used to the pestering reporters and journalists, but why ruin the mood? He explored the roomier kitchen, where he liked the teal fridge—a sentimental, oversized gadget—the small island, which appeared perfect for cooking, and the back door, beckoning him out onto the grass and seashore ahead.

It was not an heirloom. Miwa Kasumi fell for it, the hook, line and sinker. He shut the door before exiting the building and heading to the backyard.

Gojo was good with lies. The maid pulled her discarded dress by its shirred cuffs to dump it in the laundry basket.

However, it was unnecessary. Duh. Nobody cares. After all, the vase cost big bickies.

It was a Chinese vase brought at an auction for a whopping prize of about 230 million yen. Not by Satoru but by a pal of his, who had it gifted to him. Satoru first met him on a Norway cruise. It is apparent in black and white that he isn't someone who had helped him through thick and thin, an associate, nothing more. Yet, they had clicked and had a whale of time partying to just hanging around. Kashimo was almost neck and neck with him, and he was a good sport. They had a handful of things in common.

For instance, both of them had deep pockets. Furthermore, one tiny detail that Satoru liked is that Kashimo is pretty much as thoroughly cool as a cucumber when tolerating wins over wins as he is himself. The regatta fun race only had Gojo concluding that they had significantly more to share. The rest of the trip was spent surfing and rafting.

From the barbeque on the yard side, ash crept lazily aloft. A fit, young lad in shorts and a red T-shirt sporting the logo of a local team stood behind the grill. He held a knife in one hand while extending the other to shake hands with him.

"Sir, what about that vase you wanted to transfer to the guesthouse in Hokkaido." The man coughed, his eyebrows furrowed. The worker was a short white man with a thick brown afro neatly tied behind his head. His ironed white shirt was dotted with bright spots of sunlight dancing amid the overgrown garden. Have to have it taken care of. His aunt had lied to him when she said that this house was in perfect condition.

"It broke."

"Oh, I see—wait, it broke?" Stefan did a double take.

"You won't have to do the transportation anymore."

He blinked, squinting again like the overly bright sky was about to crush him under its weight. "The payment?"

I'll make her high on frankincense. Gojo beamed down at him. "Keep it."


.

The second time he met her—not counting the times he'd watched her from the shadows—was at the end of a walkway, where she took in his hunky silhouette with a strange mix of silent wonderment and shocking recollection. The night was sweet like a black-black grape, the lulling shade of late evening coaxing the inhabitants into slumber. He swabbed each discrete sentiment fluorescing on her face a mile a minute like the colours from a freshly painted canvas.

"I know this is sudden and inquisitive, but have you any plans for your next heat?" Miwa had looked at him as if he had just said the most outrageous thing, speechless. After observing her frown and lack of response, he added, "I like your scent and you. I'm looking for something intimate. So I have a suggestion. Only if you are interested." That's how he started persuading before he called it quits with the gentleman act. "Would you like to go on dates with me in exchange for gifts? Gifts like money. Would you like to spend your next heat with me?"

He hands her a card and smiles while she murmurs, "A relationship in exchange for money? Like a sugar b-baby?"

"I don't care what you call it. Think about it. And let me know if you're interested in trying it out." His words come as a complete surprise after a pregnant pause. "That is my phone number and address."


Author's Note:

In case you didn't get it, Coral is made up. Yes, it's a race. Similar to white and black people, like the name says, coral people have coral skin tone. meh.