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When it comes to relationships—when it comes to courting—there are certain expectations about how it is done. Three primary aspects that must be met.
The first is that the alpha shows their interest, something most often done by simply providing courting gifts. These could range from simple jewelry to far more intimate items, such as scented clothing and blankets.
Second, the alpha has to prove that they can protect their would-be mate—that they can keep their family, their pack, safe from harm. They show they are a pillar of safety and a source of comfort. That no matter what happens, they will keep you safe.
And finally, but perhaps most importantly, an alpha has to show that they can provide for the omega they were courting, that they can take care of all their needs. That the one they’re courting will want for nothing when with them. Usually, the final step, when both parties have reached that stage of intimacy, would involve building a nest for their omega to judge.
It was generally all very clear-cut. When an alpha showed interest in someone, it was nearly impossible not to notice. Courting could never be described as a subtle process, not with the gestures and pheromones that were involved.
But, you were proving to be the exception to that rule, because the three had been trying to court you for what felt like ages, and you didn’t seem to notice.
You had known them since before their debut, back when they were still training. Still finding their footing with each other and this new world, these new responsibilities — everything felt so overwhelming at the time; none of them were sure who they could really trust to lean on for support. Then they met you, an intern on the makeup team, and you befriended them effortlessly.
Right from the start, you had treated them differently from the others. Showed them genuine kindness. Genuine interest. Even after they debuted and their popularity and fame began to skyrocket, you never changed—how you acted around them, how you talked to them, or what you expected from them. You stayed the same.
Most adored them for what they represented: the fame, the power, being the ideal alphas, and all that goes with it. But not you. With you, they could just be themselves. No pedestals to be placed on. No mask of 'perfection' to uphold. They could be themselves and nothing more.
Before long, you had become an anchor to them. An unyielding source of support, no matter how hectic their lives became.
You were someone they could just go to when they needed to get away from everything, when they needed to breathe, and you'd let them. Even when you went from intern to the one running their makeup department, you remained a safe haven for them. They could collapse in one of your chairs at the makeup station and just vent, or they could just sit silently and sulk or simmer in whatever they were feeling, and you’d let them without question. You were a listening ear or a comforting shoulder, never asking for anything from them, and always willing to provide.
Was it any wonder that they would ultimately want you to be a part of their pack? That all three wanted you to be their omega?
And yet, despite their best attempts, you kept missing that memo.
It wasn't malicious; it wasn't out of apathy or disinterest towards the girls. You were just...oblivious felt like such an unkind way to put it, but that was the best word they had.
When it came to your work, you were sharp as could be, eagle-eyed. Always noticing the smallest details. Even with the relationships of those around you, you could pick up on the smallest change. You could look at a couple passing by and, with a quick glance, tell their entire story. You were always the first to notice when someone on the crew had a new crush or relationship, even from the smallest change in their behavior.
But when the focus of that attention involved you?
When it came to discerning the intent and nature of how people interacted with you, it was as if you were both visually and scent blind to the world. The boldest, most blatant flirtations were just friendly jokes. Courting gifts were just casual gifts between friends or a thank-you present from a coworker. Attempts to show off how strong a person was got brushed off as goofing off.
Zoey had seen one bold beta outright say that he was in love with you once, while backstage during a dress rehearsal. You had smiled and laughed off his confession, somehow assuming he had meant it platonically, and told him you appreciated his friendship, too.
She almost felt bad for him when he walked away, completely dejected over the unwitting rejection. Almost.
Not enough to keep Zoey from politely and quietly firing him from the makeup crew. Sure, you had unknowingly turned him down, but Zoey wasn’t going to take any chances that you'd catch on to what he had been trying to do and decide you'd actually like to explore a relationship with him. Nope, the very thought of it had her insides burning with jealousy.
She had insisted on walking you back home that night, too. Partly to reaffirm her claim on you to the rest of the crew, partly to soothe her own internal seething by stealing away more time alone with you. Zoey even gave you her jacket under the excuse that “it’s a cold night; I don’t want you to get sick.” It had been one of her favorite jackets, too.
Anyone who had looked their way could tell that this wasn’t some offhand casual thing. The jacket was soaked so thoroughly in her scent that the intention was clear.
Anyone, but you.
You had smiled, tugging the jacket close around your shoulders. In your eyes, Zoey was just being polite, being a gentleman. No reason to think this was anything more. After all, she already had two mates waiting for her at home. Why would you ever consider that she was interested in adding another to the dynamic? The idea was laughable.
Oh.
If only you knew.
And if only you knew the kinds of things you were doing to her, standing there wrapped up in Zoey’s scent as you wore her jacket, looking unbelievably beautiful and tempting. Her thoughts were so very far from pure or innocent. She was very proud of herself for the kind of restraint she showed—Mira would never let her hear the end of it if she lost it and jumped you then and there. That’s not how an alpha should act. You deserved better than a hormonal knothead.
The walk back to your apartment had been comfortable. Filled with idle chatter as Zoey talked about her plans for the weekend, throwing in subtle invitations for you to join that you completely missed, and listening with rapt attention as you told her about the birds that were building on the streetlight across from your apartment window.
God, she could listen to you talk forever, never wanted to hear you stop. Wanted to hear what other sounds you could make, too.
Zoey held your hand in her own, kept you close to her side, and used her own body to protect you from potential splashes from cars and from other pedestrians who brushed by a little too closely. She didn't make it obvious or make a show of it, but it would have been hard not to notice her actions.
Sure, shoulder checks and water were hardly life-threatening threats, but an alpha protects, no matter what, and she wanted you to see that. To see that she can keep you safe, that she wants to keep you safe.
When she reached, she had been buzzing with excitement and energy. Didn’t want to let go of your hand, didn’t want to say goodbye.
Then you had to go and give her back her jacket—an unknowing rejection of her gift, of her scent, a low blow to any alpha’s confidence—with that damnable smile and laugh, thanking Zoey for walking you home and keeping you company, telling her how much you appreciated her for it.
For her part, Zoey managed to keep smiling, to keep playing it cool as she stuffed the jacket under her arm, telling you how it wasn’t a problem at all. “I’m happy to walk you home whenever, really,” she told you. Please let me keep walking you home. Even better if you moved into the penthouse, went unsaid.
But you said your goodbyes, and Zoey made her trek back to her own home, telling herself that you didn’t mean to reject her. You just didn’t know she was trying to woo you. You being dense was adorable, even if it was frustrating.
On the plus side: her jacket now had your scent clinging to it, which meant it got to join the [steadily growing] pile of clothes they’d borrowed that carried your scent. She fell asleep hugging it, pretending that it was you in her arms.
.
.
.
Rumi knew your schedule better than yourself.
Your work schedule, your personal schedule, even your biological cycles.
She knew when your heats were due and had it marked in her calendar so she could be best prepared to help you. She always made sure your workload was lighter in the days leading up to it, was always there at your side in preparation for the mood swings, heatwaves, and cravings, and made sure to get you anything you asked for, anything that would make you more comfortable.
She made you prep kits for your heats, for crying out loud. There's nothing platonic about a heat prep kit!
When your day was particularly hard, Rumi was always willing to cuddle with you, knowing that the close contact and affection would make you feel better. Wrapping you up in herself so you’d know you were safe in her arms, so you’d be comfortable, so she could make things better.
Rumi had gone to the pharmacy for you to pick up suppressants and blockers if you so much as mentioned running low on them, and would go on errand runs with you just because she wanted to, insisting on paying for everything and anything you got, no matter what it might be, no matter how much you'd insist with flushed cheeks that she didn't need to.
It was all too intimate a thing for something 'just a friend' would do. The kinds of things that mates would do.
An alpha was supposed to provide for their mate, and what better way to show that Rumi was more than capable of providing for you than to help in moments like these?
Rumi had come to the dance hall early that day for exactly that reason.
You had mentioned the night before during a call that you were running low on scent blocking patches, and Rumi—being the good alpha who paid attention to her mates needs and wants, and was always happy to run any errand for them, no matter the kind—had made a stop at the pharmacy before it closed, and had come in early so she could deliver the box of high-grade blockers. The expensive kind that didn't chafe the skin. Because you deserved nothing less than the best.
She had a hum on her tongue and a skip in her step as she maneuvered through the backstage area, looking forward to seeing you and breathing in your scent again. But that tone dried up quickly when she made it to your station.
You weren’t there yet, but someone else had been.
There, at the table where you kept all your makeup tools, sat a box, wrapped neatly in gray paper. Given its size and weight, Rumi would suspect it was a hoodie or sweater. Scented, thoroughly, too. She could smell the sandalwood and tobacco even through the packaging.
Could smell another alpha on it.
Something in her snarled at that. If it were Mira or Zoey, that would be fine—more than fine. They were her mates, and if all went well, you'd be theirs as well as hers. But this wasn’t their scent. This was an outsider trying to force their way in.
That wouldn’t do.
Not. At. All.
Without so much as a second thought, Rumi had snatched and then dropped the gift in the nearest trash bin, right where it belonged. You didn’t need gifts from others; Rumi and her pack could get you anything you could want, if you’d just let them. Their gifts were all you needed.
This was hardly the first time she’s done this, either. You were beautiful, you were kind, you were oh, so, incredibly sweet. Of course you had others who would try to court you. Gifts were often found at your workstation or snuck into your bag by your many admirers.
Rumi did her best to prevent you from seeing most of them.
With the other gift gone, Rumi wasted no time slipping her own package onto your table and taking the extra care to help tidy your station up. She knew exactly which bottles and brushes you liked to use most and would help you start your day off right by getting your station ready and organized.
When you did finally show up, maybe fifteen minutes later, you had been dragging your feet; groggy-eyed and clearly tired. "Morning, Rumi," you had offered, your voice drained, as sluggish as your movements.
Oh, no, no, no. Rumi wasn’t going to stand for that.
Tired as you were, that didn't stop you from laughing when Rumi pulled you into her lap for mandatory cuddles, calling her ridiculous for it. But you didn’t fight her, didn’t try to struggle out of her grasp.
Rather, it was the opposite: you melted into her hold.
And that had Rumi melting in turn.
“Can I scent you?” Rumi asked, always asked, as she rested her chin on your shoulder, breathing in your sweet, addictive scent. Scenting was good for omegas; it helped them feel relaxed and safe, made them feel better, and helped nurture bonds. It was good for mates to scent each other regularly.
But more importantly?
Seeing that courting gift had put Rumi in a mood, one that had her wanting, desperately, for you to smell like her. To carry Mira and Zoey's scents, but mostly to carry hers. That way, none of the other makeup artists you worked with would consider trying to court you again, so that people would look at you and know you had already been claimed.
But she would ask, like a good alpha, before doing so.
And you agreed, because why wouldn’t you? Leaning against her obediently as Rumi went about nuzzling against you, spreading her scent on you.
The others in the room were pointedly pretending not to see, not to notice. But she wanted them to see. She hoped the alpha who had sent you a courting gift was in the room and watching. That way, he’d know better to try his luck again and would know that you were already all but officially hers.
There was laughter—you were ticklish. But the way you relaxed into her hold was undeniable.
When you finally crawled out of her hold, you were notably less tired looking, there was color in your cheeks, and Rumi’s scent clung to you like it had always belonged there.
“I feel so much better, thank you, Rumi.” You had smiled so brightly, one that had her chest fluttering as you lazily played with her braid, “Really, you’re such an amazing friend.”
‘Friend’ might as well have been a punch for how it left her reeling.
Still, she forced a smile in return, telling you that it was no problem at all, and she was happy to help—not a lie, she was elated to have you smelling like her, hoped to have you scenting her in return in the near future, too—and that if you needed anything at all, to let her know.
.
.
.
Mira fidgeted with the gift bag in her hands, doubt and second-guessing clawing at her mind, the elevator undoubtedly drenched in the scent of her anxiety. She was hoping, praying, begging that you won't see her as a creep for this gift.
Giving nesting materials as a courting gift was reserved for the final stages of courting, for established couples. It was too intimate to give when still in the beginnings of a courtship, and though they'd been courting you for a while, they were still at the first steps of it.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
It wasn’t like her previous attempts had been complete disasters. It was always a win in her books when she got to see your bright smiles whenever she had lunch and coffee delivered to you on busy days, or when she got to see that cute blush of yours whenever Mira brought you gifts of jewelry, chocolates, or new clothes.
Sure, you didn’t know she was trying to court you; you simply thanked her and accepted them as friendly gifts, not realizing how that sent Mira into an internal spiral each time.
All three of them had tried the typical gifts and actions to no avail. They had tried to be creative, tested boundaries, but you were just so stubbornly dense that you were brushing everything off as them trying to be a good friend.
Mira was at her rope’s end. And if Mira, the one with the most self-control and restraint out of the trio, was reaching the limits of her patience, she could only imagine the states that Rumi and Zoey were in.
So that’s how she ended up here, riding up the elevator with a Huntr/x throw blanket that was set to be included in their next merch launch. A blanket that she had scented.
The rational part of her mind was telling Mira that this was crossing a line. That this was too forward for where they currently were in their relationship, that this might scare you away at worst, and so she needed to turn around now before she ruined everything. But the louder, irrational part took that as a challenge, took that as validation.
If it were crossing a line, then that might finally get you to notice.
The door opens with a ding, and Mira rushed out before she could talk herself out of it. This isn’t the time to second-guess. They are well past the point of backtracking.
That doesn’t stop her stomach from flipping with yearning and anxiety as she strides down the hall. By the time she’s reached your apartment’s door to knock, it’s taking everything she has to keep on a mask of calm.
The door swung open only a minute after the knock, and there’s a brief flicker of surprise before you’re beaming at her. Your smile bright and open, and Mira’s tender heart could barely take it.
“Mira! What brings you to this side of town?”
The words catch in her throat, so she thrusts her hands out to push the gift bag to you. She’d picked out the best one she could find, too—it has little hearts and everything—and she was hoping the clearly romantic-themed bag would make it more obvious that this isn’t a freaking ‘friendly’ gift.
She cleared her throat. “I got you this. I thought it might be something you’d like.”
You tilted your head to the side curiously and accepted the bag. The mile-long stretch of silence ate away at Mira’s nerves as you slowly opened the bag and pulled out the blanket.
Blinking down at it, you tested the fabric's softness between your fingers, gently stroking the cashmere. Mira fought back the burning blush threatening to creep up her neck as she caught her own scent clinging to it. The intention, the meaning, behind the gift was a subtle as a train crash.
The blanket was soft, softer than anything you could get at the store. High-end fabric, top material. Unsurprising—Huntr/x always spared no expenses when it came to the quality of their merch.
The silence felt like it had gone on for decades, though the rational part of her said it hadn't even been a full minute before you’d drawn your gaze back up to her, holding the blanket tight to your chest. “I love this, it’s perfect.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, fingers still petting the blanket, clearly enjoying the texture of it. “It’s just so soft and warm, it’s the perfect blanket.”
Mira felt something in her chest unwind. You hadn’t said anything about her scent on it, but that’s fine. You still loved the gift, and that’s what mattered. “I’d noticed the last time I was here that you prefer blankets for your nest, so I’m glad this will work for it.”
She emphasized the notice part. It was important to notice the things your mate likes and needs, and Mira was trying to nudge you in that direction, showing you that she noticed things about you and cared enough to consider what you might like or need.
“You did?” she asked, and Mira preened at the way you had said it so softly. “That’s so sweet, Mira. Really, what did I do to deserve a friend like you?”
And just like that, it came careening to a halt.
Mira just gave you a blanket specifically for your nest. That isn't the kind of gift you give to your friends.
Internally, Mira was on her hands and knees screaming, begging to know if she got this response because you didn’t even consider her as a potential mate.
She was going to have to tell Rumi and Zoey that the nesting blanket failed. That was not going to be a fun conversation.
.
.
.
“I am losing my freaking mind,” Zoey complained.
As expected, the conversation did not go well. They’d all been banking on the fact that a nesting blanket would be what finally clued you in on their intent, on their courting. Hearing that even that didn’t work had been a rather serious blow to morale.
They had been brainstorming for the past few days, trying to come up with a new plan of action. Gifts weren’t working. They’ve seen plenty of times how the “I love you” approach failed with other suitors; they didn’t want to risk the emotional devastation of telling you they loved you and you shot back with a “I love you too, my good friends.”
None of the traditional courting methods were working on you, and as Zoey had aptly said, they were all starting to lose their minds a little.
“We took her out while you were at that dinner with Celine last night, you know what happened?” Zoey continued, arm dramatically draped across her face. “We went to her favorite restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall place across from the train station, and then took her to the arcade after. I was blowing all my won trying to win a plushie from one of those claw machines for her, Mira was draped across her, helping her aim at one of the shooting games. It was so obviously a date. It’d been going so well!”
From the opposite end of the couch, Mira let out a low growl at the memory. “At least until those assholes showed up.”
A group of guys had interrupted the wonderful night the three had been having. They’d taken a look at you, clocked that you weren’t marked, weren’t claimed, and had tried to squeeze in.
They'd begun flirting, inviting you to come join them, subtle little remarks that you would have more fun with ‘real’ alphas than with Mira and Zoey. You’d been so clearly uncomfortable with the attention, especially when one of them had grabbed you by the wrist, trying to tug you away to join his group.
Mira saw red when they touched you, but Zoey had beaten her to the punch.
Literally.
One fluid move, and she had the leader of the pack sprawled on the ground, sporting a broken nose. Then just as quickly, Zoey had her arm around your waist, pulling you flush to her side.
“She's mine,” she had snarled, glaring at the men.
Mira had stepped up to stand on your other side, arms crossed and back straight, towering over them in a show of dominance, a threat of more violence if they didn’t scram.
Thankfully, they realized that this wasn't a fight they were going to win. One of them helped their friend off the ground, the group shooting a few insults at the girls as they hurried away, tails tucked between their legs.
You had sagged against Zoey, face nuzzling just slightly into her shoulder. “Thanks,” you whispered, rubbing at your wrist where he had grabbed you. “That was—thank you.”
A moment passed, Zoey still had her arm around you, protective—possessive—and you made no move to try and pull away.
Then you had cut through the lingering tension in a way that was so painfully you.
“So—yours, huh?” you asked, looking at Zoey with a teasing smile and mischief in your eyes as a bubble of laughter spilled out. “You’re so dramatic, Zo. The punch alone would have been enough to chase them away; you didn’t need to come up with a ridiculous lie.”
Oh, but it’s not a lie. You were hers. Hers, Mira’s, and Rumi’s.
But you were so stubbornly blind to that fact.
Slipping from her grip, you returned to the arcade games as if nothing had happened, brushing off her claim over you as if it had been nothing, a meaningless joke from your dramatic friend.
Why was this so difficult? It hadn’t been nearly this difficult when they were courting each other, a little bit of awkwardness, stumbling and uncertainty, but they'd figured it out. Every shot they were taking with you was turning out to be a damned miss. It was driving them mad.
“That’s it!” Rumi yelled, already on her phone, typing borderline maniacally. “I’m done going in circles with this. We’re resolving this now.”
“And what’s your plan, oh fearless leader?” Mira snarked as she sank back into the couch. “We’ve already tried everything."
But Rumi gave her a smirk, the kind that said she had something dangerous planned. “Not quite everything.”
Zoey perked back up, watching her with interest. “Rumi, what are you plotting?”
Oh, they’d see.
And that was how you ended up entering their penthouse no less than twenty minutes later, being stared down by three alphas—all of whom looked like they were dancing on a live wire of tension.
“You guys okay?” you asked carefully. You weren't used to seeing them this worked up away from the stage.
Rumi nodded, her movements stiff, something like anticipation clear in Mira and Zoey’s expressions as she stood up. “We just needed to talk to you.”
“About something important,” Zoey tacked on.
Well, that sure wasn’t ominous at all. “Okay. Well, I’m here,” you said with just the healthiest amount of awkward uncertainty. “…What did you need to talk about?”
You were just a few steps away from them now, and the air felt electric.
Rumi shared a glance with her mates before taking a deep breath and looking at you again, determination in her eyes. “We like you. No, not just 'like'," she said, her words slow and clear. "We’re in love with you."
There was a brief pause as you stared back at her, processing her words.
“I mean, I love you guys, too," you said slowly, tilting your head to the side. "You’re my best friends.”
Mira let out a choked sound. “I told you,” she buried her face in her hands, looking completely defeated.
You looked between them again, a wave of anxiety starting to creep up, “Am I… am I in trouble or something?” Your voice came out weaker, smaller, because with the way the girls were staring at you, it sure did feel like you were about to stand on trial for a crime you didn’t remember committing.
“You’re not in trouble, you’re just…just—ugh,” Zoey cut herself off with a frustrated huff, unable to find the words she wanted.
That did little to reassure you.
If anything, it made you feel more on edge and confirmed that something was clearly wrong. That maybe you’d done something wrong.
But Rumi stayed resolute, stared you down as she stood across from you still. “We are in love with you,” she said again, firmer, an added emphasis as she took a step forward.
Before you could speak, say something foolish like ‘as friends, right?’ or try to brush it off as you always did when they said things like that, Rumi had your face in her hands. She was dragging you forward, closing the distance, and—
Oh.
Her lips felt nice against your own.
Rumi was here, and she was kissing you. Firm, but gentle, her lips moving softly against your own. It had your head rapidly emptying of any thoughts that were not centered on the kiss.
When she pulled back, you realized Zoey and Mira were watching with bated breath, waiting for your reaction, your response, to the kiss.
You blinked slowly at them, your mind still rebooting after that, processing what had happened. Rumi was still cupping your face, her thumb rubbing small, soothing circles on your cheek.
“You…love me,” you echoed slowly, uncertainly. “As in love, love?”
Mira was still wound tight, hands digging into her own thighs, “Yes,” she said with a slight strain to her voice. “We want you. We want you as part of our pack, as one of our mates. We’ve been trying to court you for a while, now.”
Your face flushed a deeper shade of red as you began thinking back to all your little interactions with them. It was so…obvious…in retrospect.
“I thought you were just… just trying to be friendly,” your voice raised to a squeak. They already had each other; you didn't think they were interested in adding anyone else.
Zoey let out something of a strained laugh. “Friendly? Babe, have you ever seen us giving gifts to anyone else besides you? Asking to scent anyone else?”
Well, no, but… but… You let out a whine as embarrassment rushed through your veins. “You three are already together, I just… I assumed you didn’t—” cutting yourself off, your hands fidgeting where they hung in the air. “You want me? You actually want me? This is serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Zoey nodded.
Rumi’s thumb brushed along the underside of your jaw; the sensation had you keening. “The important question here is, what do you want? You know what we want, how we feel,” her voice was soft and so unfairly tender. “Will you give us a chance?”
Give them a chance?
The answer to that was so obvious.
You’d spent all this time brushing off their advances as just being friendly, just being affectionate. There was no way they actually liked you like that, after all, and you didn’t want to ruin a friendship with wishful thinking.
But it wouldn’t be wishful thinking; they’ve made that abundantly clear.
Leaning in to Rumi’s touch, you nuzzled against her hand. “I—” your voice briefly caught in your throat. “I’d like that,” a pause, your eyes flickering to Mira, to Zoey, and then back up to Rumi. “Maybe…maybe this weekend we can go on a date? All four of us?”
Zoey let out a squeal, “A real date, right? Not like all the other dates we’ve tried—” other dates? How many dates did they take you on??? “—Oh we’re finally going on a proper date!”
Mira was at your side in an instant, hand raised, tugging you out of Rumi’s hold so you could face her, ignoring the way Rumi growled when you were taken away from her.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” her eyes fell to your mouth, “It’s not fair that only Rumi got to kiss you.”
Oh, no, she was right, that wasn’t fair at all.
“Sounds like you should fix that,” you grinned, leaning closer to her.
That was all the invitation she needed before colliding her mouth against yours in a hard, firm kiss. It wasn't as tender as Rumi's had been; it was dominating, claiming. You didn't want her to stop.
Zoey was whining at your side for Mira to stop so she could have her turn, her fingers tracing lines along your arm as she waited impatiently. Rumi was behind you, hands on your hips to hold you steady, to hold you in place, as she pressed her face into your shoulder, breathing in your scent as Mira kissed you deeper.
It took a while to get here, but they supposed the wait could be forgiven. You were finally exactly where you were supposed to be; right here with them.